


Harry Potter and the Berserker

by deathbearabc123



Category: Berserk (Anime & Manga), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Manga & Anime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-05-03 00:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 69
Words: 602,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14557410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathbearabc123/pseuds/deathbearabc123
Summary: Are people truly in control of their lives, or is it some transcendental entity or law that decides? Two will struggle to persist, to fight an unwinning battle against forces of god-like power. (Can also be found on my FanFiction account).





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

October 31st, 1990

Forbidden Forest, Hogwarts grounds,

Hooves lightly trampled the forest floor before coming to a stop at a small ledge that dipped down into a muddy creek. The head of the man that made up the torso of the horse body looked up to the sky. Night had yet to fall making it much more difficult to read the heavens, but the sign from last night had kept Firenze watchful.

Last night the stars and planets had been strange to read, not at all like their usual patterns. It had almost been as though the worlds had started to overlap on one another. And on top of that, Mars seemed to be a bit brighter than usual. Granted it was Hallows Eve, one of the most magical times of the year, but this seemed beyond any magic known to centaurs. It seemed more ancient, more vast, more predestined. That was if magic had anything to do with it at all; it could be fate itself.

Firenze doubted the Wizards had thought anything of it. Their seers would misinterpret all the signs, as usual, never taking anything beyond their first assumption into account. It was a bit hypocritical of him to think that way considering his first impression had been one of foreboding and had not changed since.

The sound of more hooves galloping along the dirt came from behind the fair-haired centaur. "You have seen the heavens as well, Firenze?" A deep voice asked.

Firenze turned to meet the other centaur. "I have indeed, Bane."

"And?" Bane inquired. "What did you make of it?"

"Indecisive," Firenze coined. "The way they were arranged, I haven't seen anything of that pattern before. I was unsure of its meaning."

Bane clipped one of his hooves and scratched at the hair on his chin. "It would seem you're not the only one. Malaborne is contemplative as well. He's been meditating since last night. He recommended I do the same."

"Did you?" Firenze asked. He knew Bane to be one of the more headstrong and stubborn of their herd, but that did not mean he did not listen to the council of his fellow brethren.

"Indeed." Bane's reply was curt.

"And, do you believe that yielded any new insight on this strange occurrence?"

Bane huffed and kicked at the ground. "I am unsure. I thought to have seen a premonition while I was in my trance."

Firenze's tail lightly flicked from curiosity. "Trance visions are not to be taken lightly. Perhaps there is truth yet to be seen in the stars." Bane still looked unsure.

"And more often than not, they are just as failable as those seers. It wouldn't do to dwell on something that would prove fruitless." Did Bane actually sound, frightened? Firenze knew Bane to be many things, but afraid was not one he would use to describe his fellow centaur.

"What? What did you see?" Firenze persisted. "If you speak the truth, then it could shed light on this abnormality."

"Tell me, Firenze, how much of our history do you recall?" Bane asked, out of the blue.

"Our history?" Firenze questioned. "We are creatures of nature. We have always been. The forests have been our home for thousands of years. Our closest relatives in the world of magical beings are the satyrs, known for their musical talents."

Bane remained impassive. "A student from that Hogwarts could have answered as much. I expected more from you, Firenze. I meant our roots. How we came to be of this world."

Firenze racked his brain for the information. "I, believe we had migrated from a faraway land alongside many creatures muggles consider to be myths of old. Only a handful of our sister herd stayed behind on what became a small island." This time Bane looked more pleased.

"And how do you think we migrated? Our homeland is practically unreachable now, it exists in a land, not of this world. Instead, we now reside here, on this plane."

"And that is what you believe you saw?" Firenze questioned further. "Our first home?"

Bane was silent for a pause. "I thought I saw a large tree. And a white hawk."

#4 Privet Drive,

It would be unfair to call ten-year-old Harry Potter a normal child. Strange things always had a way happening to him. The incident when he had somehow evaded his Aunt Marge's dogs, and the time he escaped from his cousin Dudley's gang of friends by somehow ending up on his school's roof were two cases that came to mind. of course he never had an explanation as to how any of the stuff that happened to him actually happened. To another child, they probably would have answered saying that it was magic. Harry knew better than to say that.

The relatives with whom he lived, his aunt and uncle, the Dursley's absolutely despised the word magic. Whenever they heard it Aunt Petunia would turn white as a sheet-like she had seen a ghost, and Uncle Vernon would glower red with frustration while the veins in his fat neck and head would bulge. Harry guessed they reacted that way due to their relative "normal" way of living. everything had to be a certain way in their household; from the way, they ate meals, to the job Uncle Vernon worked, to the way they spoiled their son, Harry's whale of a cousin Dudley. Everything had to be perfectly normal.

And that was probably why they despised Harry the way they did. His raven black hair was always a mess no matter how it was cut and grew back at an alarming rate, His eyes, which were partly obscured by his thick-rimmed glasses, were a unique shade of emerald green, just like his deceased mother's as he heard Aunt Petunia mention once. And the most abnormal thing about him; the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead.

Harry had had the scar all his life since he was an infant. The one time he asked about it he was told he got it the night his parents died in a car crash and had been, in Uncle Vernon's words: "Dumped on our doorstep and have been ungrateful ever since." Although Harry didn't really see what he had to be grateful for living with the Dursley's.

The place he called his room was a small cupboard under the stairs. There was room enough for a mattress but not much else. The second bedroom on the upstairs floor was out of the question since it was used to house all of Dudley's possessions; most of which his cousin broke a few days after receiving them. But that didn't matter; whatever Dudley wanted, Dudley got no argument.

No. Harry had little to actually be grateful for. Especially today, considering what day it was. Halloween. It was one of Dudley's favorite holidays because it meant he could pig out more than usual on free candy and sweets. It wasn't even nighttime yet and Dudley was already parading around the house in the costume his parents had bought him. Dudley was going as a very fat Superman.

"Oh, look at him Vernon," Petunia cooed as she watched Dudley run around dressed up in a costume he looked like he was about to spill out of in Harry's opinion. "Isn't he just precious?"

Uncle Vernon smiled from behind his thick walrus-like mustache. "Little tyke's all giddy with excitement, that's for sure. Dressed up like his favorite superhero and everything."

He should go as a whale, Harry thought, thinking the costume choice would be much better suited. But he knew it didn't matter, if Dudley wanted to wear a certain costume, then he would wear just that. But he knew Dudley cared little for the costume itself, he would just rip it later, it was all about the candy he would horde all for himself. And while Dudley was out Trick or Treating, Harry would be stuck home in the cupboard under the stairs.

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon hollered at him "Go grab the camera, I want a picture of Dudley to send to Marge this year." And with more than a slight smack to the back of the head, he sent Harry to retrieve the camera. When Harry brought it to him, he didn't receive so much as a thank you.

But it could have been worse. At least Vernon had called him Boy instead of the usual Freak. Those were the two names he was known as around the Dursley household. They never said why he was a freak, only that he was, and that his parents had been freaks too. They were always so quick to anger when it came to him; was that what made him a freak?

Harry watched as Petunia took photo after photo of his overweight cousin. It was getting closer and closer to nightfall, and Dudley was getting more and more anxious. "I want to go trick or treating now!" Dudley whined.

"You don't want to wait until it gets darker first ?" Petunia asked, but it was clear to Harry what the answer was going to be.

"No! I want to go with Piers, and when I get to his house it'll be dark." Dudley argued. And, Harry had to admit that was probably the most sound bit of logic he had ever heard Dudley speak.

"Alright then Dudders," Petunia called Dudley by the nickname she had given him. "I'll take you over to your friends' house. Will you be alright here, Vernon?"

"Of course, Tuney. Just so long as the boy keeps to his cupboard and doesn't make a ruckus." Harry could feel Uncle Vernon's beady gaze on him.

He nodded obediently. "I won't be a bother."

"Right you are," Vernon said, not shy at keeping the threat in his tone a secret. "Now go on. Get into your cupboard, Boy."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry answered as he undid the latch and shut the door behind him. almost cloaked by darkness, Harry reached above his head and pulled the chain that would turn on the single light bulb which hung from the bottom of the stairs. The light is dimly shown in the small cramped space, but just enough that anyone could see the dust particles floating around.

Harry heard the sound of Dudley running past the cupboard, followed by the sound of the front door opening. Plopping himself down on his mattress, Harry laid down. This would be how he would spend the rest of his night. It would be boring. While Dudley was out gorging himself on all sorts of sweets, he would be right here in his cupboard, trying hard not to make a sound while Uncle Vernon watched the telly in the other room.

Sighing in boredom, Harry reached under his mattress to pull out the few toys that he did have; a couple of knight figurines. They had originally belonged to Dudley, but he broke the lance on one of them and decided to just throw all three figures away. Harry saw him do it, and at night had snuck out of his cupboard to pick them from the trash.

He would occasionally make the figures do battle with each other, and he would usually let the white knight win most of the time. He still liked the black knight better because he thought it looked cooler, but he always saw the white knight as being the good one. But that didn't mean he didn't give the black knight a few wins too. After a few minutes of fake jousting, Harry set the figurines back where he had gotten them. Even though it wasn't that late, Harry could feel himself beginning to nod off; just out of sheer boredom.

Harry closed his eyes and began to drift slowly into sleep's embrace.

...

And he dreamed that he was a knight. He knew he was a knight, he was sitting atop a horse after all. Looking down at his arms, Harry saw they were covered by chain mail, and there was a dagger sheathed on his waist as well. But he wasn't the only one, oh no. He was in a line up with other knights dressed similarly to him.

But those Knights looked to be older than him by a few years. Some of them even held banners. The design was rather simple, a white sword with wings over a blue background. As the wind blew past, it sent ripples through the banners making the sword design almost resemble a bird of some sorts.

Just then, a war cry was given, and all the mounted knights charged forward giving yells of their own. Maybe because it was a dream, but Harry felt at ease riding a horse. On its back, Harry almost felt like he was flying, or gliding through the air. The sounds of swords clanging against each other weren't even enough to distract him from this newfound feeling of freedom. about the only two things that caught his attention was a massive man with short spiky black hair wielding a giant greatsword, who knocked three enemy knights from their mounts. Harry was glad he had dreamed that guy on his side.

The other was the man leading their charge. He was clad in white and silver armor, crafted in a slender but elegant design. On top of his head, he wore a hawk like a helm, from which Harry was able to see his pale flesh underneath through the eye and mouth holes. It had to be a dream. With the way they were dominating the battlefield, it had to be.

Even in a dream, there still had to be- Thunk!

Harry looked down to see an arrow piercing his chest. His grip on the reigns loosened. He was falling backward. So much for it being a- dream. The feeling of falling washed over him.

Sitting up bolt right, Harry found himself inside the cupboard under the stairs. Lifting his shirt, Harry checked himself for an arrow wound. Of course, he found none; some bruises, but no arrow. It had only been a dream after all. "Look, dad, look!" The voice of Dudley rang from in the living room. "Mum took me and Piers out to every neighborhood! Look at how much we got!"

"Atta boy Dudley!" Vernon praised his son. "And we got very few trick-or-treaters here this year, that means you can have our left over candy." Harry knew that was probably a lie. Tons of children came down Privet Drive during Halloween. Uncle Vernon probably only gave them a few pieces, keeping all the big candy for Dudley. Risking a glance, Harry peaked out of his cupboard.

All three Dursley's were gathered in the living room. Dudley sat on the floor, a pile of candy lay before him. Dudley's costume was ripped underneath the arms, but the boy hardly seemed to care. He had his candy, that's what was important. A quick glance at the clock showed him that it was about a quarter to midnight. Aunt Petunia must have kept them out as long as she could if they had just gotten back.

Slowly, Harry closed the cupboard door as to not alert his relatives he had been watching them. Plopping himself back down on the worn mattress, Harry threw the tattered cover over himself and waited for sleep to come once more. Maybe he would have that knight dream again. Even if it was a dream, and he could control what happened, he would still like to see how everything panned out. He wouldn't lose in his own dream. Closing his eyes, Harry prepared to reenter the domain of Morpheus once more.

Right away Harry could tell that it was different than before. He was no longer a knight, he was the same scrawny boy he was in real life, dressed in Dudley's oversized hand-me-downs. He was on solid ground, yet it felt like he rather weightless. Like if he were to jump, he might never come back down again. And then there was the mist. Much like his eyes, it was green in color, but carried a certain chill to it; almost as if it were rising from the grave. Whatever this new dream was, he didn't like it. Not one bit.

No matter which direction he looked, Harry was met with the mist. It looked like he was trapped in an endless void of the stuff. As the mist grew thicker, the less it began to feel like a dream, and instead more like a nightmare. He wanted to wake up. But how? Harry closed his eyes tight and counted to three he opened them. The mist still remained.

"C'mon," Harry urged himself, closing his eyes once more and counting now to five. Opening his eyes, nothing had changed. No. that wasn't entirely true. For a flicker of a second, Harry thought he could see a large dark shape moving through the mist to where he now stood. More terrified than ever before, Harry quickly closed his eyes once more, this time counting to ten. Before he even opened his eyes, he felt different. It wasn't a good different, but it was something. He would open his eyes and be back in the same old cupboard as before.

Harry opened his eyes to a horse. Not a regular horse, this one was larger, skeletal, and the same could be said to the rider who mounted it. The rider looked to a mix between a human skeleton and medieval armor. A sword hung from his waist and a shield on his arm. But what truly captivated Harry's attention were the glowing pair of red eyes emanating from his skull-like helm.

Feeling his heart rate start to accelerate, Harry found he could so nothing but simply stare up at the skeleton knight that stood before him. Despite knowing that this was all just some vivid dream of his, Harry's mouth felt completely dry and his legs unsteady. It felt as if he were to reach out, he would be able to touch and feel the bony nature of the horse. And perhaps that is what frightened him the most. The "Skull Knight" craned his head to look down upon Harry, assessing him with those glowing eyes.

"You are afraid." The Skull Knight stated, rather than asked in a deep yet hollow tone of voice. Harry's mouth was too dry to answer, his body too stiff to move. The mouth of the Knight hadn't opened to speak, yet it talked to him all the same.

"...I... d-d..." Harry at least managed to get out. He just wanted to wake up already.

Skull Knight seemed to understand. "You would be a fool if you weren't." He didn't say it sounding threatening, it almost sounded more... cautious.

"W-who... are... y-you?" Harry plucked up the courage to finally speak. His voice was weak compared to the Skull Knight's, he knew that, but at least it was better than before. Being in the presence of the Skull Knight made him feel weaker than he was. He didn't want to feel like that. This was all his dream, after all, he should sound strong. Right?

The Skull Knight seemed to ponder over his question as if to decide how to answer best. At last, he settled on: "A foe of those who would gorge themselves of humanity." Was he a friend of humans? Looking at his appearance gave the opposite impression. Harry shouldn't believe him, not yet. The Skull Knight could be a liar, someone who said they were a friend only to try and kill him before Harry woke up.

"...W-why are you in my... dream?" Harry questioned. It was a stupid question, he knew that. But when he felt a chill go down his spine every time the Skull Knight spoke was cause for concern. Skull Knight looked away from Harry and to the ever expanding mist that surrounded the pair of them.

"You do not know."

"...What?" Harry asked, reluctantly.

"In your world, it is the Eve of Hallows, is it not?" Halloween? Harry slowly nodded. "It is a strong day for magic. The layers have all but aligned on this night. The veil between layers, easy for those who have the means to influence the happenings." Harry felt more confused than ever. Layers? Veils? What was this knight talking about? And magic? There was no such thing. Uncle Vernon had made that clear many times when he had to physically reprimand Harry when he had once said the word.

"...Magic isn't real..." Harry spoke in a soft tone. The Skull Knight turned to look down on Harry. He had heard.

"You do not know." Once again it was more statement than a question.

"...Know... what?"

"Of your destiny. Of the power that you truly possess." Skull Knight paused. "Of those who wish you and your world harm." Did someone want to hut... him? Harry Potter; the boy who had no parents, and lived with his ghastly relatives? The boy whose room was the cupboard under the stairs? It was unreal.

"...You- you're wrong," Harry said trying to sound confident. He could almost feel the Skull Knight's glowing gaze on him as he looked to the ground. "I'm just... Harry. I'm not special. I don't have magic, and I don't have enemies. I'm... just-," and Harry felt it. It wasn't a tremor, no it was more like an a-a heartbeat. Low, and imposing, invisible, but there all the same. The chill that had come with the mist seemed to intensify.

"They know." The Skull Knight cryptically said.

"Wha? Who-?" Before Harry could finish, Skull Knight had grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him up onto the horse. "H-hey!" Harry protested as Skull Knight urged his horse onwards. "S-stop!"

"That would be unwise," Skull Knight warned. "Your destiny lies not with them."

"Who?!" Harry demanded. What was even going on?! He saw Skull Knight reach for the sword that was on his hip and pull it free from its scabbard. His eyes widened as he watched the jaw to the Skull Knight open before he proceeded to swallow the sword up to the hilt. When he pulled it free it was now glowing, and covered in various eyes, noses, and mouths. The sight made Harry want to throw up.

"You would interfere? In this world?" It was not the Skull Knight who spoke. The mist had begun to fade, leaving only darkness, but in that darkness, a voice came. It was expansive and eerie, much like an endless void.

Another voice spoke from the darkness; this one much more seductive and feminine. "And we thought it wasn't in your nature to do so. You know the law of causality, your majesty. And this young boy has such a colorful destiny indeed."

Two more voices spoke; one sounded more impish, and the other hollow. "You think we would offer him to become one of us?"

"It is not his destiny to do so. That lies to another."

Skull Knight spoke next. "And yet your presence is felt here. For what other reason to offer him one of your trinkets. And if not him, his rival, the one who marked him with this fate."

Skull Knight swung his sword down, and Harry had to close his eyes to keep the sudden glow out. The void like voice spoke again. "Destiny cannot be stopped. It is, some transcendental entity that governs all."

"Then you should know that this one's fate is set as it is," Skull Knight shot back, and spurred his horse forward to where he had cut with his sword.

When Harry opened his eyes, he was in a new setting. Gone were the cramped confines of his cupboard, the Dursley's chatting idly in the living room was nonexistent, number four Privet Drive was gone as well. He was on a grassy hill overlooking an expansive plain below which was playing host to a large campsite of sorts. Tents were pitched all around, and he could see various fires lit as their embers and smoke drifted off into the growing night sky.

Bony, but strong fingers grasped onto Harry as the Skull Knight set him down upon the ground. Harry immediately fell to his knees as he took the sight in for himself. It really hadn't been a dream.

"The wheels of causality have been set in motion," Skull Knight said. "Those unholy abominations shall see to it one way or the other."

"W-what...? What is this?" Harry asked. He couldn't keep the tremble out of his voice. He had gone from Privet Drive, probably for good. He had hated it for sure, but it had been where he had lived all his life. Not a home, not for him anyway, just a place of familiarity. This place... where even was he?

Skull Knight made to turn his horse around, away from the encampment below. "My world, within the astral layers of existence. Life here is much different than your own. Take heed, child, some dreams will only lead the path to hell." Skull Knight spurred his horse once more, "We will meet again, Wizard." and took off amongst the grassy hills, leaving Harry staring down at the sparking embers of the campfires below blow away in the breeze, just like the life he once had. 

A/N: So that is the first chapter, and if you read the other fic I posted about this story, it is going off the first choice. And Harry will not be without magic if anyone was wondering. I do not know when the next chapter will be finished, but I don't plan to go on hiatus either. Thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Also Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Seconds turned to minutes, and minutes turned to what felt like hours. And Harry still remained on his knees, looking down at the camp below. More fires had been lit, the laughing and cheering had enhanced to new heights, and the smell of what he thought to be alcohol drafted to where he remained. Harry's eyes were never really good to begin with, hence his large glasses, but if he squinted the outlines of a few men standing vigil on the perimeter would be visible to him.

The sensation of being in a new environment coupled with the knowledge that Privet Drive was long gone caused a whirlwind of motion to swirl around within his head. On one hand, there were no more Dursley's. They were not around to degrade him, to make him their whipping boy, no more confining him to a small cupboard every day. But the only place he had to live was gone as well. Living in the cupboard was horrid, sure, but it still held a small comfort to Harry. Out of everything in Privet Drive, the cupboard was the one place that had been his own.

And then there was-this place. Harry didn't even know what to call it yet. All he knew was that it made no sense. A skeleton knight, disembodied voices, all this talk of fate and destiny, and now a scene that looked like it was plucked from one of the stories of King Arthur and Camelot. The absolute one thing he knew for certain was that he was alone. "Heh," Harry let out a scratchy half laugh as his throat and eyes suddenly felt very hot. Alone. Maybe this wasn't all that different from Privet Drive.

Running a hand through his already messy black hair, Harry closed his eyes and took a calming breath. He took another. And another. He kept that up until he felt his eyes and throat begin to relax. There was no point in crying over this, was there? It wasn't really even up to him to begin with. It was that Skull Knight. Where had he gone off to anyways? Looking over his shoulder, Harry saw no trace that the mysterious figure had left behind, other than his rather cryptic message.

Sighing Harry hung his head low with disappointment. rrrroow. Harry's stomach rumbled. Not surprising, he hadn't eaten all day; not at all like Dudley who was back at Privet Drive, probably stuffing his face full of candy this very minute. Harry spared another glace down at the encampment. Would they give him food if he asked for it? The people down there had been drinking, that much was obvious. And if they had been drinking they might act like Uncle Vernon, and even sober the man was a pain to be around.

Should he-steal some?

No! What was he thinking? If they were friendly and he stole from them, then that would make him a thief, plain and simple. Besides, he's been hungrier than this before, no need to try and steal food. As if to disagree, his stomach rumbled again.

"Quiet," Harry said to his stomach. Another rumble. He sighed once more. As he waited for the rumbling to recede. "Alright," Harry relented. He didn't like it, but what other choice did he have? He didn't know how to hunt for food, and he didn't have the faintest idea what direction the nearest town was in. "But only a little food." He didn't need a lot, just a little. Once he had that he would come back up here. After that he would probably have to follow the camp back to a town. And maybe then he could find out more about where he was.

As silently as he could, Harry made his way down the hill and towards the camp perimeter. The lack of light proved to be bit of a curse as Harry found himself hugging the side of a tent to avoid two hidden sentries. Both of them were dressed in medieval armor, and half helms upon their heads and they carried pikes but had crossbows hanging from their backs. They seemed to be having a conversation with each other.

"Huh? Just what kind of question is that?" One asked.

"Just curious, is all. Now c'mon who do you think would win; our soldiers, or the Black Dog Knights?"

"Us, of course," the one answered. "With Captain Guts, Big Sis Casca, and Griffith on our side we'd show those Black Dogs that they're just puppies at heart."

Once Harry was sure that they hadn't seen him, he clung to the side of the tent tightly and moved along. When he reached the flap he hazarded a peek inside. It was empty of people but full of barrels. Just a quick sniff told Harry that there was no food inside. Instead it smelled like some of the drinks Aunt Petunia had served to the neighbors. Wine. He closed the tent flap and quietly made his way over to the next tent.

This tent had a light coming from inside, and because of that Harry was able to discern the shape of a person inside from their silhouette. Not this one, Harry easily decided moving once again to the next tent over.

Before he got the chance to peek inside this one, a loud cheer was coming from around another tent. Acting fast, Harry ducked around another corner to avoid being spotted. A group of guys walked past. Some wore armor, but some had changed into basic clothing consisting of torn shirts and worn breeches. The man walking in front of the rest was one of the largest Harry had ever seen. It looked as if he possessed the upper body strength of a rhinoceros. Some gauze was tied around his bicep and around his head of short spiky black hair. He carried an over large great sword which he currently now rested across his shoulder. If Harry had to guess, this man could probably lift Uncle Vernon up by his neck with one hand!

"Let's hear it again for Captain Guts!" One of the men cheered. "Fiercest raider in all of the Band of Hawk!"

"Save it for the toast, Gaston!" another man lightly jested. "Tonight we drink to a job well done!" That earned another cheer from the group of men. Harry watched as they went inside the tent he had been at previously. Talk about timing.

With those men out of sight, Harry took a quick peek inside the next tent. Much to his delight this one was also full of barrels, and none smelled of wine or alcohol this time. Like a cat, Harry tiptoed inside and opened one of the barrels. Tomatoes. He opened another. Potatoes. Another. Cucumbers, garlic, apples, food. He found it!

He grabbed two apples, as well as a tomato. It wasn't much by any means, but it was more than the leftover scraps he would get from the Dursley's, and he knew it would certainly be enough to satisfy his stomach for the rest of the night and in to morning. Or maybe even midday if he saved some for later.

Harry pulled the tent flap open, and then shut it just as fast as someone came walking past. They kept walking, so Harry assumed that they hadn't seen him about to exit just then, something he was thankful for. That didn't mean it still hadn't given him a heart attack though. "It's okay," Harry assured him. "Just make it back. That's it." Making his way out of the tent, more cheering filled the air.

"Hey, Judeau! Show us that knife trick of yours!"

"Again, Corkus?"

"Not all the boys got a chance to see it last time! C'mon, y'know ya want to."

"...Alright, alright. Which trick was it?"

"Y'know, the one where you stab it between your finger without getting cut."

"Mm. Alright, now watch closely."

Whatever they were doing, the cheering began to intensify, as well as the sound of a knife poking a wooden table over and over again. That actually spelled good news for Harry. With the men distracted he could slip out nice and easy- "Oof!" Harry looked up at what he had walked into, or rather who.

It was the large muscle man from before, and as he stared down at Harry, he was able to take in the sight of all the scars that lined the man's exposed arms as well as a rather distinct scar that lay horizontal on the bridge of his nose. He looked even bigger and imposing than before, and the sword only added to that image.

"So, just what the hell are you doing here?"   
\-----------------------------------

Headmasters office, Hogwarts, Midnight-

The night had been going perfectly well. Albus Dumbledore had enjoyed the Halloween feast along with his staff and students. The House Elves had seemed to take on the challenge of one upping their meal from last year. The students, as well as the Wizarding World as a whole had been looking forward to Halloween considering it was one of the most magical times of the year. He however could not help but feel that despite all of the celebrations going on, that there was something off.

The first thing that came to memory was the fact that this was the anniversary of that night. The night when Voldemort murdered James and Lily Potter just to get at their infant son. Everyone in the magical community knew that story, it was one of the most infamous since Grindlewalds fall from power decades ago. It was the night Harry Potter became The-Boy-Who-Lived.

This feeling was different than mourning the loss of friends. No one at Hogwarts had said anything, but that did not mean that something was amiss. And Dumbledore could honestly say that he was stumped as to what it could be. It was just like some invisible veil in the air, like it had always been there, but was just now showing its presence. For as many positions Dumbledore held within the magical community, a religious seat was not among them; but if he did, he would have compared the feeling to being watched by some god from above.

It had him on edge. And rightfully so when some of the many ornate instruments that lined his office started to zip, twirl, flip, and fizz in many a bizarre manner. Checking to see which instruments were going off, the Hogwarts Headmaster was startled to see they were the ones that monitored the wards around Number 4 Privet Drive.

Harry! Dumbledore frantically thought as he rushed over to Fawkes' perch. The phoenix perked up at his approach and flew over to his outstretched arm. "Fetch Minerva and Severus at once!" He instructed. With a nod of his head, Fawkes flew straight into the fireplace and disappeared in a ball of flame.

In the short time that it would take both professors to floo to his office, Dumbledore began to pace back and forth, scenario after scenario playing in his mind's eye. He thought about remaining Death Eaters looking to exact revenge for their fallen master, but he countered that with the fact that the blood wards would have prevented an attack such as that. But the ward detector had been one of his instruments going off not a minute ago. Had Lucius Malfoy somehow used his influence to track down Harry's location and have a curse breaker remove the wards? No. Until Harry attended Hogwarts his address would be kept secret on the Hogwarts ledger. Had Harry perhaps run away from the home? Granted he knew firsthand from Minerva's report that the Dursley family was less than idea, but they were still the only family Harry had left. The treatment couldn't have been that drastic. Could it?

Dumbledore silently berated himself. For all of his wisdom, he was still as prone to hindsight as anyone else. The headmaster was broken from his ruminations by a green glow from within his fireplace to reveal his Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall wearing her trademark green robe. Another flash of green flame and his Potions Master, Severus Snape emerged. Dressed in all black robes and wearing a face of indifference.

"The hour is awfully late, Albus," McGonagall was quick to point out. "What was of such great importance?"

"I am curious as well, Headmaster," Snape said with a drawl. "Surely there was no late night prank by one of our students. My Slytherin's are all accounted for. But I wouldn't put it past those Weasley twins."

"This is far more concerning than a prank, Severus." Dumbledore dismissed the assumption. "We are to floo to Arabella Figg's home. A situation has arisen."

McGonagall looked flabbergasted for a split second, before changing to determination. She was the first to grab a handful of floo powder and toss it into the soot filled fireplace. Dumbledore followed quickly after and allowed the green flames to consume him. The floor felt as if it gave out beneath him, but he kept his expression as neutral as he could as he felt his feet touch solid ground once more as he now stood in a living room where cats of all different breeds lounged about.

"Albus?" Figg asked as she saw him materialize inside of her home. "What's this all about? Your headmistress was already out my front door before I could ask what was-," the fireplace sprouted green flames once more, and the Potions Master stepped out. "Three of you?!" Figg began again. "Albus, what in heaven is going on?"

"I will explain in good time, Arabella," Dumbledore assured her as he headed out of her door. "Something is not right tonight." With a pace that was surprising for a man his age, Dumbledore strode across the street to where the Dursley's resided. Minerva was already at the front door and had begun to knock.

"The holiday is over!" a man's voice called from the other side of the door. "We've no more candy!" Minerva persisted and knocked even harder. "Do you have any bloody idea what hour it is!" the man shouted once more, he sounded closer this time. Dumbledore heard a lock being undone. "If you keep banging on my door I'll call the-," Vernon Dursely stopped his would be rant when he saw the three Wizards standing on his doorstep. So the Dursley's were unharmed; that was good. It cut the chance that Death Eaters had taken Harry.

"Good night to you, Vernon," Dumbledore said keeping a good job at keeping the panic out of his voice. "May we come in?"

Vernon stood there with his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he began to sputter. "Wha… you… any idea… bloody… no! No! No! No! No! NO! You've come for him haven't you?!" Vernon pointed an accusing finger between the three of them. "You've come to take him off that-that school for freaks, haven't you?!"

"That isn't how our acceptance system works," Dumbledore replied evenly. "We were stopping by to check up on Harry. To make sure that he is well and-,"

"I won't allow it!" Vernon bellowed. "It was enough that we took the boy in when we did; we've given him a roof over his head and have lived our lives as best we can without any of your people interfering!"

"Vernon, who is it?" a woman's voice asked. When her husband did not answer within a few seconds, Petunia Dursley came into view holding a glass of warm milk. As soon as she saw who was there her glass shattered on the floor. Her eyes instantly locked onto Severus. "YOU!"

Hello, Petunia," Snape greeted with a sneer. "You look…," he took in her horse like appearance, "…the same as ever."

"They've come for him, Petunia!" Vernon told his wife. "They've come to teach the boy magic!"

"We only wish to speak to young Harry," Dumbledore tried his best to assure the couple. "And I don't personally believe it would bode well if your neighbors were to see individuals such as ourselves visiting at this late an hour." Dumbledore knew he had struck a chord with that one. Petunia's eyes instantly widened as she poked her head out the threshold to see if anyone she knew was watching.

"…You just want to check on the boy?" Petunia hesitantly asked. Dumbledore nodded.

"Petunia!" Vernon hissed.

"They won't leave until they do, Vernon." Petunia admitted allowing them entry. "Wait in the living room. I'll… fetch him for you."

"No need," Dumbledore told her. "I just need to make sure that Harry is here is all. If he is asleep there is no need to wake him. May we go upstairs?" The two Dursley's paled.

"…he doesn't sleep upstairs," Petunia said. She opened the cupboard that was under the stairs. Pushing down the feelings of anger that were starting to bubble up, Dumbledore strode forward and looked inside. Cobwebs adorned the space that was large enough only for a small mattress, which contained no sleeping child.

Minerva saw the site as well and rounded on the couple ready to release her ire upon them. "WHY YOU VINDICTIVE CUN-!"

"Minerva!" Dumbledore kept his voice clear, yet firm. As angry as she was at the two now terrified Dursley's, she could not be blinded by rage. "If you would, go outside and make sure the wards are still in place." He didn't leave that as a suggestion.

Fuming, McGonagall turned on her heels and stormed outside. "Severus, would you please keep an eye on our hosts?"

"Of course," Severus drawled once again ushering the two in the living room where he had them sit. Vernon did not appear being told to sit in his own home. Dumbledore meanwhile focused his attention back to the cupboard. How could this have happened? He should have paid a visit here much sooner than tonight. Minerva had been right all along. He drew his wand. There was no erasing what was already done, but he could still do his best to find Harry.

He muttered a string on incantations, moving his wand all over the cupboard space. Magic, no matter what kind always leaves traces. If this happened to be a case of an accidental apparition, then it would be easy to pick up. The challenge in that was figuring out where he had gone, or if he had gotten spliced along the way. Getting no response from apparition, Dumbledore shifted focus with his incantations to more outside forces. This time the result was much more responsive. A faint green glow appeared for only a second before fading as quickly as it had come.

Whatever had happened to Harry, he was a long ways away now. The question now, was where?

Harry walked silently in front of the muscular man, who guided him through the camp. They passed by many different men, some wearing armor, some not, but they all appeared to be drinking something or other. It looked like they were celebrating a great victory or something.   
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"This way," the man said pointing to their left where a larger than average tent was pitched. It was easily two or three times larger than the others, and two banners hung on poled from either side of the flap. It was the design of a sword with wings coming out of the side. Harry's eyes widened. He had seen that same design before. It had been while he was having that dream.

"Hey!" The man all but snapped at him. "Quit staring already, c'mon." Swallowing a lump in his throat, Harry wordlessly followed behind. The swordsman pulled the flap open and made sure Harry went through first before following him in.

Inside was lit by two braziers as well as some candles that rested on a table in the center of the tent. Two people currently stood around the table looking over a map. The first was a woman with mocha skin and silky black hair that she kept short, just above her ears and wearing an armor breastplate and men's breeches. The second person was someone Harry wasn't even sure was real.

They had pale skin, with long snow-white hair and piercing blue eyes. The armor they wore was white and silver, slender and elegant. The helm rested on the table, it was circular and designed in the shape of a bird of prey. A hawk. Harry thought them to be a girl at first until they turned to acknowledge the two new presences and he saw that although the features were soft and feminine, there was an underlying masculinity to be found as well. But looking at all three of them together, Harry was surprised by how young they were. They had to be in their late teens at least, maybe no more than nineteen at the most.

"Ah, Guts," the white-haired one greeted the swordsman. His voice was soft, but still had a firmness to it that gave it authority.

The swordsman, Guts, replied. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Harry saw the woman looked a bit annoyed with the addition of Guts.

"Actually, Griffith and I were just going over the strategy." She told Guts. "Seeing as you got injured, again, we decided to revise it. If you keep acting recklessly then you'll… who is that?" she stopped her verbal berating to take in Harry's presence.

"That's why I'm here," Guts told her. "Found him sneaking out of our storage. With these." He placed the food Harry took on the table. Three sets of eyes now stared at him. Whenever this had happened with the Dursely's he knew exactly what to expect from them. Petunia would berate him with verbal assault, Uncle Vernon was more hands-on discipline, and Dudley was a mix of the two of them. But for these people, Harry really had no idea what to expect.

"I'm sorry!" Harry shouted. "I didn't want to steal your food, I was just hungry. I… I was lost and didn't know where to go and… I'm sorry." His apology probably wouldn't mean anything to them. And the anxiety of what was going to happen to him took hold, when the one clad in white armor, Griffith, came and knelt down so he was at eye level.

"You snuck into our camp to steal this?" Griffith held up one of the apples.

Harry averted his eyes. "…Yes."

Griffith wore a mask of pure indifference as he studied Harry, and then did something none of them were expecting. He chuckled. It wasn't a sarcastic or condescending chuckle. No, it was a pure, innocent, childlike chuckle. It was so unexpected Harry looked at him in surprise.

Chuckling some more Griffith said, "It looks like we have the making of a master thief before our eyes. Right, Casca?" The girl composed herself.

"Griffith, he could be-," Griffith stopped her with a smile. A childlike smile that seemed impossible for a knight like him.

"I think if he were a Chuder spy, he would have looked to stealing information or lives instead of food." Griffith smiled at Harry. "It's a little rude that we keep talking about you without even knowing your name, don't you think?"

"Um…" Harry had not been expecting this. Screaming, yes. Threatening, yes. Torture, maybe. But not to be dismissed as just being a kid.

"Would you e more at ease if we introduced ourselves first?" Griffith asked. "My name is Griffith, leader of the Bank of the Hawk. This here is Casca," he gestured to the girl, "my second in command. And Guts." The swordsman briefly glanced at Harry.

"…I'm Harry." Griffith took the second apple from the table.

"And I take it you're also hungry?" He handed Harry an apple. Harry accepted it but did not bite into it. "Something wrong?" Griffith asked, taking a bite out of the other apple. "They really are in season."

Putting it to his mouth, Harry took a bite. The faint rumble of his stomach somewhat receded as he swallowed, but soon demanded more sustenance. He took another bite. And then another. Griffith chuckled again.

"I don't think I've seen horses eat apples that fast. You really were hungry." Harry bashfully nodded.

"I really am sorry," Harry apologized once more. "I shouldn't have stolen from you."

"So what are we going to do with him?" Guts asked looking at Harry from the corner of his eye causing the boy to pale once more.

"Hm," Griffith stood up and put a finger to his chin. "I have a few ideas in mind." He looked down to Harry. "Nothing bad I assure you. But you have to choose one. Would you like to hear them?" He could actually feel his heartbeat against his ribcage. Griffith said he wasn't going to do anything bad, but was going to let him choose what was going to happen. "Three choices for three pieces of food. Does that sound fair?"

Griffith was a complete stranger. Harry's school teachers had always hammered it into his head that you shouldn't trust strangers no matter what. But Griffith also seemed so… childlike. From the way he smiled and the way he laughed, it was like a child was made taller and put into a suit of armor. But when Griffith stood up it was like he had matured. He was giving Harry a choice, talking to him almost as if they had known each other from some time before.

Harry nodded. "…alright."

A/N: So that is the second chapter. What do you think the three choices will be? Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

A faint ghost of a smile moved across Griffith's pale face. "Very well. The first choice I offer you is this; since you are clearly away from your home I'd be able to spare you a horse so that you may travel back to where you are from."

"I... don't know how to ride," Harry confessed. The Dursley's had gone horseback riding one time over the summer, but they had left him with Ms. Figg and her litter of cats. He had seen the pictures later on and it looked like the pony Dudley had been riding could hardly support his weight. The same could even be said for his uncle.

Griffith looked as if he had been expecting that response. "Not everyone does. But, that does lead to your second choice. To have a few riders take you back to your village."

"My ho-," Harry paused and corrected himself, "-village, it-it isn't around anymore."

Casca blinked in recognition. "Your an orphan of war, aren't you?"

"My parents died in an accident when I was a baby," Harry told her, recalling the story Aunt Petunia had told him when he had once asked where his parents were. "I had to live with my aunt and uncle after. And after... some things happened, I ended up here." It wasn't a lie, not really. His parents had died in an accident, he had lived with his relatives, and he could not go back to where they were now.

"Hm. I see." Griffith contemplated Harry's words. "Then that leaves you with the third option, doesn't it?" Strangely enough, both Casca and Guts seemed a bit curious as to what Griffith was going to offer next."

"Griffith," Casca said. "You aren't actually going to offer him-,"

"A chance to travel with us back to the capital." Griffith settled on. Casca visibly relaxed and seemed satisfied with the option, and Guts remained stoic and impassive. "We ride out at first light tomorrow. And seeing as how you can't ride on your own, you'd have to either ride in a wagon or with one of our men."

It certainly seemed the best choice out of all of them, but there was the question of, "What would I do in the capital?" Harry asked. He doubted that it would be anything like London, not that he had ever been, but still.

"Since you've said you don't have a family, you'd probably end up in an orphanage," Guts bluntly stated. Harry inwardly cringed. Uncle Vernon's sister, Aunt Marge, would always say that if he had ended up on her doorstep she would have sent him to an orphanage. And if that was the worst thing Aunt Marge could think up then it couldn't be good news.

"That, or try and become an apprentice," Casca offered. "There are smith's there that could use an extra pair of hands."

"Couldn't have said it better," Griffith smiled to the both of them. "They may not be much, but those are your choices."

It didn't even really feel like a choice at the moment. The third one was his best bet seeing as he had nothing else, but then what? Become another face in an orphanage? Or maybe a child of the street seeking to survive by any means? Being an apprentice could be alright. At least that way there would be someone to look out for him.

"I... guess I have to pick the last one." Griffith nodded.

"I understand. I can't guarantee you that it will be ideal, but it will be better than surviving out here I wager." Griffith turned to Casca. "Would you be willing to offer our guest a spot in your tent? He'll need an extra bedroll of course."

Casca seemed hesitant."...Of course, Griffith. Follow me then." She turned him back to the way he had entered and led him back out. Guts watched her depart and turned to Griffith.

"Do you really buy that story he was putting out?" Guts asked. The boy had sounded scared when first addressing them, it was to be expected, but it was almost like he was holding back on some parts.

"I believe he was telling the truth," Griffith answered, "from a certain point of view."

"Kinda like he didn't believe it all himself." Guts further supplied.

"Exactly."

"And you're hoping Casca might be able to get more out of him?" Guts guessed.

"Her loyalty and judgment have never been called to question before," Griffith told him. "If she feels up to the task that is her call to make."

Guts shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. For all of her nagging, she knows how to do her job right." That caused Griffith to chuckle.

"You two still get along like a house on fire, I see."

Guts gave a small roll with his eyes, not that Griffith seemed to mind. "I think she was honestly worried there for a second." Griffith gave a tilt of his head, seemingly confused. "She probably thought you were going to offer him a spot in the Hawks."

"Oh. While the prospect of more soldiers is always a welcome one, I'm not quite sure we could trust him with a burden like that."

"Because he was stealing?" Guts asked.

"No," Griffith said. "Because of what we were just discussing, his story. There's not a doubt in my mind that he was indeed alone, looking at the state of his clothes was proof enough. He didn't have that look of a child who had seen war. You know firsthand how battles can get. If the time came, would he be willing to take a life to save his own? Would he be willing to die for a cause bigger than himself?"

"Hm." Guts mulled it over. That was Griffith for you. If you thought he was going to do something, he would surprise you and do what you wouldn't expect. Any other leader would have taken the boys hands for stealing, and Griffith smiles at him and offers him a choice. Other mercenaries would see value in child soldiers. Gambino, Guts thought before quickly pushing the memory away. Griffith saw how his men would play into his dream. The dream of having his own kingdom and the path he would take to get there. "Can't argue on that one."

Griffith smiled. "Enough talk about such things. The night is still young, why don't you go celebrate with your men?"

Guts nodded. "Won't be much celebration as it is supervision. Gaston is probably already shit-faced and if he and Cassian get into it all the other raiders will want to get in on the action as well."

"Well if that's the case then they'll need their fearless leader to straighten them out, won't they?"

"That is if they're still sober enough to listen to reason."

"Yet another challenge to overcome," Griffith lightly joked as the two of them exited the command tent to walk among the celebrating Hawks.

Standing off to the side, Harry watched as Casca lay down an extra bedroll for him within her tent. It didn't look all that comfortable, in fact, it was more or less the same size as the mattress he had in his cupboard, but leaning a bit more toward the larger side of things. There was no pillow, just an additional fabric sewed onto the piece that stuck out of the folded sheet. Harry would say it looked like a very early version of a sleeping bag. Fitting seeing they were in a tent.

It was nowhere near as big as the command tent had been, but it was still of modest size. "You'll probably want to sleep," Casca told him, standing over her own bedroll. "We have an early start tomorrow so it's best to get some rest."

Giving a small nod, he knelt down and was prepared to throw the cover over himself when he caught sight of Casca staring at him. Had he done something wrong? "Are you really going to sleep in those?" She indicated the over sized clothes. That's what was bothering her, his clothes?

"Well- I've done it before. Lots of times." Harry told her. It was no big deal really. Casca, however, did not seem too satisfied.

"Stay here," she commanded before exiting her tent. after about a minute or two, Casca returned. She carried two pieces of clothing with her; a white tunic and a pair of tan breeches. She tossed them to Harry. "Here, try those on."

He held them up to examine them but made no move to get undressed. "Look, if you're uncomfortable just face away from me and change," Casca instructed. "There's nothing for you to be nervous about, you've made your choice of what you wanted to do."

Slowly, Harry faced away from her. He shrugged off Dudley's over sized button down, and the stained tee shirt underneath. He lifted the tunic onto himself and found to his surprise, it fit much better than his previous garments. Next came the trousers. after quickly dropping his own pants, he put on the new ones. They felt- nice. Comfortable even. Sure they had a few holes and were a little big on him, but it was still a better fit than before.

"Thank you," Harry said. He wanted to sound grateful, but not too enthusiastic, but it ended up sounding a bit flat. They were the first clothes that hadn't been worn by Dudley previously.

"Don't thank me," Casca told him. "Those belong to another boy here, Rickert. He's got a similar build to you and is only a few years older too. You're eleven, right?"

"Almost ten and a half," Harry admitted.

"Really?" She asked, and he nodded. "That's awfully young to be out on your own. You must have been wandering for some time given the state of your clothes."

"Not too long," said Harry. Again, it wasn't really a lie. "They belonged to my cousin, Dudley."

She held up the over sized tee shirt. "He seems... well rounded." Harry tried to suppress a laugh, but couldn't.

"I guess."

Casca nodded and put the shirt back into the pile of Harry's old clothes. "Sleep in Rickert's clothes. They fit you better, and it's cold out tonight." Casca undid the straps on her breastplate and armguards and set them down next to her own bedroll. She slid off her boots until she was dressed in just a dark pink tunic and brown breeches. She climbed into hastily set up sleep space.

"Try and get some sleep now," she told him. "Like I said, we have an early day tomorrow." Harry climbed inside his own bedroll.

"Alright." He removed his glasses and set them on the open grass to the left of his head. He shut his eyes. The cheering from outside the tent died down just enough for Harry to feel sleep's embrace coming for him, only to have the noise pick right back up again and snap him back to being awake. this cycle continued for what felt like hours when it was probably only a half.

How was Casca dealing with the noise? Harry turned his head to look over at the tents other occupant. Casca slept on her back, seemingly unfazed, or just used to the noise caused by her fellow soldiers. But it was a flicker of firelight from outside the tent that he saw. One of Casca's dark eyes was open just enough that she kept his form in her sights. It was almost as if she expected him to try to sneak out in the middle of the night.

Harry quickly rolled over in the small roll to face away from her gaze. Maybe that's why Griffith wanted him to be in her tent. Because he knew that she wouldn't fall asleep until he was. And it worked.

Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office,

A half empty bottle of Fire Whiskey sat on Dumbledore's desk and an empty glass rested in the headmaster's hand. While Dumbledore was nowhere as young as he had once been, the recent disappearance of Harry Potter had him feeling fifty years plus what he actually was. It had been a while since he had a drink, and nothing Madam Rosmerta had was strong enough. He actually had his brother send him the bottle.

Perhaps he shouldn't have drunk as much as he did. Because if the alcohol wasn't giving him a headache, Minerva was doing a good job of seeing it done.

"And you say you have no idea how this could have happened?" Minerva kept her tone level, but Dumbledore could tell that she was going to snap sooner or later. And judging by the way her mouth was as thin as a line, it was going to be sooner.

Severus stood to the side, watching the deputy headmistress pace about the office keeping his face as unreadable as possible. Dumbledore was glad Severus had been much more level-headed than his second in command, but seeing as the matter pertained to James Potter's son might have had something to do with it. There was no love to be found between Severus and James, but Severus had done all that was instructed by him. Probably more for the memory of Lily than anything else.

"It has been two days, Albus," Minerva reminded him. "And you have not found any results?"

"Exactly," Severus spoke. "It has only been two days. Not even a wizard as powerful as the Headmaster would be able to come across all the results in that time. If you truly want to see Potter returned then you must have patience."

"I am not asking for all the results, Severus." Minerva lowered her voice when addressing the head of Slytherin. "I only ask for one. Just enough for us to go off so that we know what we're dealing with."

"You trust Dumbledore's abilities do you not?" Severus asked her. "And if you do, you will allow him to continue his search in private."

Minerva narrowed her eyes at the man. "You are in no rush are you, Professor Snape?" Her tone shifted once more, this time sounding closer to snapping. "Just because he is the son of James you would let your hatred for his father cloud your judgment of the boy?"

Dumbledore raised his wrinkled hands to stop an argument from breaking out. "That is enough. Arguing amongst ourselves will only set us back from finding young Harry, not progress it."

"Albus, we cannot find the boy if we are not all working to the same end," Minerva sent a small glare Severus' way.

"Please, Minerva." Dumbledore tried to calm her. "The only thing that I've been able to find in that short time frame has been a theory. One of my own design." Both professors looked at him expectantly. "Merlin."

"Merlin, Albus?" Minerva asked, confused. "What does Merlin have to do with any of this?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat before continuing. "In the height of his power, Merlin essentially gained an understanding of all layers of magic. So much so that he believed different worlds to-overlap in a lack of better words. On days of strong magical importance, such as Halloween, Merlin believed the veil between layers to be at its weakest. He was rumored to have traveled to one of those other words when visiting Stonehenge. It is considered a crackpot theory by the Ministry but, When has magic ever truly made sense?"

Light poured over the grassy green hills as The Band of the Hawk began to pack up camp and saddle up for their journey back to the capital, Windham. Any leftover campfires were stamped out before the men donned their armor and other equipment. Guts sheathed his great sword behind his back and clasped his cape to his armor.

He caught sight of Griffith, already fully armored and patrolling around the camp on horseback. Casca was just putting her armguards on while the boy, Harry, stood off to her side watching her do so. It looked like Casca had given him some of Rickert's clothes in place of those oversized rags he had worn before.

"Sleep well?" Guts asked her. She sent a small glare his way.

"No thanks to your men. They were up until midmorning cheering."

"I told them to keep it down," Guts told her.

"Maybe do a better job of it next time." Casca practically snapped at him. Guts was about to retaliate but remembered she had essentially got stuck babysitting all night. She was probably looking for somebody to argue with because of it.

"I'll keep that in mind." Guts said to her before walking away to saddle up his horse.

Once Guts mounted his steed he reined his horse over to his fellow raiders. They were to be near the front of the formation, just behind Griffith and Casca. Once all the men had saddled up and the gear all packed into the back of wagons, Griffith led the band Northwest, back to Windham. As he moved his horse up to the front of the formation he saw the Hawks youngest member, Rickert, sitting in the back of an open end carriage alongside Harry. The boy seemed more at ease around a kid his age.

"Thank you for lending me these clothes," Guts heard Harry say to Rickert.

"Of course!" Rickert excitedly told him. "It isn't often I get to see other kids. I'm only twelve, going on thirteen. What about you?"

"Ten. Going on eleven though."

"That's neat!"

Guts spurred his mount once more and managed to fall behind Griffith on the left while Casca took the right. One look at Casca told Guts she was still a bit peeved about the noise his men had made, but she would get over it soon enough. Griffith would thank her for keeping watch on the boy for the night and she would forget about it soon after.

"Glad you could join us," Griffith smiled from behind his rounded hawk-like helm. The band followed behind them. Guts nodded in acknowledgment. Casca gave a small, but a begrudging nod to Guts as well. "We'll be passing through a short valley of small hills. Chuder forces are cleared from this area after our last victory, but it's also an ideal place for bandits to strike."

"Do you need me to scout ahead?" Casca volunteered.

"No," Griffith told her. "Let Judeau."

"Of course, Griffith." Casca nodded obediently and directed her horse to move back to relay the order to their fellow soldier. Not long after, Guts saw the blonde haired man lead a group of seven mounted men ahead of the formation and into the shallow valley path. Griffith gave the signal for the formation to slow their march. They would await Judeau's signal before they advanced.

"He won't find anything," Guts heard the voice of Corkus say to Rickert and by extent, Harry as well. Their wagon had caught up close to the front of the formation. "After our victory in this area, no one would be stupid enough to try and raid us. From here on its smooth riding back to Windham, and to all those brothel girls too."

Corkus always had been a bit too arrogant when it came to the might of the Band of the Hawk. Like when Guts had been a lone mercenary. He and a few others had tried to rob him and most wound up dead or mutilated. If Griffith hadn't intervened, Corkus would probably be dead.

As if to just spike Corkus' good mood, a horn was blown.

Whaaaaaa! Whaaaaaa! Whaaaaaaaa!

Three blasts. Danger ahead.

Guts put his helm on and drew his sword. Griffith and Casca drew theirs as well. Judeau and his team were spotted riding over one of the hills, armed with crossbows they fired off their bolts at a band of enemy riders dressed in gray armor and tattered brown capes. Some of the bolts found their mark and the enemy riders fell dead from their mounts. One of the one bandits pulled out a horn of their own and gave forth a long bellow.

Soon enough, the hills were alive with the shouts and jeering of other bandits as they rushed down to ambush the Hawks.

"Raiders, with me!" Guts yelled as he spurred his horse to cover the left flank. One of the bandits rushed Guts, and before he could raise his sword, Guts had already brought his down. Bone, blood, and brains stained the green grass below as Guts pulled his sword free and cut another bandit across the chest. Guts' sword cut through the man's armor like butter.

"On the captain!" Gaston cheered the other Raiders forward as well.

Trying to get the advantage over him, two bandits charged Guts from the sides. As they both swung their sword in horizontal arcs, Guts acted fast and ducked underneath their swings and ending up behind them. And with a single swing from his sword, Guts took the head of one and the upper torso of the other.

More bandits came to him, but with the addition of Guts' Raiders, they were able to trap a portion of them in a circular formation and begin to pick them off. Blood splattered across Guts' helm as his sword disemboweled yet another bandit. Sparing a glance toward the center of the Hawks formation, Guts saw that Casca and her men were taking care of the right flank.

She moved similarly to Griffith on her horse. She would wait until the enemy swung at her before moving inside the strike to cut the throat. A decent number of bandits lay before her horses' hooves.

Judeau and his scouts had met up with Pippin, the largest member of the Hawks, and were forming a defense along the wagons. Rickert still sat in the back of one of the wagons, but he was working on loading crossbows and handing them out to Corkus' troops. It looked like he was telling Harry how to do so as well.

Griffith had taken a handful of men and was now pushing forward. His strikes precise and deadly, his sword cut not only the neck but also at the chinks in the armor. Blood would spurt from the wounds and the riders would fall from their horses not long after. The only blood that stained Griffith's white and silver armor was that of the enemy.

And that's when Gut's saw it, a lone crossbowman sat mounted on a small hill with Griffith in his sights. Without a second to lose, Guts charged forth, cutting down two, three, four more bandits; paying no attention to the cuts he had just received on his already scared forearms. All that mattered now was killing that Bowman before he shot Griffith.

Thunk!

A crossbow bolt now protruded from the bandit's neck. Guts turned to where it had been fired and saw a very green faced looking Harry sitting in the back of the wagon, holding a crossbow Rickert had handed to him.

Griffith looked to the dead bandit as well and then to Harry. He must have connected the dots. For when Guts rode down to meet with his leader he saw from behind the helm, a look upon Griffith's flawless face. And Guts knew that Griffith's opinion of Harry had changed in that moment.

A/N: So that's the third chapter, Thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed, and reviewed so far. Chapter 4 will be out as soon as possibl


	4. Chapter 4

A/N Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

From strength in numbers and a masterful counterattack formation, the Hawks were able to pick off any last stragglers of the bandits. From the back of the wagon Harry saw Guts cut down at least three more men as he met up with Griffith who gave the former a reassuring nod. Griffith might be fine, but Harry was experiencing quite a different feeling. His hands shook, still holding the crossbow and remained pointed at where the one bandit had once been. Barely even a minute ago, he had taken his first life.

The eyes of the man he had just killed were wide open, but stared lifelessly up towards the vast blue sky. A pool of thick red blood was seeping out of his neck and starting to stain the green grass below. It was a sickening sight and it took Harry every ounce of his willpower not to throw up at the sight, which despite its gruesome nature, seemed impossible to turn away from. But it was the knowing that he was the one to cause such a sight that truly caused a whirlwind of emotion to flood his head.

Killing was wrong. He and every other child had had that lesson embedded into their head at an early age. The cartoons that Dudley would watch would feature villains who tried to blow up the world, and the James Bond films that Uncle Vernon enjoyed always featured the bad guy as a murderer. And here he was, a boy of ten who just shot a man with a bolt. Did that make him as evil as a villain?

But he had done it to save somebody.

He had saved Griffith, hadn't he? Someone was alive because he acted.

But Griffith was also a stranger. And Harry saw Griffith cut down some of the men attacking as well. He was a killer too.

But, they were the one's under attack. Didn't that mean they had a right to defend themselves? And Griffith might be a stranger, but he was also nice to Harry, giving a choice of what he wanted to do when he easily couldn't have. He had killed to save.

How though?

How was it that he, a boy who never even held a crossbow before today, was able to hit a man on his first shot? The only thing Rickert had shown him had been to load the weapon and pass it to the soldiers. Could he have picked it up from watching them? He must've, it wasn't anything too complicated; just point and shoot. So why didn't he believe that? Maybe it had to do with Griffith. Harry had shot just before Griffith's would be killer would have; in some strange way it was like an unseen force had guided Harry's aim just right so Griffith wouldn't die.

"...some transcendental entity that governs all..." Harry vaguely recalled the vast void like voice from when the Skull Knight had taken him. Could it be that-?

A hand was placed on his shoulder, an act which partially snapped Harry out of his thoughtful trance. Looking back, Harry saw it belonged to a young blonde haired youth with some freckles decorating his nose and cheeks. A bandolier of throwing knives was strapped across his chest. Rickert seemed to recognize him right away.

"Judeau!" The fellow blonde greeted. The youth now known as Judeau nodded to the boy.

"Glad to see you okay, Rickert." His voice was smooth and kind. "And you too. You're Harry, right?'

Harry in turn just nodded back. Now that he was broken from his trance Harry realized how dry his throat really was. Judeau seemed to pick up on it and handed him a pouch of water. Harry eagerly accepted and took a long uninterrupted sip.

"Th-thank you," Harry said, his voice sounding more than a little hoarse.

"Don't mention it," Judeau told him. "I saw what happened. It's not easy, especially for someone as young as you." Judeau then patted him on the shoulder in a reassuring manner. "But you have our thanks because of it."

"Yeah!" Rickert chimed in as well. "The first time it happened with me I threw up on Corkus' boots."

"What happened?" Harry asked, intrigued. It sounded like Rickert knew exactly how he was feeling right now.

"Almost exactly like yours," Rickert confessed. "I had a crossbow, and an enemy was coming right at me. I don't even remember looking when I fired, it just happened."

For what it was worth, it helped a little bit. From the short time he spent with Rickert in the back of the wagon Harry knew he wasn't a bad kid. Not once had he made fun of him like the kids Dudley was friends with like Piers. If anything he behaved the exact opposite; polite, well spoken, a bit shy but still easy to talk to.

"So, it was okay what I did?" Harry tentatively asked. Judeau had thanked him sure, but he didn't say it proudly.

"Killing? No," Judeau honestly told him. "But that doesn't mean that it wasn't wrong either."

"Huh?" Harry was confused.

"Hm, how can I put it?" Judeau asked himself. He pondered for a few seconds and snapped his fingers. "There are good people and bad people in the world right?" Harry nodded, understanding that much. "And sometimes good people do bad things, and vice versa right?" Another nod. "Well a good person can do a bad thing and still be good person, do you know why?"

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because as long as they acknowledge what they've done is wrong, and it wasn't easy for them to do, they still might be a good person."

"It wasn't easy," Harry said, more to him than to the two others. "Does that mean you think I'm a good person?"

Judeau smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Shooting a man to save someone you only just met, I think that speaks miles of your character." And for the briefest of moments, Harry allowed himself to smile back.

Wheeeeeeee!

One of the soldiers whistled, gaining Judeau's attention.

"C'mon, Judeau!" one of them shouted. "We still have to scout ahead!"

"Right." He turned to Harry before he left. "Duty calls I'm afraid. I'll check back once I return."

As Judeau departed another approached. This one all too familiar, decorated in their pure looking armor. Griffith removed his helm and let his mane of flowing white hair loose to billow slightly with a passing breeze.

"Well," Griffith began, "it has been an eventful morning now, hasn't it?"

Harry could only nod whilst Rickert watched them. His eyes holding nothing short of admiration at seeing Griffith. This time Griffith looked directly at Harry while speaking. "It would seem that I'm in your debt. I was just talking with Guts, he says it was you who killed my would be assailant, was he wrong?"

"No," Harry said, his tone a bit flat as the memory replayed in his head. "He wasn't."

"I thought not. Guts' battlefield instincts are unparalleled by any one of us here." Griffith seemed to speak with admiration at the large warrior who Harry noticed to be watching them from a distance. "But I'm also curious," he fixed Harry with an inquisitive stare, "How was it you were able to learn to shoot so quickly?"

"I was- actually wondering the same thing myself," Harry honestly told him. "I just-just shot at where he was. I didn't even think it would hit, but it was like-," Griffith was looking at him to finish that thought. "Like something had just guided my hand."

It felt like an eternity of being under observation of Griffith's gaze, until the young man let out a mixture of a sigh and a laugh. "It sounds to me like luck." He said in a joking tone, but with some seriousness added in as well. "I guess my good luck charm really does work!" Griffith pinched a string around his neck and fished a piece of jewelry out from under his armor.

It was small and egg shaped, and was a blood red crimson color with various facial features scattered all over it. Griffith looked at it fondly. "It was a gift from an old fortune teller. She called it, The Egg of the King. I've considered it my good luck charm since its rumored to give you the power of God."

Harry stared, transfixed by the piece of jewelry that Griffith held. It was by no means attractive, but it stood out. As it rotated a little on the rope, for the briefest of seconds, Harry could have almost sworn he saw one of the eyes open to stare at him with a piercing blue iris. He nearly fumbled backwards and when he blinked, the eye was closed shut.

"It would seem that fate was on my side, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry was glad when Griffith tucked the red jewel back under his armor.

"But talk of fate aside, I truly am grateful." Griffith gave him a close lipped smile. "Anything you would have of me, do not hesitate to ask."

It seemed such a jarring experience to Harry. For all the work he had given to the Dursley's by cooking their meals, tending the gardens, and cleaning the house, he never so much as received a "thank you" in return. Yet now he wore the clothes of someone who willingly shared, comforted by a complete stranger, and now told he held the favor of a knight. The change was so out of Harry's comfort zone that he seemed to respond on autopilot and said, "That's fine. You don't owe me anything."

"I appreciate your modesty, but there must be something I can offer in return? I prefer to live my life debt free."

"Why don't you let him join with us?" Rickert asked, with all the naivety of a boy his age.

What?! Harry internally bemused. What was Rickert saying?! Him, Harry, a scrawny boy in an army of fierce warriors. Griffith was sure to shoot down the suggestion any second. What was Rickert even saying?!

"Well, I wouldn't entirely be opposed to it," Griffith casually stated, causing Harry to do a brief double take. He couldn't have possibly heard that right. "It wouldn't be as safe as an orphanage or apprentice back in Windham, but you would be given a share of gold for your service." No, he had heard right, it was the believing it part that was throwing him for a loop.

"I don't- why?" Harry questioned. "Why would you want me? I was caught trying to steal from you before."

Griffith looked past Harry and pointed with a gloved hand toward a dark haired man who was probably in his twenties, but his haggard face made him look older than that. "See that man over there?" Harry nodded. "That's Corkus. He used to be part of a thieves guild before he joined up with us." Corkus briefly looked to where Griffith was; allowing Harry to see that the man had a very shifty look in his eyes. "But now Corkus stands as one of my most vocal of supporters. Any guess as to why?"

"No." Harry shook his head.

"Because he knows there's more to his own life than petty theft. Him, and everyone else here, they're all dedicated to a cause much larger than themselves; a dream, my dream. To one day have my own kingdom, and they are willing to fight to see it through to fruition." Griffith paused to allow him to absorb the information.

"I will admit I had my doubts about you," he continued. "I didn't see you as a boy who could handle the battle field; perhaps I was wrong. You may not be a warrior as fierce as Guts, but that doesn't mean you would be without purpose. With time, you could prove to work with Rickert in supply and reserves, but that does not guarantee your safety." Griffith looked at him now with all seriousness. "But above all, I need to know that you would be willing to help me achieve that dream as every other man here has done." He extended his hand to Harry. "The choice is yours."

Guts eyed the outside wall of the capital, Windham, as the Band of the Hawk made their approach. The flag of Midland hung proudly over the side; consisting of a waning moon, a sun, a lightning bolt, and three stars all centered around a tower in the center. He spied the sentries atop the battlements, who blew a horn to signal their return. The drawbridge was lowered and the portcullis raised allowing them entry to the bustling city that was Midland's capital.

The lower district mainly consisted of the slums. Filled with dark alleys that smelled of piss and shit and was the center for many a mugging. The Hawks rode past on the main street upwards to the next gate to the second district of the capital.

This district was a hub of activity for merchants and smiths alike, and also served as the barracks for housing many of Midlands armed forces, The Band of Hawk included. And beyond that, sitting on the top of a small hill was Windham castle. Guts was by no means an architect, but he castle did look picturesque in a way. His attention was diverted from the view by the citizens of the capital crowing the side of the street to welcome them back on their return. Some men cheered, and the women threw flowers in their wake and trading hushes whispers with one another at the looks of some of the men. There might have been some admirable looks thrown his way, but he paid them no attention.

Some of the men like Corkus took the opportunity to revel in the praise granted by the people, and then there were those like Judeau and Rickert who gave polite waves. But the Hawks newest addition looked to be overwhelmed by all the stimulation. The boy, Harry, Guts recalled looked indecisive; like he wasn't sure if he wanted to wave to the people, or just get away from all the attention. In Guts' view, it was looking more toward the latter. Guts hadn't heard the conversation between the boy and Griffith, but he saw that the boy eventually shook hands with the enigmatic leader. As of that moment, he became one with the Hawks. But that didn't mean he wasn't still green.

He had gotten a lucky shot in, sure, but he was far from a warrior. He lacked armor and a weapon he could properly handle. Guts knew that Casca would likely be put in charge of getting the kid supplied; one of the downsides of her position as Griffith's right hand.

The band headed down one of the side roads to the barracks, luckily none of citizens were allowed on the private property, all the ladies would just be scrambling over each other to meet Griffith in person. But as Guts and the rest of the others dismounted, the door to the barracks opened and a small bald man wearing a set of expensive robes and flanked by two armored guards with axes approached Griffith. Guts narrowed his eyes; he knew who this man was.

"Ah, Minister Foss," Griffith politely greeted, with a bow as well. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

"Royal business," Foss said in a formal tone, but underlined with oil. "You will excuse my presence I hope. His Majesty wishes to meet with you, no doubt to congratulate you on your victory to the East. I would not be surprised in a rise in rank came your way." One of Foss' eyes twitched ever so subtly at the mention of it.

Griffith probably noticed it too, but smiled along all the same. "His Majesty is too kind. But I can't ignore a royal summons, can I?"

"That would be most unwise indeed," Foss confirmed as if it were the easiest thing to understand.

Griffith nodded. "Very well, shall we depart, Minister?"

"Naturally," Foss answered. "It is rude to keep a king waiting."

With the minister escorting Griffith to Castle Windham, Guts took his own leave to head to the barracks courtyard. It was spacious enough for him to further train with his sword, and that was all he really needed. He removed his armor chest piece and set it aside, the blood from the bandit ambush would have to wash off of it later. Guts retrieved some chopped wood and a rope and began to tie the wood close to the hilt of his great sword. The added weight would serve to increase his arm strength.

Guts gripped the sword with one hand and held it level at chest height. Feels heavier alright, he thought as he raised it above his head and brought it down. He stopped his swing right before the blade could touch the stone covered ground. He lifted the sword again and repeated the process. Each time he would stop the blade lower and lower, just to test his arm, to see if he could handle a sword even larger than the one he had now.

He repeated the process over and over, eventually leading him to build up a sweat after a time. As he swung down once again Guts caught sight of a reflection in his massive blade. When he brought it back up he did so much slower to see who or what it was. What is he doing? Guts wondered, still not breaking from his training exercise.

"If you have something to tell me, just say it," Guts told his observer, still without breaking from his session. "It's creepy if you just keep watching like you are."

The boy stepped out from under the archway. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be a bother." Guts briefly eyed the newest member with a side glance before turning back to his sword.

"Is there something you wanted?" Guts asked with his usual tone.

"Er- no, I was just looking around."

Guts gave a small, "Hm," but otherwise didn't continue the conversation further.

"Um…" He heard Harry trailing.

"Stop being so hesitant," Guts told the boy. "You agreed to this, right? Well come time for a battle that will only get you killed." What was it with this kid? It was starting to get on his nerves.

"Sorry! I just wanted to ask- why do you tie wood to your sword?"

That's it? Guts internally deadpanned. "Extra weight. Helps train my arm. Is that all?"

Harry made a small, "Oh." Guts hoped that would be enough of an answer for him so he could continue uninterrupted, but he heard the sound of more feet heading his way.

"There you are," Casca said, to Harry Guts assumed. "I've been looking for you."

"You have?" Harry asked.

"I'm in charge of all new recruits, I have to make sure that they have what they need, and I know that you don't. And before he left, Griffith wanted me to supply you with what you needed. I was going to take you into the commercial district."

"What kind of things?" questioned Harry.

"New clothes for one, you can't go around wearing some of Rickert's," Casca listed. "Not to mention a proper weapon and some armor your size."

"You're taking him shopping?" Guts asked, still swinging his sword.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Casca asked him.

"No," came his immediate response. "Try not to spend too much gold." He could practically feel Casca glaring daggers in the back of his head.

"You're coming too."

At her statement, Guts stopped his sword mid-swing, his arm barely even trembling. "Huh?"

"You heard me," Casca told him. "I'm taking you along as an escort."

"Ask Corkus or Judeau," Guts declined.

"Corkus is at the brothel, and Judeau is helping unload our equipment."

"Ask one of you men."

"They're tending to the horses."

"Pippin-?"

"Busy as well. The only person not doing anything is you." Casca pointed out.

"I'm training," Guts shot back. "I think that counts as "busy.""

Casca wasn't having it. "You can train later. Besides, you owe it to me for your men keeping me up last night; remember?" Harry's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them as they argued. "And we could use you as muscle. It wouldn't be right if we to get mugged or swindled out of gold by a greedy shopkeeper."

The two of them locked eyes with one another and moments later Guts found himself walking behind the both of them down one of Windham's side roads. Just because they were in an upper district didn't mean that it was without crime. More than once Guts had to shoot a threatening look at a few figures lurking in nearby alleys as they walked.

Casca had labeled a tailor as their first destination and the trio was greeted by an elderly man and a young woman, most likely his daughter. "Welcome!" the woman greeted. "How may we help you?"

"Just getting clothes for the boy," Casca told the woman.

"Of course," the old man spoke. "Take some time to look around. If the boy sees anything, I'll take his measurements for a fitting."

As Casca led Harry around the store, Guts leaned back against the wall, watching them from the corner of his eye. The only real reason he was here was because Casca had dragged him along for his men's behavior. He could probably just walk out of the shop and head back now. But Casca would just nag him out for it later; was it worth it then?

Harry walked up to him holding a green tunic, which almost matched the shade of the boy's eyes. "Um, Guts." He looked down at the boy. "Are these what guys usually wear?"

"Why are you asking me?" Guts asked. "Ask Casca. She dresses like a man to know fashion." He saw that his comment got the only female Hawk to glower at him.

"She said I should ask you," Harry told him. To which Guts just shrugged.

"If you want it get it. It's not my gold."

Guts was at least grateful Harry wasn't a slow shopper. He saw what he needed and picked it out. He had settled with the green tunic and a pair of black breeches and brown boots. Nothing fancy, just the essential.

"This next one is right up your alley," Casca told him as the sound of metal hitting metal filled the air. "If anyone is the weapons expert it's you." That actually sounded like a complement. "So long as the weapon is an oversized sword."

Hssssssss! The blacksmith put a hot iron piece in a trough of water as they set foot in the shop. "Just a minute," the smith called as he let the metal cool. He took off his gloves and wiped the seat on his smock. "What can I do for yeh?"

"We're placing an order for a weapon and some armor," Casca answered.

"For the big fella over there?"

"For him," Casca gestured to Harry, who was sweating from the sudden heat that came with being inside the shop.

"Hm. Small one," the smith observed. "I'm no Godo, but if the pay is good enough, I'll give ya a weapon that won't fail. What did yeh have in mind?"

This time Guts answered. "Start him off with a basic short sword. Nothing fancy."

"Did you start with one like that?" Harry asked.

"We don't have swords for babies," the voice of Gambino played across his mind.

"…Something like that," Guts vaguely answered.

Casca once again paid for the order and the smith promised that it would completed sometime within the week. Guts, frankly was just grateful that he wouldn't be dragged along for the rest of the day once they returned to the barracks. Harry having gone with Rickert now to a room they would be sharing.

"So what do you think?" Casca asked him.

"About what?" Guts asked for clarity.

"The kid," Casca said as if it were obvious. "You think he has what it takes?"

Guts shrugged. "Griffith wouldn't have taken him if he didn't, right? Who am I to say? Besides, he'll be in the supply division with Rickert. Hardly any fighting happens with them."

"Not always."

"Then he better put that hesitant side behind him," Guts told her. "You know what I mean, the way he looks so unsure of everything around him. Swords and armor will only get him so far. If he really wants to be a part of us, he has to be ready to do what it takes to live."

A/N: So this was more of a slower chapter, but I can promise the next one will be more action oriented and will see how the people in Hogwarts side of things are doing. Thank you for reading.


	5. Chapter 5

Sounds of steel clashing against each other filled the courtyard of the barracks. Different members of the Band of Hawk had taken to sparring with one another to keep their skills as sharp as their blades, and Harry found himself being one of them. True to his word, the blacksmith had forged a short sword and breastplate for him within the week. He was told it was nothing special, but Harry didn't mind; they were the closest things to gifts he had ever received. Dudley could probably only wish to have a sword of his own one day.

The armor felt a bit snug under his armpits, but Casca had told him that all new armor felt that way and that he just had to break it in as best he could. The sword however, was a much different feeling. Mainly it was much heavier than he was expecting it to be. To compensate for that fact, Harry found it easier to grip the hilt with both hands; it was much easier to swing around that way. But not easy enough to the point where he was able to get a hit on his opponent.

Judeau was armed with a basic sword as well and was blocking and parrying all of his attacks seemingly without flaw. Going for an almighty attack, Harry lifted the sword above his head, ready to knock the blade from Judeau's hand. As he charged his opponent, Judeau sidestepped the attack, and stuck his foot out in Harry's path. As expected, he tripped.

Groaning slightly, Harry pushed himself back up and was met with the sight of Judeau offering him a hand. He took it. "You alright?" Judeau asked, once Harry was back on his feet.

"Yeah, I think," Harry answered, rubbing a sore spot by his chin. "I didn't know tripping was allowed though."

"I never said it wasn't," Judeau countered. "Your opponent won't always play fair, remember that."

Harry nodded. "I will. And thank you, for training me. You're really good."

"Hm, I suppose," Judeau admitted. "But swordplay isn't really my forte. I'm more of knives guy." He patted his bandolier for emphasis. "If you want to see real swordplay, just watch Guts in action."

A scornful "Tch!" cut its way into their conversation. Leaning against a wall, watching them practice was Corkus.

"Something to add, Corkus?" Judeau asked.

""Real Swordplay?" Corkus parroted. "That big idiot?" He scoffed again. "Please, he has muscle and a large sword, but that doesn't mean he's the best. Griffith can cut down just as many men as him, and do it in a more graceful way." Corkus looked directly at Harry. "Speed over size any day. And swords will only get you so far. What happens if someone's shooting at you, huh? I'll show you. Hey, Rickert! Bring me a crossbow!"

Running from across the courtyard, Rickert obeyed without hesitation. Corkus took the weapon and pointed it towards two other Hawks sparring with each other. "Hey! Unless you want to be target practice, move out of the way!" Corkus shouted to them. They quickly stepped aside so Corkus had a clear shot at the target behind them.

"Watch and learn," Corkus smirked as he fired the bolt. It struck true, hitting just an inch from the center target. "Not bad right?!" Corkus boasted with a wiry smile. "If the sun wasn't in my eyes I would have nailed that bull's-eye. A quick look at the sky showed that the sun was in fact behind him.

"Uh…," Harry began, but Rickert was quick to whisper in his ear.

"Please, let him have this. He'll be in a mood the rest of the day if you do. He just likes showing off to the new additions."

Corkus continued to boast. "When's the last time you've seen that idiot do something like that?"

"I can't say that I have," Judeau admitted. "But why not ask him to give a demonstration?"

"Eh?" Corkus seemed confused. "Don't bother. He's off brooding somewhere. Let him be." Corkus gave a small nudge of his head to the battlements of the courtyard. Sure enough, Guts was up there sitting down with his sword resting next to him as he looked out to the city beyond.

"Why is he up there alone?" Harry asked.

"He has his reasons I'm sure," Judeau answered. "Guts has never really been a social type of person. Then again, he doesn't really need to be to do what he does."

"Do you think he could offer me advice then?" Harry asked. If Guts was as good a swordsman as they said then he would know how to make him better, right?

"Well… it's like I said, Guts isn't really a social type of person," informed Judeau. "He takes things at his own pace, always has."

"So, I shouldn't ask?"

Judeau shrugged. "You can. Just don't expect him to agree."

Harry cast another look towards the brooding Guts, and to his own sword. Swallowing a lump in his throat he wasn't aware of, Harry steeled his resolve and began walking up to the more experienced swordsman. As he climbed the steps to the battlements, he cast a look over his shoulder to see Corkus muttering to himself, and Rickert giving him an encouraging kind of nod.

Seeing his approach from his peripheral vision, Guts turned his head to address Harry. "What is it?" Guts asked, it didn't sound harsh but it wasn't exactly welcoming either.

"Well, I was just talking with Judeau, and he said that you're really good at swordplay," Harry explained.

"And?" Guts asked again.

"I was just wondering… if there were any tips you could tell me." Harry said, trying to not sound hesitant.

Guts stared at him and the sword in his hand. "You were talking to Judeau, right?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded.

"Talk to him again. He might not use a sword all the time, but he knows a bunch of tricks."

"Oh." Harry slouched a little at the response. "He kind of told me the same thing. That's why I wanted to ask you."

Guts stared at him for a moment before turning his gaze back out to the city once more; seemingly ending the conversation. Harry took that as his cue to leave when he heard, "Your sword." He turned to see Guts, still leaning against the battlements in a sitting position, but now he was holding his hand out. "Let me see it."

Placing the sword in Guts' outstretched hand, Harry watched as Guts rotated his wrist a few times to get a proper feel for the blade, as well as slashing it through the air a few times. "Catch," Guts ordered as he suddenly tossed it back to Harry, who much to his own surprise caught it by the hilt without fumbling. Maybe he just had good reflexes when it came to catching.

"It has good balance," Guts simply told him. "It's not about to cut a man in half, but it'll do its job alright." Harry was fine with that. He had no desire to cut someone in half.

"Just keep practicing with it. Try using one hand."

"But its heavy," Harry lightly complained.

"Exactly," Guts said. "Using one hand will build up muscle. You won't cut it with that skinny frame."

Harry looked at his own build and then to the muscled frame of Guts. There was a clear distinction to be sure. "Thank you," Harry told the swordsman.

Guts still stared out over the battlements, seemingly in his own little world. "Sure."

Hogwarts, Headmasters Office

"Do you understand the situation?" Dumbledore asked the man who stood before his desk. The man's magical blue eye swiveled around in its socket before fixing Dumbledore with its gaze.

"I understand what you've told me," Moody answered. "Can't say that I can make head or tails of it though."

"I was afraid you might say that," Dumbledore lamented.

Moody huffed to himself, his eye returning to swivel around in its socket. "So who else knows?"

"Only Minerva and Severus. I did not want to cause a panic amongst the rest of the Order."

"Aye, but it they'll find out soon enough. And not just members of our little organization either."

Dumbledore knew exactly what Moody was referring to, the day Harry Potter would attend Hogwarts. Being the son of two former Hogwarts students, as well as being hailed as the one to defeat Voldemort, Harry Potter attending Hogwarts was an absolute in the minds of the entire Wizarding Britain. The social repercussions for him not would be… well, Skeeter would be having a field day.

"Indeed they will," Dumbledore agreed.

"Have you thought about what you're going to tell them? Saying he decided to go to another school, or just deciding to not attend Hogwarts aren't you're best options."

"I hadn't planned on it," Dumbledore informed. "You know Cornelius, he'd be contacting every magical school on the globe to try and confirm that statement. He might actually go as far as to pay a visit to the boy's relatives."

"What about the Hogwarts ledger?" Moody questioned. "Shouldn't that show his exact whereabouts?"

Sighing, Dumbledore cast a silent summoning charm, and the ledger landed neatly on his desk. He pointed with his wand tip to Harry's name.

Harry James Potter

Status: Registered

Location: ?

"It has not been of much use."

"And that's where I come in, right?" Moody asked, his magical eye fixed on the headmaster once more.

"You're the best at what you do, Alastor. You have connections within the ministry that can prove useful in our search."

"I used to," Moody corrected. "I'm retired, in case you'd forgotten."

"I haven't. But I know it's in your nature to keep up on the current happenings of things. Even through unconventional means. You still have your old invisibility cloak?"

"Aye, but I don't exactly plan on strolling into the Department of Mysteries with it. Some of the unspeakable are wise to that sort of thing. Any leads you have now would be welcome."

Dumbledore nodded. "I have already gone over the theory I shared with my two professors, the one pertaining to Merlin."

"You have, but even you admit it's only a theory. Where would I even start looking? The boy disappeared on Halloween; the next biggest day in terms of magical energy would be either the summer or winter solstice."

"Then perhaps a site that frequented by Merlin himself," Dumbledore suggested, further playing off of his theory. "One of the most magical places on Earth: Stonehenge."

It was around Midday when The Band of Hawk rode out from Windham once more. Griffith led the way through the streets and the band followed in suit. Harry only caught glimpses of him from the back of the wagon along with Rickert of course, but he was hard to miss. They were being dispatched to a village to the southwest. Scouts had reported that Chuder forces had been spotted nearby.

With time to spare before they were to arrive at the village, Harry took that time to ask Rickert exactly what was going on with this war. The blonde boy looked at him like he was crazy. "Have you been living under a rock?" Rickert asked. "Everyone knows about the war. It's been going on for the last one hundred years."

"Well, I know that," Harry said, even though he didn't. "I just wanted to know, why is it going on?"

"Chuder is a neighboring empire," Rickert explained. "They're really focused on their army and invaded Midland so they could expand."

"And now we're going up against them," Harry stated.

"Just a group of them," Rickert informed. "And we probably won't do any real fighting anyway."

Harry just silently nodded at Rickert's words as the band moved along through the fields of Midland towards their destination.

It was just around nightfall when the Hawks rode up upon the village. They overlooked the settlements from a small hill, and saw that it seemed completely dark; no torches were lit save for the ones that were being held by Casca and her men as they reported back to Griffith.

"The place was completely deserted," she reported.

"Were there any signs of a fight?" Griffith asked.

"No, the villagers must have all cleared out." Casca pointed to a plateau not too far from the settlements. "My guess is they fled to the top as an evacuation of sorts. The people in my village practiced something similar."

"Makes sense," Guts concurred. "Peasants and farmers aren't the fighting types. Better to run than risk their hides."

"Hm," Griffith mulled the information over. "Have Judeau and Pippin take some men to search that plateau for the villagers. Corkus will scout the area for Chuder forces."

The order was given, and the band split into their designated groups and rode off. Guts and his men waited for the next order to be given, same with Casca and her troops.

"Anxious?" Griffith asked him.

"It's just another fight," Guts replied. "We're probably over prepared for this anyway."

"Perhaps you're right," Griffith partially agreed. "But it's best to always be prepared for the worst, isn't it?"

"Sure," Guts agreed, putting his helm on.

Hooves trampled the ground, and Corkus came riding back to deliver his report. "Griffith, they're here alright. My boys and I found where they're camping out."

"Where?"

"'Bout a mile or so north of here."

Nodding in acknowledgment, Griffith turned once more to Guts. "Take your raiders and strike first. Casca and I will hit them from the side to box them in."

Guts faced his men. "Alright, you heard him!" Drawing his sword Guts led the charge. Their horses moving quickly across the grass beneath them as they headed north to the enemy encampment.

Sure enough, Guts was able to spot the flickering of flames in the near distance; Chuder forces were indeed here. And by the look of it, not that many. If Guts had to take a guess, he'd say maybe a little less than two hundred. There was no way they'd be able to stand against the attack that was coming their way.

Leading his raiders around the left flank of the encampment, Guts easily cut down one of their sentries before he had a chance to raise his crossbow. They stormed their way into the center of the camp and quickly rode to cut down the biggest threat, the crossbowman.

As more of Chuder's soldiers were being cut down, more began to emerge from the tents, some even lacking parts of their armor as they scrambled to try and repel the sudden attack. This, however, made it that much more easy for Guts to cut them down where they stood. His sword could cut through armor if he put enough force behind his swings, and these hastily dressed soldiers were no exception.

His sword cleaved men in half as fast as he was able to swing it. Many a man chose to simply retreat rather than fall victim like many of their comrades. Guts continued to swing his sword like a mad whirlwind until-

Clang!

A man riding a horse, clearly the leader, and wielding a very large war hammer blocked his blade with the staff of his weapon. He probably stood a foot taller than Guts had they been on equal footing, but that didn't stop the captain of the raiders from glaring the other man down.

"Where are you cravens running?" The leader shouted to his men who were trying to flee the camp. Guts took this opportunity to pull his sword back and go in for another swing, but his opponent reacted just as fast and managed to knock Guts from his horse.

"Oof!" Guts grunted as his back hit the ground. He didn't even have a chance to rise as he was forced to roll out of the way of being trampled by his opponents' horse hooves.

As Guts made his next roll to dodge, he did so by bringing his sword arm up as he twisted his body; and the blade cut through the horses' neck. It gave off a dying neigh before its legs gave out from under it.

"Aagh!" Its rider screamed as he fell from his mount. With the horse out of the way, Guts pushed himself up and charged the leader. The larger man barely had time to swing his hammer and knock Guts' strike aside as he too rose to stand.

"You're a tough one, I'll give you that. But that's all the more glory for myself once I kill you!" he leader snarled at him and their weapons clashed once more.

He's definitely their leader for a reason, Guts thought as he continued to trade swings with the other man. Neither man was giving the other an inch in the fight. He's striking just as hard as I am. That hammer of his isn't about to break anytime soon. An idea began to make its way into his head.

As the leader brought his hammer down upon Guts, he made no move to block it with his sword. Instead, he waited for the weapon to get closer before he shot his left hand out and grabbed the hammer by its staff.

"What in the-?" The leader asked, wide eyed that Guts was able to stop his attack like that.

"Aahhh!" Guts yelled, and with his sword arm swung low and cut one of the man's legs off at the knee.

"BAAAA!" Yelled the leader as Guts let go of the hammer's staff and pushed him down. Guts planted a foot on the other man's chest and raised his sword above his head, ready to drive it down. "Wait!"

Guts paid him no mind as his sword drove its way through his face. Bits of teeth and skull went flying from the epicenter of the blow. "Captain!"

Guts saw Gaston holding the reins of his horse for him. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Gaston," Guts told his subordinate, climbing back atop his steed.

"Captain, the others have joined! Look!" It was hard to miss. Griffith's light armor stood out amongst the night setting as he led a Calvary charge straight through. Any Chuder soldiers trying to make a fast getaway soon found themselves either cut down or being trampled under hoof by the advancing horses.

Guts saw Griffith look his way after cutting the throat of a fleeing Chuder soldier, and from behind the helm gave him a knowing smile. Guts just gave a nod of his head and rode to rejoin with the now assembled might of the Hawks command.

"Do you really think there are people up here?" Harry asked as he and a few other Hawks walked along a narrow path up to the top of the plateau. The walk wouldn't have been as bad if he wasn't carrying a sack of food over his shoulder and holding his sword in the other. He had taken Guts' tip on that; and it hurt. His arm felt like it was on fire having to grip the sword with only one hand. Did that mean it was working? What was the workout saying; feel the burn, or something like that?

"I'd assume so, yes." Judeau answered. Instead of food, he carried a banner for the Band of the Hawk. "In a time of crisis its common for people to flee to a safe location until the conflict has passed."

"We're almost to the top anyways!" Rickert called from behind. He had a brown messenger hawk resting on his arm to send word back to the main forces if need be. "We'll see soon enough, right?"

As the path got narrower towards the top, Harry made sure to hug the side of the rocky surface. When they had first started the ascent, he had nearly fallen over the side, had the bronze skinned giant known as Pippin grabbed him just in time.

Harry could only describe Pippin as being a miniature giant. The man was by far the largest in all of the Band of Hawk, even more so than Guts, and talked even less. But he still gave Harry a closed lipped smile to match his squinty eyes.

A sudden, "Halt!" Rang out through the night. Blocking the path was an older man with a grizzled mane of white hair and armed with a sword, a shield, and an oversized helm. "Who's-?" e stopped as he took in the sight of the banner Judeau carried. "Ah!" His face lit up with recognition. "You're those Hawks, right?"

"We are," Judeau greeted. "The king received word of Chuder forces not far from your village and sent us to deal with it."

"Glad you showed up when you did," the man ushered them along. "Those Chuder blights are all fucked in the head if you ask me. Never know when to surrender, always thinking about invading and taking homes away. Bastards."

The old man led them to the top of the plateau where the rest of the villagers were indeed gathered. Families were gathered close to each other and exchanged hushed whispers amongst themselves. Judeau gestured for both Harry and Rickert to come close.

"Rickert, give me some parchment. I'll send a letter back to let them know we found the villagers. Harry, why not pass some rations along? These people look like they had to skip out on more than just one meal."

Both boys nodded and went about their respective tasks.

If Harry was being honest, handing out food to these people felt good. As he went around to their little huddles handing out bread rations, the people smiled at him, thanked him from the bottom of their hearts it felt like. He was no stranger to serving out food, he had done so at a young age for his relatives, but here he was thanked for it. He wasn't just a part of this to swing a sword around; he was actually being used to help people who were grateful.

He noticed one of the people he had handed out bread to, a pretty young woman with brown hair and grayish brown eyes in her early to mid-twenties, actually give her entire ration to a group of kids he had yet to get to, before walking over to a group of younger girls.

"Excuse me," Harry said to the woman.

"Hm. Yes?"

Harry reached into the sack and pulled out another loaf. "Did you want another? I saw you give the other away." She looked at him and the bread before accepting it.

"Thank you," she said, tearing the bread into equal halves and giving a share to all of the assembled girls, minus herself.

"Uh, are you going to take any?" Harry asked confused as to how she would not take her own share.

She gave him a small smile. "Me? No. There are others who deserve it much more than I do. Besides, I've enough money back in the village stored away from my work."

"What's your job?" Harry asked.

She had to stifle a laugh. "Well… you're a bit too young to understand. But so long as those Chuder soldiers didn't ransack the place, I have enough to buy my own."

One of the teenage girls finished her share. "Thank you for the food mister. And thanks for sharing, Luca."

The young woman, Luca, smiled. "Of course."

"All set over here, Harry?" Judeau walked over.

"Yeah," he answered. "I think I'm all set."

"Right. I've sent off our messenger hawk to let the others know all the villagers are safe. We'll wait here until we get word back." Harry nodded in understanding. Judeau smiled. "You did well today."

"I kind of like this better than fighting really," Harry somewhat bashfully admitted.

"No shame in that," Judeau assured. "But you know it won't always be like this. One day you might actually be on the front lines." Harry just nodded. "I won't be too worried though."

"Huh?"

"You listen well," Judeau elaborated. "I don't know what Guts told you, but I assumed you listened to what he said. Why else would you carry your sword in one hand when you could have it sheathed? When the day comes, I'll trust you'll know enough to know what you're doing."

A/N: And that's it for that chapter. And there is a brief cameo from another Berserk character that wasn't subtle at all. Next chapter could see a potential time skip, not a big one, just a few months at the very least. Let me know what you think, and thank for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling And Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

September 1st, 1991. Hogwarts Express, Platform 9 ¾

"Trevor! Trevor!" The chubby boy named Neville Longbottom cried out. But his cries for his pet toad were drowned out by the sea of people crowding the platform of the large red train. With all these people bustling around, Neville feared that one of them might accidentally step on his pet; and his grandmother wasn't exactly helping at the moment either.

She had her overly large handbag in one hand and Neville's wrist in the other as she led him along to the Hogwarts Express. "Come along, Neville! Come along!" She ordered, paying little mind to his calls for his toad. "We've got to get you onboard, those compartments fill up awfully quick you know."

"But Gran," Neville pleaded, "I've lost Trevor! He could be anywhere!"

His grandmother sighed. "Again, Neville? How many times have I told you to keep better track of your pet?"

"It wasn't my fault this time!" Neville tried to assure her. "He jumped right out of my hand as soon as we crossed the barrier."

His gran just shook her head and continued to drag him along towards the Hogwarts Express. "Trevor is a smart toad Neville," she told him, dragging him to the steps of one of the train cars. "He's always come back to you before and there's no reason to think he won't do the same now." Neville looked down to avoid her gaze, as well as the sight of her stuffed vulture hat. "Who knows, he's probably already on the train right this very minute."

"You think?" Neville asked, unsure if she meant it or not.

"I'd bet my bottom galleon on it," she said with confidence. "Now come along!" Practically dragging Neville up the steps, she led him towards the front of the train to find a compartment to store his trunk.

Neville listened as she mumbled under her breath at the students that flooded some of the compartments. "I swear, it was never this busy when I was a Hogwarts student. Too many kids for this one train."

At last, they were finally able to find an empty compartment near the front. With a swish and flick of his gran's wand, she levitated his trunk to the rack up above. "I hope you paid attention to that Neville," she advised. "That was actually a first-year spell I used."

"You mean by the end of the year, I'll be able to make things levitate?" Neville asked in awe. Having thought he was a squib for most of his childhood, the idea that he could actually perform magic was one of the best memories he had.

"So long as you pay attention. And you've got a good wand with you too."

Neville touched the wand he had tucked away in his pocket. It had belonged to his father before- before Bellatrix Lestrange had done what she did. He was actually caught a bit off guard when his gran pulled him in for a quick hug. "Make them proud Neville."

"I-I'll try."

With that, she quickly ended the embrace. "Well, you should have everything you need for the trip. I should be off."

"But Trevor is still missing," Neville pointed out.

"Then I suggest you try and find him. Who knows, you might make a friend along the way." With one last farewell, as well as a reminder not to forget to write, Madam Longbottom departed from the Hogwarts Express leaving Neville to his own devices.

BWHOOOOO! BWHOOOOOOOOO!

The train blew its horn twice and lurched ever so slightly as it began the journey from King's Cross to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Casting a glance out the compartment window Neville caught a brief glimpse of his grandmother sending a small wave towards his compartment. It wasn't much but just enough to let him know she cared.

Not a minute later the sight faded to black as the train passed through a tunnel and when it emerged on the other side Neville was greeted with the sight of an expansive green country side. The Hogwarts Express must have had some enchantments on it so any muggles who owned farms wouldn't notice it passing by.

Being the only occupant in the compartment, Neville stood up on one of the seat benches and reached up to his trunk to pull his school robes out. Neville knew that he was a very forgetful boy, and if he put the task off he might forget until it was too late. Especially since there was no one else here to remind him.

Once that task was done, that left him with nothing else to do except look for his missing toad. He opened his cabin door and stepped out. Walking down the train car Neville caught sight of many students from behind the glass of the compartment doors. Most of them looked quite full, and by students much older than him.

Neville swallowed a nervous lump and continued to walk on by. He was thankful his gran was not here to see him pass those compartments by. She probably would have remarked that his father wouldn't have cared what year those other students were and that he was already failing to live up to his parents' image.

He would never say it out loud, but Neville suspected the reason his gran was so nice to him on the train was that she was just glad he was actually going to Hogwarts. It was the ultimate sign that he was indeed not a squib.

He kept as keen an eye as he could as he eyed some of the other compartments. One of them actually looked promising. It looked like there were already two people inside already, but Neville had to mentally tell himself it was better than every other packed compartment he had come across earlier. Giving a very weak and hesitant knock on the door, Neville waited for one of them to answer.

When one of them did answer, Neville found himself staring at a girl who was probably going into the first year the same as himself. She had dark brown hair and hazel eyes and wore a summer sundress like a pureblooded witch would wear save for her shoes which looked to be Muggle made.

"Who is it, Tracey?" The other girl in the compartment asked. She had light blonde hair and blue eyes, dressed almost the same as the first, save for the shoes, they were more traditional.

"I don't know. Can we help you?" Tracey asked Neville who was having difficulty finding his words.

Why'd it have to be girls?! Neville internally screamed. I have no idea how to talk to girls! He knew no girls his age, he barely knew any boys his age, and with confidence as low as his he was probably making a fool of himself this very minute.

"I…um…. T-t…ad…l-ost…" Neville failed to string together a completely coherent sentence.

Tracey looked at him with a raised brow. "You lost your friend Tad?"

"N-no…" Neville shook his head. "Um… you see…"

"Are you okay?" Tracey asked. "Is this your first time talking to a girl?"

"Well…" now he was feeling really embarrassed. It was hard enough knowing something was true, but being called out on it, that was even worse. "I… talk to my gran…" Neville hoped that counted.

"She means our age," the blonde girl specified.

"…" Neville remained bashfully silent. That was evidently the only response the girls needed.

"It's really not that hard," the blonde one told him. "Just say what you need to."

It could have been worse. They could have outright laughed at him. "…Well, I was just… looking for my pet. My pet toad. I uh… I lost him and-,"

"That toad was yours?!" Tracey exclaimed.

"Y-you've seen him?" Neville asked, not believing his luck. The first stop he goes to and the people know what he's looking for.

"Up close and personal," the blonde girl explained. "He hopped down from the luggage rack and onto Tracey's head. She almost wet herself."

Tracey quickly became flushed. "Daphne!"

"D-do you still have him?" Neville hopefully asked.

"Not a chance!" Tracey told him, quelling his hope. "As soon as he jumped on me, I opened the door and let him free."

Neville's face fell. "Oh. I'm uh- sorry. He's usually well behaved."

"Except for when he runs off," Daphne commented.

"Y-yeah." Neville scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "I guess I should buy a cage for him."

"That would stop him from running away," Tracey advised.

"R-right." Neville stared down at his feet, and then back to Tracey who was still watching him. She probably wanted him to leave. "Well, um- bye." Neville quickly turned on his heels and began walking further down the train. Trevor was probably in some other compartment by now.

"Oof!" Neville and another student collided amid the aisle.

"Watch where you're going!" The other boy told him in an arrogant manner. Neville regained his bearing s to see he had bumped into a platinum blonde boy with his hair combed back. His gray eyes were narrowed at Neville as he turned his nose up in a superior fashion. The two other boys that flanked the blonde were quite burly and cracked their knuckles.

The boy didn't need to introduce himself to Neville, he knew who it was he had seen pictures in the Daily Prophet of a man who looked just like him. This boy was the Malfoy heir.

"S-sorry," Neville apologized, trying not to start a conflict.

"You better be," Malfoy sneered. "You're lucky you didn't damage my robes. I spent an eternity getting them tailored." He turned to his two cronies. "C'mon boys. Potter might be further down." Neville stepped to the side, but still found himself shoved unnecessarily by one of the brutes.

Potter? Harry Potter?

That's right! Neville had been so stressed about starting school himself, he completely forgot that Harry Potter would be joining their year as well. Maybe if he found him, he would help search for Trevor with him. After all, they were god brothers. Did Harry know that? The only reason Neville knew was that of his gran, who had Harry been staying with all this time. Sure people speculated in the prophet, but no one seemed to know for sure. Maybe once the term began Neville would try and talk with him about it. His gran did say he might make some friends early on.

Hogwarts Castle, Great Hall

Here we go, Professor McGonagall thought as she ushered the new wave of first-year students into the great hall. The time had finally come, the time to sort the students into their Hogwarts houses. She had already explained how the sorting ceremony worked. When she called the students name, they would come to the front of the hall and wear the Sorting Hat.

The chatting in the hall died down once McGonagall cleared her throat. The older students stopped their talking out of past experience and the first years were mainly too nervous to do much talking at all. With the stool and Sorting Hat to her left, McGonagall unrolled the list of parchment of all registered first-year students.

"Abbott, Hannah!"

A girl with dirty blonde hair nervously stepped up to the front. She sat down on the stool and put the hat on her head. After a few seconds, the hat cried out, "Hufflepuff!"

The Badgers cheered in welcome as the trimmings of the girls robed became yellow to match the rest of the house.

"Bones, Susan!" A girl with red hair, who looked so much like her aunt in McGonagall's eyes stepped up and soon declared a Hufflepuff as well.

Lavender Brown became the first new addition to her lions, and Terry Boot became Ravenclaw.

Further and further she read down the list of names. "Davis, Tracey!" A moment later and a polite round of applause came from Slytherin table. More names more applause from the students as the tables began to fill with more students. Her lions would always give the loudest cheer, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw were more mellow, and Slytherin was quicker and to the point; demonstrated when Daphne Greengrass joined their ranks.

More names, more cheering, farther and farther down the list she called off.

"Longbottom, Neville!" The son of Frank and Alice nearly tripped over his own feet as he made his way forward; an action that some of the students snickered at. As the hat fell over the boys head it took a bit longer to decide where to put him. At last, it finally settled on, "Gryffindor!"

Her house table cheered, and Neville in his excitement began walking towards the table with the Sorting Hat still atop his head. McGonagall had to run after him to get it back, earning a laugh from the entire hall.

"Malfoy, Draco!" The son of Lucius and Narcissa strutted rather arrogantly up to the front. The Sorting Hat had barely touched his head before shouting out Slytherin for the entire hall to hear. The Malfoy scion wore a self-assured smirk as he strutted over to the Slytherin table as if he owned it personally.

Closer. She was in the P section right now. A set of twins by the last name of Patil. One in Gryffindor, the other in Ravenclaw. There was no getting around it now. The moment of truth was at hand. Clearing her throat, McGonagall prepared for the name she, as well as the rest of the staff, have been anxious for.

"Potter, Harry!"

Any chatting that had been going on had stopped completely. A pin could drop and everyone would be able to hear it. The assembled mass of unsorted first years looked amongst their ranks to try and spot the boy with the infamous lightning bolt scar. Nearly half a minute passed and mild whispering began to break out.

"She said, Harry Potter?"

"Where is he?"

"Do you see him?"

When no one stepped forward she called again, "Potter, Harry!"

Once again no one stepped forward.

"Hey! Where is he?!" One of the students openly questioned. Upon hearing that the whispering picked up a great deal more and all sorts of theories were thrown around. It got to the point where McGonagall had to put her wand to her throat and cast the sonos charm to make her voice heard over the talking as she continued to read from the list. But at that point only the unsorted first years were listening to her, and who could blame them?

McGonagall herself felt a fool. It has been nearly a year since the boy vanished with no explanation as to how. She knew Dumbledore had sent Moody to look into things, but his investigation to Stonehenge on both solstices proved fruitless. Honestly, what had she been expecting; for the boy to openly burst through the great hall's doors when his name was called, making an entrance that James and Sirius would be proud of? No. He was still missing and with no clear idea of where exactly he was. Perhaps this Halloween would be different. But with that being hidden beneath the school, only a handful of professors would be able to investigate further.

When the sorting ended with Zambini, Blaise in Slytherin no one was listening. They were all too busy with talking about Harry Potter's absence. She took her seat at the staff table and looked to see her fellow Professors reactions. Sprout and Flitwick were having a hushed conversation, Sinestra was biting her nails, Hagrid seemed to want to get to his drink rather quickly, Snape appeared unfazed, but a glance to his leg showed that it was twitching ever so slightly. Even the new teacher for Defense Against the Darks, Professor Quirrell, who had a habit of twitching and stuttering seemed to be extra jittery; his face switching between a smile and a frown.

But Dumbledore, the Headmaster, smiled at his students both new and old and continued on with his usual start-of-term speech. It was a façade. Out of all the staff here, Dumbledore was the one who was truly suppressing his reaction and emotions. The same question running through his mind the same as everyone else: where is Harry Potter?

Harry took a calming breath as he and the rest of reserve troops observed the battle that was unfolding beneath them. He found that it helped; it was just a way for him to clear his head as he remembered glimpses of previous experiences.

Like Rickert had told him some time ago, the section they were in hardly did any of the real fightings. That task was always left for people like Guts and Casca, with Griffith leading a finishing charge later on. But things had not stayed that way. For example, when caught in a sneak attack everyone has to do what they can to help the others be prepared. He and Rickert were tasked with loading the crossbows to pass out to the men, and the man he went to give it to died right in front of him. A crossbow bolt from a Chuder knight went right through his skull before Harry could arm him.

That had been the first time he had saw one of the Hawks die in front of him, and Harry didn't even know his name. It was so jarring that another Chuder soldier had almost got the drop on him and cut him down as well.

Harry assumed the only reason he was alive was that of sheer dumb luck. He had only just enough time to draw his sword, and even then he fell on his back from blocking the swing that would have taken his head. He just remembered lifting his arm and the Chuder soldier had walked straight into his blade, killing himself. Then there was the blood that spilled from him, working its way down his sword and coating his arm in the stuff.

Suffice to say, Harry wasn't able to sleep that night once they had returned to the safety of Windham. Casca had found him later that night just wandering about the barracks.

…

"Something on your mind?" She had asked.

"I just- couldn't sleep is all." Harry settled on.

"You killed another person in battle." It was a statement, not a question. Harry didn't meet her gaze but nodded in confirmation. "It was bound to happen sooner or later. How'd it happen?"

"I was-," he paused. "I- don't really want to talk about it. It's stupid really." He made to walk back to his barrack, but Casca had gripped his wrist, preventing him from leaving.

"Your head is clouded. If you keep things like this to yourself, it'll only get worse." She had loosened her grip. "Best to come clear with it now, then have it get you killed as a result."

"It's not really the one I got, but one of ours," Harry confessed. "I saw him get killed right in front of me. And- I didn't even know his name! I know that I chose to be a part of you all, but- was I really a good addition? That man died because I wasn't fast enough to help."

"Do you really think that?" Casca had asked. "Nearly everyone in the Hawks is here because they chose to be. They all have something they're willing to risk their lives for. I know I do. Not many of the new additions know this, but some of the senior members do, but I joined because Griffith saved me, and I was just some peasant girl in the country. That's my resolve: to not be that same helpless girl I was before. I fight for that and for Griffith's dream. You didn't like seeing our men die, right?" Once more he nodded. "Then let that be your resolve. Fight for our people. Fight so they won't have to die."

And it was in that moment that Harry understood why so many of the men referred to Casca as, "Sis."

…

And that had become his resolve, and he was sure that he had gotten stronger because of it. He kept up with his sword training, and over time he saw that his arms were more muscular than they had been before. They were not Guts' or Pippin level but were lither. He might have even sprouted a couple inches in the height department as well.

As he sat atop a horse that he was finally able to mount, thanks to his change in height, he was able to see the status of the battle raging below. The fortress that they had been laying siege to for the past few hours, had finally entered the stages of defeat. Guts was leading his raiders up to the Citadel portion of the fort and another team had already entered the fortress to capture the leader, a fact Judeau looked nervous about.

A rider came approaching their position. "Reporting!" He yelled as he kneeled before Griffith.

"How goes the battle?"

"It's nearly over. Their leader is still holed up in the citadel. The men sent in to apprehend him haven't returned."

"Ha!" Corkus laughed. "One man? That's it? That's pathetic!"

Corkus mood changed when Judeau uttered the name, "Zodd."

All heads turned to look at him, Harry's included. "I had heard a rumor that Chuder was hiring out mercenary leaders to assist in the war. Among them, was Nosferatu Zodd." That seemed enough to make all who listened pale, but Harry felt the need to ask.

"Who's Zodd?"

"Only one of the fiercest fighters to ever live!" Rickert exclaimed. "Among mercenaries, he's a living legend. He's rumored to have killed hundreds if not thousands of soldiers. But that's not the scary part. He's always popped up on different battle fields when people think he's dead; he's been doing that for almost a hundred years! That's why he's called Nosferatu Zodd. He's immortal."

"C'mon!" Corkus insisted. "You don't actually believe that do you? It's all a fairy tale. Like the Kushan's with magic tricks."

Griffith ignored Corkus' denial as he looked toward the nearly conquered fortress, as the once clear sky began to darken with lighting. "I have a very bad feeling about this."

Let go of me, Gaston!" Guts ordered as he pushed his way toward the entrance of the fortress' citadel. He was being restrained from going any further by Gaston and two other raiders; his hatred for being touched intensified because of it.

"No way Captain!" Gaston opposed. "We should just wait a little bit longer, please!"

"It's been an hour and not one of fifty of our guys has come out!" Guts shoved both of the men off of him and continued toward the entrance.

"AAAAGGGH!" A deathly scream came from the darkness of the passageway into the citadel. All arguing had stopped, and eyes were glued to a shape emerging from the darkness. Guts' eyes widened as he recognized the man as his own, Dillos.

He was missing an arm. At his shoulder, Dillos' right arm had been completely removed even exposing a decent portion of his rib cage. "Dillos!" Guts shouted as the man dropped to his knees.

"Caaaptiiiin," Dillos struggled to say. "…Zodd… Zodd." His body went limp.

Guts faced the tunnel with renewed anger. Seeing Gaston approaching from his side Guts ordered, "None of you come in! I'm killing this bastard myself."

The walk through the tunnel was like walking through a butcher's shop. But instead of pigs and chickens, human bodies lined the walls. Bodies of his comrades, with their eyes popping from their sockets, limbs scattered about the floor, and their blood painting the floor, walls, and even ceiling.

Guts grit his teeth at the sight. That bastard Zodd was going to pay for humiliating them like this. He knew the rumors about Zodd, every mercenary did. And they were just that, rumors. Zodd was just a man, and men could be hurt, and if it could be hurt it could be killed. Simple as that.

He continued deeper, the smell of death becoming all the more powerful. One man did all of this. Just one. And Guts would fight him as such. Just the two of them, anyone else would just slow him down. That was when he heard it. The sound of metal on metal; the sound of a fight. Rushing ahead, Guts found himself in a torch-lit room piled with the corpses of members of The Band of Hawk. And standing amidst those corpses was a single man.

He stood almost eight feet tall and was covered in muscle. He had spiky black hair similar to Guts and pointed ears. In one hand he held a sword so massive that two men were completely skewered through by it, and in his other, he held the entire head of another man; his meaty fingers had completely crushed the eyes.

By the light of the torches, Guts was able to see he had a few pointed teeth protruding from his lips, and his eyes had slits for pupils. This was Nosferatu Zodd. Any normal man would have fled from such a sight, but Guts, he yelled in fury.

"AAAHHHHHH!" Guts charged forward, ready to cut Zodd in half, but was met with Zodd's sword striking his own and sending the two corpses he had pinned to it to go flying into the wall.

What the hell is this?! Guts wondered as Zodd set his sights on him now.

"You parried that strike well," Zodd commented in a deep throaty tone. Guts barely had time to block Zodd's next swing and felt his knees buckle from the force of it. He was further caught off guard when he rolled away from another swing that completely decimated a stone pillar.

Zodd sent a flurry of slashes his way, which he was only able to barely block. Seeing Zodd's blade coming in fast on his left side, Guts used his arm guard to absorb the hit but was sent flying into another pillar as a result.

"Gah!" Guts coughed up a bit of blood from the force of impact.

Leering over him, Zodd said, "Superb." Guts glared back at him, rising to his feet. "You are lasting much longer than any of these men did."

Shifting his stance, Guts posed himself with his sword gripped in both hands and leveled it around his midsection. Zodd perked up at the stance. "Ah. So instead of blocking you will bet it all on one strike." Zodd smiled a toothy smile. "Interesting. I will accept this challenge."

Both men shot forward, Guts swinging up and Zodd swinging down. Sparks flew as their blades clashed. Guts could feel the force Zodd was putting behind his strike, the larger man was really going all out on him it felt like.

Aiming to break the clash, Guts stepped into the force of the swing, brought his sword around and straight into Zodd's shoulder.

"ARRRRGH!" Zodd screamed in pain.

Got him!"

However, Guts had no time to celebrate his hit as Zodd instead smiled that horrible toothy smile showing off his unnaturally sharp teeth. "What a surprise." Zodd gripped the blade and pulled it free of his shoulder. "You are the first to land a blow in my last three hundred years of slaughter!"

With that, Zodd began to change. He was becoming bigger in height and width; more muscular even. Thick black hair began to cover his entire body, and his face morphed to resemble something of a cross between a bear and a mane less lion. Two long curved horns sprouted from his forehead, and a pair of goat legs replaced his human ones. He even grew a tail. It was a true monster; it was terror itself.

Never before had Guts felt this sort of fear grip him. It was enough to make his body shake and his knees tremble. Zodd spoke again, this time in a much deeper voice.

"This is great! I have almost forgotten what it feels like to experience that rush during a battle! Come now, don't disappoint me!"

Zodd swiped at him with his paw, and Guts took the hit sending him flying into another stone pillar. He barely had time to rise or recover as Zodd charged him, horns first ready to skewer him. He rolled to the side and brought his sword in for a strike. Zodd blocked it with his horns and used them to toss Guts aside once more.

Guts was slammed once again and felt blood begin to coat the back of his head. He was woozy when Zodd grabbed him in his enormous paws and lifted him up.

"What's wrong? Don't tell me that was it."

Guts' head lolled to the side as he stared at the beast before him.

"For what it's worth, you fought well- for a human." Zodd began to squeeze.

"AAGHH!" Guts yelled in pain, coughing up some more blood in the process. He had to fight it. Somehow, just fight- Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!

Zodd let him fall to the floor and Guts was able to see why. Standing behind them, was Griffith, Casca, Judeau, Pippin, Corkus, Rickert, Harry, and an entire squad of crossbowman. Snarling at the intrusion, Zodd turned his fury on the crossbowman.

The beasts' great horns impaled men, he trampled another under his hooves, his claws cutting through armor like it was butter, and even just using his fangs to bite others in half. Soon next to no crossbowmen remained alive.

Griffith had taken off towards Guts and helped to pull him to his feet. "Live to fight another day," Griffith said as he began to lead him away from the great beast, who caught sight of this latest interference.

"Where are you going?" Zodd questioned. "Your heart is still beating."

"Griffith!" Casca cried out.

"Can you move?" Griffith asked Guts, seeing Zodd rearing up for a charge in their direction.

"We're dead if I can't," Guts forced himself to stand and tightened his grip on his sword. Zodd shot forward towards them.

"Go left," Griffith told him. Zodd got closer. "Now!" The pair of them dived to the side and brought their swords in an arc.

Zodd roared as both succeeded in landing a hit on him. Guts saw Griffith looking in his direction, sending a nod his way, but failing to notice Zodd's tail coming toward him.

"Griffith!" Both he and Casca shouted as the tail sent Griffith crashing into the wall. Seemingly knocking him unconscious.

"What a day. To think two humans would be able to would me." Zodd struck Guts with his forearm and sent him skidding across the floor. He set his sights towards Griffith. "I suppose I'll start with this one."

Guts tried to push himself up, but Zodd was practically on top of Griffith as he used his sword as a sort of crutch. Thunk! A crossbow bolt was fired at Zodd, who managed to catch the shot in his paw. One look to the reinforcements showed Guts Harry had retrieved one of the fallen weapons. Now Zodd's sight was set on the boy.

Harry must have been struck by fear as Zodd simply flicked him and was sent flying into the wall beside Griffith. "A valiant try, but unsuccessful." Zodd raised a hoof to squash Harry but stopped himself short as he eyed something on the boys head.

"Hm? What a unique scar. It is different than the one I know, but I recognize a brand when I see it." To Guts' surprise, Zodd stepped back. "His life belongs to someone else." He set his sight back on the fallen Griffith. "Now where was I?"

But once again, Zodd stopped himself short of killing. This time he eyed the piece of jewelry that hung from Griffith's neck. "It cannot be. The Egg of the King, the crimson behelit!" Then, Zodd began to laugh. "Huhuhuh! HUAHUAHUAH! So, it's that kind of ploy." Zodd punched the ceiling causing a good portion of it to collapse, leaving a huge hole to the outside above them. He turned once more towards Guts. "We'll have to put our battle on hold. But I'll leave a word of warning- no. A prophecy. If you call that man a friend, take heed. For when his ambition collapses, death will pay you a visit! A death you will never escape!"

Zodd arched his back, and a pair of giant bat-like wings emerged from his back. He kicked off from the ground and shot out of the hole he had created; his wings carrying him off to an unseen destination. The fight was over.

Guts fully rose to his feet staring off at where Zodd had exited. He saw Casca free herself of being restrained by Judeau and rushed over to where Griffith and Harry lay motionless. "Hey," Guts said as he approached her. "What-?" He was stopped short when Casca turned on him, glaring daggers through her tear filled eyes.

"You!" She snapped. "This is your fault! They're hurt because of you!"

A/N: And that was the fight with Zodd. I know that it was mostly exactly like it was in the manga/anime, which is why I had the first scene with Hogwarts side in first, so it wouldn't feel like a retelling of the Berserk side of things. I hope you all enjoyed, and thank you for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

The-Boy-Who-Lived Missing?

By Rita Skeeter

No, you haven't misread the title dear reader; Harry Potter, the savior of the Wizarding World, the one who vanquished You-Know-Who, is nowhere to be found. Last night during the infamous Hogwarts sorting ceremony Harry Potter was inexplicably absent when his name was called. The news was so shocking that this reported worked all through the night to get this article printed for you in this issue of our beloved prophet.

Now, I believe I speak for everyone when I ask, "Where exactly has our savior gone?" The whereabouts of the young Mister Potter have always been up for discussion for these past eleven years following You-Know-Who's defeat, but no solid conclusion has even been confirmed. Theories have run rampant, ranging from he was staying with a pureblooded family to learn the ways of proper Wizarding society, to traveling the world as a celebrity in disguise, and even becoming a child actor in the muggle world.

Yet our questions to that topic have been put on hold as Harry Potter is not at Hogwarts to confirm or deny any of these rumors. So, what could have happened to delay Harry Potter's arrival at Britain's most prestigious magical boarding school? This reporter wants to know! Could Hogwarts Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, hold the truth we seek? Perhaps after that fateful Halloween night, Dumbledore has been training the boy under his tutelage this past decade.

Only time will tell the dear reader. Only time will tell.

For more on the story of Harry Potter, see page 7

Dumbledore read the headline news of the Daily Prophet after a very irate Minister of Magic slammed a copy of it on his desk. Minister Fudge twirled his lime green bowler hat around with his hands as Dumbledore read the article.

"Well," Dumbledore began. "Ms. Skeeter certainly has a talent for grabbing the reader's attention." It was meant to be obvious. As long as Dumbledore had known Cornelius Fudge, he knew the minister could sometimes be appeased by information that he already knew. It was a tactic he suspected Lucius Malfoy of incorporating into his influence over the minister.

"That she does, and that is exactly the problem!" Fudge paced about his office. "Everyone within our society has probably read this article, Dumbledore. And now people are asking questions, questions that I don't have the answers to. Merlin, Dumbledore, do you have any ideas how many letters have been flooding the Ministry this morning?"

"A great deal more than I've received, I'm sure." Dumbledore used his wand to levitate a large stack of letters reaching almost five feet in height.

"Howlers too," Fudge added. "People are furious about this! And for some reason, they think sending a howler at me will solve the problem. I've no idea where the boy could possibly be, but I see no reason to tell them that. People depend on people like you and I Dumbledore. Something has to be done about this!"

"I agree wholeheartedly," Dumbledore told the minister. "As it stands I've already gotten into contact with some old colleagues and sent them to track down any methods of locating young Harry." Dumbledore purposefully neglected to tell Fudge that he put those colleagues on the case almost a year ago.

Fudge actually showed the first hint of smiling since he entered Dumbledore's office. "That is exactly what I like to hear!" Fudge twirled his bowler hat in a slower fashion. "I always could count on you for help."

"Surely those at the Ministry have been a help as well?"

"Hm? Oh, yes!" Fudge nodded. "Dolores has been a big help, as always, she suggested I make a public statement later today to address this situation. She says if I don't the people might begin to panic." He paused. "Well- panic more than they are already. If I don't put some of these rumors to rest, the people might start to think Harry Potter's disappearance was an act of You-Know-Who or something of that sort!" Fudge waited for Dumbledore to deny that possibility. He didn't. "Oh, come now Dumbledore! You don't actually believe that's the case."

"One can never eliminate all of the possibilities, Cornelius," Dumbledore advised. "It would be unwise to do so."

Fudge shook his head in denial. "Dumbledore, do you have any inkling of what would happen if I were to say something like that? If there wasn't panic before, there would be after that! People would riot in the streets, up and down Diagon Alley, even in the Ministry itself! I know you've said before that you don't believe You-Know-Who to be truly gone, but people want- nay, need to feel safe." Fudge stopped twirling his hat to place both hands on Dumbledore's desk to look the aged wizard in the eyes. "That is why they trust us. We have made them feel safe these past ten years, and I see no reason to jeopardize that trust."

Dumbledore raised a hand in a good gesture to calm the distressed minister. "Relax, Cornelius. I did not say that I believe that to be the case; only that it is a possibility, and a relatively unlikely one at that."

After a moment had passed, Fudge sighed. "I apologize, Albus. I didn't intend to come across as confrontational; I just- want the people to know that they can rely on me."

"I do not blame you for your concern, Cornelius," assured Dumbledore. "And as I have told you just moments before, I have already sent a search party of sorts underway."

"Yes, yes," Fudge nodded, picking up his bowler hat and twirling it once more. "I'll be able to quote you on that for when I give my statement, I take it? Hearing it from me is one thing, but coming from you…" Fudge let the offer hang, with the slightest hint of jealousy in his tone.

"You may," Dumbledore approved. "It is as you said, the people trust us."

"As they should," Fudge twirled his bowler hat once more before setting it on his head. He crossed the office to the fireplace and pulled out a bag of floo power from his robes. The minute the power hit the ash the minister was engulfed in a torrent of green flames.

With the minister gone, Dumbledore ran a wrinkled hand through his long white beard. Fudge had acted as expected. He was scared and confused and looking towards him for support and advice. Better him than the likes of Lucius Malfoy.

His phoenix, Fawkes, let out a melancholy hum as an owl flew through his office window and nearly crash landed on his desk. Eyeing the letter it had clutched in its talon, Dumbledore took it; and immediately massaged his temple when he saw who it was from. It would seem Molly had seen fit to write to him as well. He prayed to whatever god there was that she hadn't seen fit to send a howler.

Darkness surrounded him. The only source of light came from the glowing yellow eyes of the beast, which stood snarling over his tiny form. Zodd barred his fangs at Harry as he said, "Your life belongs to another. So sleep now. Sleep, just like your parents!" Zodd gave a roar at the last word, and he too faded into black.

And then, the darkness began to swirl. Slowly at first but gradually picking up speed as it soon became an all mighty whirlwind. WHOOOOOOOOOOOSSHHHHH! It began to sound like a hurricane at full force. And Harry was caught right in the midst of its force.

Around and around he was being blown around, enough to begin to make him nauseous. But as disorientated as he was, Harry could faintly make out a dark shape as the source of the whirlwind. It was very faint, but he found it to be familiar. It was a shape that resided within all humans. It looked like- THUMMM

"AAAH!" Harry sat bolt upright on the bed, clutching at his chest. Wait- bed? He looked around; no longer was he in that chamber with Zodd and the others, he was in some kind of medical ward if the gauze wrapped around his abdomen was anything to go on. The only other person in the room with him was-, "Guts?"

The large swordsman had paused at the exit to turn around to address him, allowing Harry to see the condition the other man was in. Guts was covered in gauze as well, namely his torso and forehead, he was also walking with a crutch under one arm. "Oh, you're awake."

Harry winced a little as he sat up in the bed. "What happened? Where's Zodd?"

"Zodd left," Guts informed. "He ended the fight after deciding not to kill Griffith."

Griffith. "Is he-?" Harry began, only to have Guts beat him to it.

"He's fine; at least I think he is."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked.

"It's been three days," Guts explained. "I haven't seen Griffith since we moved him. Plus he's being treated in a better place than this."

"Is that where you were going?" Harry asked.

Guts nodded. "I'm not in the best of shapes right now, but I at least owe it to him to see how he's doing." Guts hobbled back to the exit. "Hey," Guts cast a glance back toward Harry, "you coming?"

"Me?"

"You see anyone else in this room?" Guts rhetorically asked. "You want to know how he's doing too, right?"

Together the two of them set off down the stone corridor to where Guts suspected Griffith to be. Harry took notice that they were actually in part of Windham castle itself. Griffith was a Knight of the Kingdom, so it only made sense that any wounds he sustained be treated by the physicians at the castle. Along the way, they passed a few members of the nobility who eyed their bruised figures with curiosity, or in the handmaidens' cases, with flushed faces and giggled whispers.

Guts' crutch made a noticeable Clunk sound with every other step he took down the corridors. It was the only thing breaking the silence between the both of them until Guts finally spoke. "That was some move you pulled back there."

"Huh?" Harry asked, confused.

"You fired a bolt at Zodd, right?" Guts recalled. "And that was after he became- well whatever the hell that was."

"Oh," Harry also recalled the memory of what Guts was talking about. "Yeah, about that, I-,"

"Don't apologize," Guts told him abruptly. "What the hell do you have to be sorry for about that? Trying to save his life? Pfft, please. I'm not Casca, I won't bite your head off for acting on instinct and wanting to protect him."

Was it Harry's imagination, or did Guts sound, proud in some sense of the word. Maybe it wasn't too farfetched, Guts was a warrior after all and had probably done his fair share of reckless things too. He was the one who had went in to face Zodd alone when he could have waited for reinforcements to arrive.

And speaking of Zodd, two noblemen stood before them in the corridor seemingly discussing the Hawks most recent battle. The nobles noticed their approach. "Oh-ho, what convenient timing!" One of them exclaimed.

"Yes," the other agreed. "We were just discussing your bands' recent victory over Chuder. Quite the battle we heard."

"However," the first one took up a condescending tone, "strange rumors have been surfacing. Have you heard? I believe they revolved around a great demon appearing toward the end of the battle."

"What do you mean rumors?" Harry asked, a bit indignantly. "It's true. Ask anyone who was there, they'd tell you."

The two noblemen looked at one another. "And you were there I take it?"

"I was," Harry confirmed, not really liking the condescending tone they spoke in.

"Well, I don't find the fact that you believe it to be true all that surprising then. After all, children will believe anything, that's why they should only be seen and not heard. It raises the question of why Sir Griffith would allow- OW!"

Guts continued his walk down the corridor, "accidentally" bringing his crutch down on the noble's foot as he hobbled along. "You coming, Harry?" Guts cast a glance over his shoulder to send a chilling glare at the two nobles.

Harry followed suit and "accidentally" stepping on the foot of the other noble, who was too scared of the look Guts was giving them to do or say much of anything. If Guts disapproved of Harry copying his previous action, he said nothing about it and kept on hobbling along.

"What was those guys' problem?" Harry asked once they were a good distance away.

"Who knows," Guts answered. "They're nobles. They got money and they think that gives them power."

After walking out to an open courtyard, they came across Casca, Judeau, Cokus, Pippin, and Rickert waiting around. A pair of armored guards wielding battleaxes stood a short distance away guarding a closed pair of doors.

"Harry! Guts!" Rickert yelled as he spotted their approach.

"Hey, Rickert," Harry greeted back.

"Yo," Guts casually said.

"Glad to see you both up and moving," Judeau said with a smile. "Griffith should be cleared any time now." Guts looked to the two armed guards.

"He in there?"

"Yeah," Judeau confirmed. "Minister Foss and a few others are discussing a few things inside with Griffith." Guts nodded.

"Thanks," Guts said, approaching the door. The guards crossed their axes at his approach, preventing him from going further.

"It's a private meeting," Casca told him, frowning at his attempt. "We all have to wait."

"Maybe you do," Guts told her, before turning to the guards who were nowhere near as tall as he was. "So I take it you guys aren't going to step aside?" They looked at each other nervously but made no gesture to move out of the way. "Alright."

Guts used his crutch to sweep one of the guards' feet from under him, and then swiftly lifted it and knocked the other on the back of the head. The members of the Hawk either deadpanned or watched in awe at Guts' action.

"Are you out of your mind?" Casca angrily asked. "How hard did you hit your head? I just told you it was private didn't I?"

"Like you don't want to see him either?" Guts shot back, to which she silently glared at him. "Now if you excuse me, I'm going to go check on my friend. Anyone else want to come? Rickert?" The blonde boy shook his head when he saw the look Casca was giving him. "Harry?"

"Uh, sure," Harry agreed. Guts was pushing open the doors and Harry made to follow, but Casca put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her and she shook her head, "no." She walked up towards Guts.

"Yo, Griffi-," Guts called into the room before Casca laid a hand on his shoulder. Guts instantly reacted and turned to see who it was. Wramm!

Casca's fist collided square with Guts' jaw sending him stumbling back. It was a sight that had everyone's jaws falling wide open. Guts rubbed at his chin while Casca stood with both her fists clenched. "That's just like you, isn't it? To go charging head first without a thought to anyone else. I have no idea why Griffith values you like he does."

A tension filled the air between the two of them; finally being broken when Guts turned to walk away. "I'll be somewhere training. Don't want my skills to dull because of these injuries." Harry watched him limp off to go and find his sword.

"Ha!" Corkus laughed. "What a punch, Casca!"

"That was odd huh, Pippin?" Rickert asked the giant man, who simply nodded.

Harry walked up to Casca. "Are you- alright?" He asked, hesitant she might turn her ire on him now that Guts was gone.

Casca sighed and brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "I'm fine, Harry. It's just- he's just so- ugh!" She threw her hands up, before helping the two guards back to their feet. "So reckless all the damn time." Harry heard her mumble to herself.

"Well, this is a welcome sight." Griffith walked out of the guarded room leaning on a crutch similar to Guts, and he was followed by the short bald Minister Foss and a few other high ranking nobles.

"Griffith!" Casca exclaimed, her previous gloom seemingly vanished.

"You're okay!" Harry enthused as well.

Griffith chuckled. "Well, I will be." He moved his crutch around for further emphasis. "But yes, I have been cleared by the court physician."

"A fact we all revel in, Sir Griffith," Minister Foss said. "Given your latest exploit, I do believe that you've managed to win our king's favor yet again. I would not be surprised if you were invited to partake in His Majesties hunt. For a knight of your- unique upbringing, you should consider it a great honor." Harry almost missed the small twitch under Foss' eye when he said that last part.

"I do indeed, Minister Foss," Griffith replied. If he too noticed the subtle twitch he didn't acknowledge it.

Foss gave a polite bow. "If you'll excuse me, my presence is required elsewhere." Griffith nodded and watched as the minister walked off with the entourage of other nobles.

"I can see the concern in your eyes, Casca," Griffith acknowledged his second-in-command. "Why don't you wait in the gardens for me? There's someone else I'd wish to speak with first."

Guts had found a level platform on one of Castle Windham's outside staircases. The smells of flowers from the gardens down below were entirely lost on him as he devoted his current attention to his sword. He brought it up and down and in an arc and down again. His crutch lay discarded to the side. He didn't need it, not when he had his sword. He just had to block out the pain with the rush of swinging his sword.

Gambino hadn't taught him much else than that, but it was all he ever needed. This time was no different. Just another injury, just fight through the pain and come out stronger than before. And stronger was exactly what he needed. Zodd. He had been on an entirely different level than what Guts was used to. And then there was that prophecy the demon Zodd had spoken of.

He had warned him about Griffith, and of a death that he would be unable to escape from. And it stemmed from seeing that red jewelry around Griffith's neck. Guts had always found Griffith's "good luck charm," to be creepy ever since he saw one of the eyes open to stare at him a few years back.

Guts' thoughts drifted now to after the fight had ended, of Casca glaring at him through her tears as she shouted that it was his entire fault. But what did she know? He hadn't intended for anyone to come and rescue him. If he had done it like he intended it would have just been him left to fight Zodd.

"You seem troubled." Guts looked to see Griffith walking with a crutch up the stairs to the platform he was on. "Although your injuries seemed to have healed much faster than mine despite being more severe."

Guts stopped swinging to lean back on the railing. "I'm used to taking hits."

"Evidently," Griffith eased himself into a leaning position as well. "Thinking about the encounter with Zodd?"

"It's not exactly easy to forget. He was strong."

Griffith nodded. "He was. It was a miracle we got out of that alive." He fished the red egg jewel out. "Lucky charm, huh?"

"Yeah…" Guts eyed the bauble suspiciously, almost expecting an eye or the mouth to open. They didn't. "And you seem to be healing fast too."

"Not disappointed about that are you?" Griffith asked in a jesting manner.

"No," Guts said. "But I think Casca will be pleased. It might stop her from biting my head off."

"I take it she wasn't happy with the way I went in to save you," Griffith concluded. "I'll talk to her about that."

"Yeah. Speaking of that, why did you?" Guts asked and Griffith tilted his head. "Why'd you risk your neck for me like that?"

Griffith pondered the question over before looking Guts dead in the eye. "Do I need a reason each time I risk mine to save yours?"

To that Guts had no reply. Griffith was doing it again; saying things normal people wouldn't and making them seem natural. Guts was almost relieved when a few new presences came walking down the steps to where they were relaxing against the rail.

Two men walked in front of a group of armed guards, one was clearly young than the other. The younger of the two had long, but well pampered reddish-brown hair and a face that looked like it was always in a sour mood. The other, Griffith instantly took a knee for at his approach. He had lines on his face, but it was balanced out by the luscious black hair and well-trimmed mustache and goatee. It was the King of Midland.

The sour faced man pointed an accusing finger at Guts. "You! Show some respect and kneel before the king!" Guts was about to refuse, but Griffith gave him a look telling him to go along with it.

"That is alright," the king dismissed Guts notion of bowing. "I was just on a stroll, no need for such an action at the moment."

"But sire!"

The king paid the other man no mind. "I'm pleased to see the White Hawk's injuries are healing. You've made quite the name for yourself on the battlefield."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Griffith rose, but still gave a bow of his head.

"Allow me to introduce you," The king gestured to the sour faced man. "This is my younger brother, Count Julius; general of the White Dragon Knights, and second in line to the throne."

"A true pleasure to make your acquaintance," Griffith gave a bow of his head to Julius.

"Humph," Julius scoffed. But Griffith paid it no mind, his attention was drawn to someone at the back of the armed escort, seemingly trying to shy away.

"Who might that be?" Griffith asked in curiosity. The king looked to where Griffith was looking.

"Oh, that is my daughter, Princess Charlotte." Guts saw a brief flicker of the girl as she tried to shy away from some more. "She is quite a shy girl; she rarely ever leaves the castle." Charlotte peaked out just enough to see she was a girl in her teenage years with her chocolate brown hair styled in buns on the side of her head and a nervous pair of deep blue eyes.

"Let us be off," the king announced as he continued down the steps, his guard following. Griffith kept his gaze solely on the princess as she brought up the rear. She seemed especially nervous as she walked past Griffith, so much so that she tripped on a loose stone and nearly fell down the rest of the stairs.

"Ah!" Charlotte gasped, but Griffith reached out and wrapped an arm around her midsection before she could fall. The princess became flushed from the close contact as Griffith helped her regain her balance.

"Your pardon," Griffith said to Charlotte.

"T-thank-," Charlotte attempted to say, but…

"You!" Julius had come back up the stairs to see what was keeping the princess. "How dare you! How dare a commoner such as yourself lay hands on the princess!"

Slap!

Julius backhanded Griffith, much to Charlotte's horror and Guts' anger.

"Hey, pal!" Guts yelled as he took a menacing step towards Julius, who began to pale. Before anything could escalate quicker, Griffith raised his hand, signaling Guts to stop. With his other, he wiped the blood from his split lip.

"Please pardon my rudeness, General Julius," Griffith said with a smile. But it wasn't the one Guts was used to seeing from him. A shadow seemed to pass over Griffith's face as he narrowed his eyes and gave a closed lip grin. It wasn't childish at all, instead, it was like a much different side of Griffith had emerged from his shadow.

It was enough to make Julius pale even further.

"Is something the matter?" The king called from the bottom of the stairs.

"N-nothing, Sire!" Julius called back. "Come, princess. Let's not keep your father waiting." Charlotte followed her uncle down the steps, but not before casting one last look at Griffith before turning away with a blush adorning her soft features.

Harry and Casca sat on a stone bench in one of Windham's gardens, waiting for Griffith to join them as he had promised. The only other people in the garden were two children, younger than Harry, who was being watched by two armed guards. "I suppose I should have asked you this sooner, but how are you feeling?" Casca asked. "Your injuries I mean."

"They're okay. getting better," Harry told her. "You're not mad about it are you?"

"What? Why would I be mad?" Casca asked.

"Well- you were with Guts earlier," Harry recalled.

"Oh," Casca said. "That's different."

"How?" Harry asked.

"Because Guts acted like an idiot and went ahead when he should have just waited five mi minutes for the rest of us," Casca elaborated. "You came in with the rest of us following Griffith, who was only down there because of Guts. I mean, does he think that just because he has strong muscles that that's the solution to everything? I just don't understand him sometimes, if at all."

Harry just shrugged. "It kinda sounds like you like him," he mumbled quietly to himself.

"What was that?"

"N-nothing!" Harry remembered her temper when she hit Guts, he didn't want to be on the receiving end of that. He quickly turned his attention to the two children playing around by one of the bushes.

"Careful," he heard the girl advise the boy. "I thought I saw a snake!"

"It's probably just a garden snake," the boy insisted. "They're not poisonous."

Another girls voice came from Harry's other side. "Father, may I please join Elize and cousin Adonis in the gardens?"

"Of course, Charlotte," a man's voice replied from the distance, and soon a teenage girl came around the bushes. Casca instantly stood up and gestured for Harry to do the same. They bowed their heads as the girl walked past. With her chocolate brown hair done in buns on the side of her head, she reminded Harry of an infamous Star Wars character.

"Who's that?" Harry asked as the girl joined the younger children.

"The princess," Casca told him.

"Cousin Charlotte!" The boy exclaimed at her arrival.

"Greetings, princess," the girl gave a courtesy.

"Cousin Adonis, Lady Elize, it is my pleasure to join you," Charlotte gave a polite bow of her head. "What are you finding in the garden today?" Adonis smiled as he grabbed a stick and pulled it out of a bush.

"I found this!"

Charlotte gave an, "Eep!" as she rushed to hide behind the two guards. At the end of the stick was a garden snake.

"Adonis!" Elize scolded the boy. "How dare you scare your cousin like that! Don't you know girls don't like snakes?"

Adonis scratched the back of his light brown hair bashfully. "Sorry, Charlotte." He let the snake free and it began to slither over to where he and Casca sat on the stone bench. It came close enough that Harry was able to catch it.

"I don't think it's that scary," Harry told Casca, showing her the snake. She cringed a little.

"Maybe gross, but not scary," Casca agreed.

Harry looked at the snake who was slithering between his fingers. 'Hello there.'

The snake looked at him. 'Hello, sssspeaker.'

Harry almost dropped the snake in pure shock. 'You can sspeak?' Should he even be that surprised? In a world that had a skeleton knight, disembodied voices, and a demonic- whatever Zodd was was a talking garden snake too out of the question?

'Of courssse I ssspeak. The trouble isss finding thossse who lisssten.'

'Well, thossse kidsss didn't ssseem to lisssten to you.'

'Oh no, children are the worssst. Esssspecially human children.'

Harry laughed at the snakes' humor. What was Casca thinking of all of this? "Hey, Casca! Can you believe… this?"

Casca was no longer sitting next to him. Instead, she was standing up, looking down at him with her mouth agape and eyes filled with confusion and uncertainty like he had done something wrong. What had he done?

A/N: So for anyone wondering when Harry would be getting magic, this chapter is the start of that with the discovery of his Parseltongue ability. And is it just me, or does Princess Charlotte look like Princess Leia from Star Wars?


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

"He was talking to a snake?" Guts asked, repeating what Casca had reported. Casca had been in quite a fluster when she had come barging into Griffith's solar within his quarters of the barracks. The only reason Guts was there with him was because Griffith wanted to personally tell him that they would be joining the king on the next upcoming hunt, an event usually held exclusively for members of the nobility. Then Casca came running in claiming she had urgent news. She began telling Griffith of how she witnessed Harry talking to a snake, who seemed to understand him. "Big deal," Guts brushed the story aside. "Kids get bored right? They talk to animals all the time."

Casca shook her head. "Not like this. This was- he was speaking another language, okay."

"What, like Kushan speak? They're supposed to be snake charmers right?"

She denied that notion as well. "No. It was like- like he was actually speaking snake; and the snake was speaking back."

"…You on your period or something?" Guts asked. "Because that doesn't make a lick of damn sense."

"Shut your mouth!" Casca snapped at him. "You weren't there, you didn't hear it!"

"You're right," Guts admitted as much, "I wasn't. And that's why I find it hard to believe that an eleven-year-old can talk to snakes. He was probably just trying to impress you or something."

"You didn't see his face after," Casca told him. "He looked surprised when he began talking to it. It was like he didn't even know he could do it until right then. When he saw how I reacted he just looked confused. He must have thought that I could understand what was being said."

"So… he can talk to snakes, and didn't know about 'til now?" Guts asked skeptically.

"I know it sounds crazy, but it happened," Casca insisted. "It was just like- like…"

"Magic?" Griffith asked, speaking for the first time. He had been quite, listening to Casca tell her story. "That is what you were going to say, right?"

Casca remained silent, but her eyes conveyed all the meaning where her voice was silent.

"Come on!" Guts insisted. "You don't actually believe that, do you, Griffith?"

"Did Judeau ever tell you what he did before joining my band?" Griffith evaded the question. "He used to be part of a traveling performing troupe. And then one day an elf supposedly fell into their company." Griffith paused. "How did he describe it? Oh, yes; "small, blue, playful, and borderline annoying."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Guts asked.

Griffith shrugged. "Just that our world isn't as plain as we believe it to be. I thought you would know that after our encounter with Zodd."

Guts was silent for a moment. "So let's say for a minute that this is true; what in the hell do we do about it?"

"Well we can't exactly have everyone else know about it," Casca said. "I know my reaction probably didn't give him a peace of mind, but imagine if someone like Corkus were to find out. He'd be stammering and freaking out and maybe claim it's a Kushan trick. Or if someone from the nobility were to find out…"

"Then the boy would be burned at the stake," Griffith concluded.

Casca nodded. "And from what I know, The Holy See religious organization has an inquisitor that specializes in witch hunts; and torture."

"So we're going to just keep it a secret, is that it?" Guts asked. "If this really is… magic then-,"

"Then we'll have to confirm our suspicions, won't we?" Griffith finished for him. "But for the time that he has been with us, Harry has given us no reason to suspect him of being malicious towards us. Where is he now anyways?"

"I took him back to his barracks," Casca informed. "I told him to wait there until- well I didn't exactly say when."

Griffith nodded in understanding. "Could you go fetch him, please? We should discuss this next part with him."

Despite having a candle lit, the room seemed dark. Harry sat alone on his bunk while Casca had run off, most likely towards Griffith. It bothered him. Not so much the fact that they were probably talking about him right now, but because of the way Casca had looked at him afterward. Her face full of shock and fear over what had happened. It had almost reminded him of-,

"We will meet again, Wizard."

The Skull Knights parting words to him came back to the forefront of his mind, pushing his previous recollection aside. Wizard, that's what he had been called. Wizard… magic. There is no such thing as magic. Magic is just make-believe, only freaks believe in magic. Freaks… like him.

The door to the barrack opened. Anxiety gripped at his heart, but a soft voice said, "Harry?" It was just Rickert. "What're you doing in here all by yourself?"

"Oh," Harry let out a short breath of relief. "Nothing really I guess. Just… waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Rickert asked, sitting on the bunk opposite him.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

Rickert tilted his head in confusion. "Are you in trouble or something?"

Once again, Harry shrugged. "Maybe."

"Well, what'd you do?" Rickert inquired further.

"I… just something freakish," Harry settled on.

"Like spying on Corkus when he trims his huge toenails?"

No," Harry said nearly failing to fight off the smile that tried creeping its way onto his face. "Nothing like that."

"Well that's about the only freakish thing I can think of," Rickert slumped in defeat. "But I'm sure you won't be in that much trouble."

"Huh, why's that?"

"Because you're one of us, that's why," Rickert said as if were the most obvious thing in the world. "You've been with us enough to know that we look out for each other. Whatever it is that you did I'm sure that-," The door opened with a creek, interrupting the boys' conversation. Casca peeked her head into the room.

"Hey, could I borrow you for a second, Harry?" He noted that she seemed nowhere near as nervous as she had been previously. "We just want to talk for a bit, that's it."

We? Harry picked up on. "Uh… sure, alright." He sat up on his bunk and cast a glance over his shoulder to see Rickert giving him an encouraging kind of half smile. Closing the door behind him Harry was surprised to see that alongside Casca there was Guts and Griffith as well. Guts was casually leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, and Griffith was surveying him with an inquisitive look; not necessarily threatening just curious, with a tinge of ambition.

"So," Griffith began, "Casca has told us quite the story regarding you and a snake. She said that you seemed to be speaking with it, is that true?"

"Well…" Harry was a bit unsure of what to answer that with. "It was more like it was talking to me first." He hoped that would pass for an acceptable answer.

"In another language?" Griffith surmised.

"It- sounded normal to me," Harry was quick to point out. "I thought she could understand it too. That's why I was so surprised when I saw her reaction." He looked to Casca to see she actually looked a bit embarrassed herself. "I didn't mean to scare you like that though, I didn't think I was even speaking differently. I'm sorry. I'm sorry if you think I'm a freak after this."

He averted his gaze away from Casca and to the ground, so it came as a surprise to him when he felt a comforting hand placed on top of his head. Harry looked up to see it was Casca, who then gave him a gentle pat.

"Look, Harry," she said. "I know that the way I reacted wasn't the most- er- comforting back then."

"Tch," Guts snarked.

"But it just- caught me off guard is all," she continued. "And I'm sorry if I made you feel like you were a freak because of that."

"But you just said you couldn't understand it," Harry recalled. "It was only me. So what does that make me if not a freak?"

"That is exactly what we intend to find out," Griffith spoke again. "While you were waiting in your barrack we were discussing a few things amongst ourselves. And… we only have guessed."

"Oh," Harry said, not exactly sure how to feel about that. Harry had discovered that he hated being left out of stuff that included him, so to find out that the three people who were just talking about him had no idea what to think of him was a disappointment, to say the least.

"But none of them involve you being a freak," Griffith assured him. "And until further notice, we ask that you try to keep this… talent of yours a secret."

"Yeah," Guts agreed. "A lot of people might get the wrong impression if they see you doing what you can do."

"Indeed," Griffith agreed. "And that's why I'll have you and Casca pay a visit to Windham's library first opportunity you get to look into this "snake speak" further." Guts nodded, but he didn't seem too thrilled at the prospect, Casca too.

Elsewhere in Windham Castle

It's a mockery! A complete disgrace of tradition! Count Julius thought angrily as he strode the castle. To think a mere commoner like that white haired cur will be partaking in the royal hunt is a disgrace! What is my brother thinking inviting Sir Griffith and his men?! If Father were alive he'd name me heir in a heartbeat after hearing that news.

To Julius, he had every right to be angry. Griffith, a common born young man from the slums who was raised to Knight Status in just a few short years was nothing short of a miracle; an idea for peasants to get behind. And he hated it!

Peasants were peasants for a reason, just as the nobility ruled for a reason: because it was their right to do so. Griffith was disillusioning himself into believing any different, and if he had any sort of respect for Midland at all then he would go back to whatever back alley gutter he was raised in and live out the rest of his days as he was meant.

Whatever does a commoner know of being a Knight? Whatever does he know of being in the presence of his superiors except for when to kneel? Julius fumed. All this frustration building inside of him, it wasn't healthy. Perhaps he should pay a visit to the queen to help relieve some of his stress. She shared the same mindset as him in regards to one's social standing, she would understand; she had before.

Julius knew that his brother cared little for his wife, only marrying her for political security and only consummating the marriage once on their wedding night. After the death of Charlotte's mother, it was only fitting for his brother to remarry. It was a loveless marriage, but that didn't mean the queen was without needs. And with his own wife dead as well, Julius experienced urges of his own.

However, any fantasy Julius was about to imagine between himself and his brother's wife was interrupted by the sight of the short and bald Minister Foss looking out of a window. "Lovely time for a stroll, Count Julius."

"A lovely time for me to retire to my chambers, Minister Foss."

"A tad early, something troubling you?" Foss inquired, but the tone of his voice made it clear he knew full well what was raging through Julius' mind. "I do hope that whatever it does not keep you distracted during the upcoming hunt. Many an accident could happen to those who don't pay attention."

"What are you insinuating?" Julius demanded of the short minister.

"Only that hunts are just as dangerous for people as the animals," Foss slyly replied. "A stray arrow dipped in poison could end the promising career of a young up and coming knight, who if the rumor I heard was true could soon become a general in status."

Julius instantly knew of who Foss spoke of. "Someone like him as the rank of General?! I won't allow it!"

"I thought not," Foss replied evenly. "For what does a commoner know of responsibility such as that? But, I suppose it is up to men like us who do not wish to see this country disgraced to take action."

Julius mulled the thought over. "A poison arrow?"

"Completely untraceable," Foss assured, to which Julius chuckled. It would be such a fitting end to that white-haired commoner.

Hogwarts was living up to the magical hype his grandmother had promised. But, Neville just wished he had the aptitude to live up to all of it. To start off, the common room was only accessible behind a painting of The Fat Lady who would only open if you had the password; and Neville had forgotten it on the first day. Next was navigating the maze that was Hogwarts itself. Twice in one day he had got turned around and found himself on the first floor when he needed to be on the fourth. Then there were the actual classes themselves.

Transfiguration with McGonagall was alright. She was fair to all students and even revealed herself to be an animagus on their first day of lessons. When he failed on multiple attempts to transfigure his matchstick into a needle, she had given him five points for effort, but also additional practice as homework.

Charms with Flitwick was fun, the professor would always beam positivity at his students while looking up at them (he was quite short), and offer help where needed. He was probably over by Neville's seat the most going over the proper wand movements with him until he was sure that Neville would not forget.

Herbology was probably his favorite out of all the classes. Professor Sprout seemed determined to give them very hands on teaching experience, and Neville actually found it enjoyable. Unlike the rest of the classes, this required little to no wand usage and was possibly the reason he enjoyed it as much as he did. Even Professor Sprout seemed to like him, always giving Gryffindor points when he correctly treated one of the magical plants.

But for every moment Neville enjoyed in Herbology, he dreaded in Potions with Professor Snape. Compared to the rest of Hogwarts the dungeons were dark, damp, and depressing, and the same could be said for Slytherin's head of house. Each class Snape would hover over the Gryffindor's side of the room and nitpick their potions while showing blatant favoritism to his own Slytherin's.

"What's this?" The oily-haired professor asked as he leered of Neville's potion. "Tell me, Longbottom, can you read?" Neville heard snickering going on from the other side of the room, and could practically see Draco Malfoy's smirking face.

"Y-yes, Professor Snape."

"Then tell me, what does it say up on the board step four is for brewing The Draught of Living Death?" Another Gryffindor raised her hand to answer for Neville, but Snape paid her no mind.

"To turn, er- stir three times counterclockwise," Neville recited from the instructions written up front.

"And if you had done that then why is your potion the color of mud and not a dark purple?" Snape pressed him.

"I-er, um," Neville fumbled for his words.

Snape sneered at his stuttering. "Pathetic." With a wave of his wand, Neville's cauldron emptied itself. "It is clear to me that you lack the etiquette of potions making. Do I need to assign you a supervisor, Longbottom?"

"…N-no, Professor."

"Not quite sounding so sure of yourself," Snape observed. "Not at all like a Gryffindor. Did the Sorting Hat make a mistake sorting you, Longbottom?" Malfoy and his cronies openly laughed.

"…W-well-," Snape held up a hand to silence him.

"Since you are so inept at this very simple task, you will be working alongside someone I know not to be a dunderhead such as yourself. You will be working with Miss. Davis." Neville looked to the Slytherin side to see one of the girls he had met on the Hogwarts Express.

"Are you expecting her to move to your side, Longbottom?" Snape asked when Neville made no move to get up. "Five points from Gryffindor, for lack of manners."

Neville was aware of everyone's eyes on him as he packed up his things and moved across the room to where Tracey was. He still kept his head down and muttered a very brief, "Hello," making sure to avoid eye contact.

"Hey, I remember you," Tracey recalled. "You're that weird kid from the train, the one who lost his toad."

"Um, yeah," Neville confirmed, still not looking at her. She already knows that I'm weird.

"Do you plan on reading the board with your head down?" Tracey asked after a minute of very awkward silence. "I don't want to get a bad grade because you're not doing your work."

"S-sorry," Neville muttered as he began the first step.

Not a minute later Tracey was asking, "What are you doing?"

Neville looked back and forth between the board and his cauldron. "Well, I-er, was just…"

"You were about to add the wrong ingredient," she informed. "Look before you add, like I said, I don't want to get a bad grade because of you." She pointed out the correct first ingredient for him. "Now add crushed Mandrake leaves."

"Those are these ones," Neville pointed to the next batch. Tracey actually looked a bit surprised.

"You knew that one?"

"Well, I read about it," Neville meekly admitted. "I- um, like Herbology and, well I just kinda knew what it looked like."

"Hm," Tracey just nodded and continued to work on her own potion, occasionally correcting Neville whenever he was about to make a mistake. At the end of the lesson, Snape observed all the potions and simply said that Neville's was good… for a dunderhead. That caused another chuckle from the majority of his Slytherin's.

As the class was dismissed, and Neville made his way back to the Gryffindor Common Room he heard a student cast a spell. "Diffindo!"

Next thing Neville knew part of his robes were ripped and the bottom part of his trousers had been cut off, exposing part of his underwear. He was thankful that he actually remembered to wear underwear today. The corridor immediately erupted in laughter as Neville's face turned beat red in embarrassment. But the loudest laughter of all came from the spell's castor.

Draco Malfoy was clutching his stomach as he roared with laughter at Neville's exposed state. "Look boys! He really does have a long-bottom! You were right Crabbe!" As if his red face wasn't humiliating enough, his eyes began to feel very puffy all of a sudden.

"I-is there a pr-problem h-here gentlemen?"

Neville never thought he would be so glad to hear the stuttering voice of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell before. Malfoy and his cronies eased up on their taunting.

"Not at all, Professor," Malfoy said, wearing a proud smile. "Longbottom just had a misfire with his wand was all."

"A-ah, th-that does tend to happen to f-first years o-often, eh?" Quirrell seemed to believe Malfoy's lie. "N-now why d-don't we all keep a m-move on? Don't w-want to h-hold up the c-corridor, eh?"

The cluster of students began moving once again, and Malfoy sent Neville a smug grin as he departed. Quirrell turned to Neville and muttered a spell that instantly repaired his torn robe and trousers.

"F-first year j-jitters? I had t-them my-myself," Quirrell told him kindly.

"Yeah, sure," Neville mumbled. "Thank you, Professor Quirrell."

"N-no problem. None at a-all." Quirrell smiled at him and walked back to his own empty classroom. Unbeknownst to Neville, Quirrell's stuttering act dropped the minute he closed the office door behind him.

"Weak little brat," Quirrell uttered when he was sure he was alone. Well- as alone as he could be. Walking over to a wall mounted mirror, Quirrell began to undo the purple turban that he wore every day. With one last twirl, the face that was growing out of the back of his head was free.

It was pale and reptilian in appearance and had slits for nostrils where a nose should have been. Red eyes blinked to adjust to the light. It was the face of Voldemort, or what was left of him,

"Halloween is only a few weeks away, My Lord," Quirrell spoke with the face on the back of his head. "I am ready to make our move then."

"Excellent," Voldemort rasped out. "Dumbledore was a fool if he believed hiding the stone here was the safest move. For a man who claims to love his students, he has put every one of them at risk with this ploy of his."

"I agree," Quirrell said. "The man is going senile in his old age. When the stone is ours you will be back to your original glory. Dumbledore won't stand a chance."

"Dumbledore will fall, I will see it through to fruition," Voldemort said with determination. "But not before I torture him within an inch of his life. I want to hear him confess where he has hidden the boy all these years."

"B-but My Lord," Quirrell stuttered, genuine this time. "The boy is missing. No one knows where he is."

"Do not believe those lies in the Daily Prophet!" Voldemort reprimanded him. "Dumbledore knows. He must. And even if he doesn't, I will find him myself. Potter can't stay hidden forever."

Thud! The thickly bound leather book made quite the sound as Guts plopped it down on the desk Casca sat at. For the past two hours they had spent in Windham's library they had found little as to what Harry's "talent," as Griffith had called it, could possibly be. And both of their frustration was beginning to surface.

"Could you be quieter?" Casca asked, clenching a fist. "This is still a library after all."

"Doesn't seem busy to me," Guts observed the near desolate hall, the exception being an old man a few tables away that looked more asleep than awake. Casca just shook her head and opened the book he had placed before her.

"This is a history of Midland," Casca read the title.

"Yeah, so?"

She sighed. "Nothing. Good to see you're still an uncooperative jackass."

"Heh. Good to see you're still an unappreciative bitch," Guts shot back. He could tolerate Casca well enough on good days, but only for so long.

Instead of arguing further, Casca let out a very long sigh and began to flip through the book. This had been the cycle for the last two hours. Guts would pick a book for the surrounding shelves and Casca would skim through it for information. A stack of discarded books sat on the floor beside the desk, nearly reaching as high by now. Usually, Casca had power skimmed through each of the text, but she seemed to be taking her time with this one.

"What's taking you so long?" Guts asked. "Find anything?"

She ran a hand through her dark hair. "I don't know, maybe. This is an old text, the first few chapters are speculations about old King Gaiseric and then a list of his rumored descendants."

"Who?" Guts asked, unfamiliar with the name.

"You know, King Gaiseric?" Casca repeated. "He was the one who united the entire continent. He was known for wearing a skull like helm into battle. Apparently, the royal family of Midland is descended from him."

"That has anything to do with what we're supposed to be looking for?"

"I'm still looking," she replied. "It wouldn't hurt if you helped read through a few too."

"You seem to be doing an alright job," Guts said. She looked like she was about to retort, but restrained herself in the end and continued to flip through.

"Wait," she said after a few more minutes of looking. "I think I might have found something."

"What is it?"

"Come here, look for yourself."

"Just tell me, you're the one holding the damn book," Guts further argued.

"Yeah, well-," she paused. "Hold on. Can you- can you read?"

"What makes you ask that?" Guts answered with a question.

"Every book you've picked out, you've given to me to read. After awhile I began to wonder if you were even looking at the title. It would explain why one of the books you grabbed was one filled with children's fairy tales."

"I know enough words," Guts said. "I can read if I try hard enough, but it's not something I need. I'm not about to throw books at people in battle, am I?"

She looked at him strangely, before sliding the book over so the both of them could look at it. "Do you know what that says?" She asked. Guts looked at the word in concentration trying to make sense of the way the letters were arranged on the parchment. He was able to recognize the first letter easily enough, it was a capital after all. M.

The letters following he recognized as well, but they didn't form any word that he knew already. "That someone's name or something?" Guts asked. "Murr," he tried sounding it out.

"I think its pronounced Merlin," Casca read as well.

"So what's so special about him?"

Casca pointed to another passage. "Court order from the king of that time. One day a man arrived at Windham castle seeking an audience with the king. The king's wife had fallen deathly sick and had put the word out all over the nation for the best healers to come and heal his beloved. When this Merlin arrived he claimed to have been a great friend and advisor to the king of his realm and promised to do all in his power to help. A day later, the queen was back to full health. Some in the court accused Merlin of witchcraft, and he made no move to deny any of them, but the king refused to have him killed on account of what he had done. The king only wanted to know why a stranger from a distant land would want to help. Merlin was quoted with the following, "Stranger? None of us are strangers. We may come from different lands, but I choose to see the world as a tree that connects us all, like how I came to visit this land. We each have a choice, and I choose to help; not strangers, but my fellow man."

"They thought this guy was a wizard?" Guts said after Casca had recited the text. "He sounds more like a washed out poet."

She slammed the book shut. "Still it's the closest thing we've managed to find, aside from the record of witch burnings held at The Tower of Conviction. It's a start, but if Griffith wants us to dig into this Merlin character further, we won't find it here. Chances are anything else about him might be held in the royal family's private library." She packed the book in her rucksack. "Still worth hanging onto I suppose."

It was a good day for a hunt. At least that's what all the lords seemed to think. This hunt was one of tradition as it was hosted by the king himself and featured many members of the nobility. But by royal decree, The Band of the Hawk was cordially invited to join as well. Or so many of them believed.

"So we're not actually doing any hunting?" Asked Harry from horseback.

"More like shepherding," Guts surmised from his mount as well. "Nobility can't break all their stupid tradition."

His placement alongside Guts was not by coincidence. After "the incident," as Harry came to refer to it as, it was decided that he should stick close to either Guts, Casca, or Griffith in case any other new "talents" popped up. Harry was actually glad he was with Guts today. The swordsman seemed skeptical if his "talent" was real or not and didn't make any mention of bringing it up. Of course Harry had nothing against being with Casca or Griffith, but even though Casca meant well, she could still be overbearing at times. And Griffith…

Well, Griffith kept his mount by the king, and by extent next to Princess Charlotte. The entire time the hunt had been taking place, Harry noted Charlotte to seem nervous whenever an arrow would be fired at an animal, to then letting out a sigh of relief when it missed. As a way to help ease her nerves, Griffith was showing her how to get a leaf to whistle. She seemed to be enjoying it.

"Is he trying to woo her or just enjoying the little things?" Harry wondered.

"Both," Guts replied. A fox ran in their direction. "C'mon." The pair of them rode forward and cut the fox off. Startled, it ran off in another direction.

"Nicely done, lads!" A noble said, riding after the prey.

"Lads?" Harry repeated. "He doesn't know our names, does he?" He felt a tad insulted.

"Why would he?" Guts sounded put out, but for another reason. "We could've killed that fox if we were allowed."

They should have. The direction the fox fled was right past Charlotte's horse, spooking it and causing it to run off. "Aaaaah!" She wailed as her horse ran off with her. Acting fast, Griffith gave chase after.

"We're going after them, right?" Harry turned to Guts for guidance.

"Hell yeah, we are. C'mon!" Guts spurred his horse after them as well, Harry following close behind.

Charlotte's horse had a head start, but they were quickly able to catch up to them after Griffith had ridden up alongside her and grabbed the reigns to help steady the spooked horse. Griffith dismounted and tied the reigns to a nearby tree branch to ensure the horse would not run off again.

"Are you alright?" He asked Charlotte, who much to his surprise jumped down from her horse to wrap her arms around him, trembling as she shook from fear. He gently patted her head to sooth her. "It's alright, princess. Horses might be majestic, but spook quite easily."

"T-thank you, Sir Griffith." She smiled up at him.

"Now, why don't I escort you back to your father and-,"

Thunk!

As Harry and Guts rode to where Griffith and Charlotte were a cry of, "HELP!" rang through the air. Getting closer they saw a terrified Charlotte standing next to Griffith, who had an arrow protruding from his breastplate.

"Griffith!" Guts rode down to him.

"Crap!" Harry lightly cursed, following suit.

"Someone shot at him!" Charlotte panicked. "He had just saved me and then-,"

"Did you see where?!" Guts demanded, approaching the already scared Charlotte. "Where'd it come from?!"

"I-I don't… I didn't see until… until after!" Charlotte became more panicked.

"Guts, you're scaring her," Harry reached out to calm Guts down, only to have the swordsman pull away before it could happen like he was expecting something bad to happen if he did.

"Don't worry about me, worry about-,"

"Griffith!" Soon Casca and a few Hawks were riding down to them, as well as the king and a few nobles.

"What is the meaning of this?!" The king demanded.

"Ugh!" Griffith groaned as he pulled the arrow free of his breastplate. "I'm fine." He pulled the crimson red bauble free from beneath his armor. "If it hadn't hit this I would be done for. My luck holds out again."

"Someone shot at him, father!" Charlotte explained. "My horse had been spooked and Sir Griffith had come to my rescue when-," the king had one of the nobles give his daughter a cloak to wrap around herself.

"Escort my daughter back to the castle at once," he ordered. "Everyone else, search the area. We may be dealing with a Chuder assassin."

As a chorus of "Yes, Your Highness!" rang out, Harry saw Griffith staring at one of the noble lords. He man had a well-pampered mane of reddish brown hair and the look of someone who had been sucking on a lemon. The lord stared back at Griffith, before riding to escort Charlotte back to the castle.

Hours later

Guts watched Griffith as he flipped through a book within the latter's solar. "We didn't find who shot at you, if that's why you called me here," Guts told his leader.

"No, I wouldn't think so," Griffith replied nonchalantly as if he had not almost been killed hours ago. "I have just been reading up on something that might be of interest to us. You recall the name of that man you and Casca had discovered in your research?"

"That Merlin guy? Yeah," Guts recalled. "Why?"

Griffith held up the book he was reading. "From the royal family's private collection."

"How'd you get that?" Guts questioned.

"Well, the king was most grateful for my helping his daughter that he was quite easy to persuade into allowing me access."

"What'd you find?"

Griffith smiled softly. "Quite a few things. I plan on lending this text to Casca so she and Harry can go over it together."

"And, you want me to run it over to them or something?" Guts asked. "You're lazy if you don't feel like giving it to them yourself."

Griffith lightly chuckled. "No. That's not the reason why either. I… have a favor to ask of you."

Guts shrugged. "So, do it. If you need me to do something, just say so. Don't be so damn hesitant; it isn't like you at all."

Upon hearing his words, Griffith smiled. But like that one time before this one wasn't childish at all. It was more a smirk filled with a hidden dark intent that only surfaced like a sharks fin above the water, you never knew it was there until it was. It was… creepy.

"I'd like you to kill a man for me."

A/N: So there's chapter 8. I made mention to Merlin having crossed over into Midland in previous chapters, and without giving away any spoliers, I can say that it will be an important plot point in the future. Thank you for reading.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

It was perhaps a show of wealth, combined with a streak of vanity that compelled Count Julius to possess his own manor instead of residing with the resident family in Midland's capital castle. The manner was located just a few miles from the castle itself, a close enough distance for Julius to travel to and from the court of his brother; and easy for Guts to find, even in the dead of night.

All night long he had observed Count Julius' movements throughout the manner from the shadows, learning his routine and the layout of the dwelling. Julius had spent the better half of the early night giving orders to servants and discussing a few matters with an old scholar. That was until a certain visitor came to pay Julius a visit. She was a tall woman in a dark yet elaborate dress with her dark hair veiled by a headdress that framed her narrow face and regal features. Guts needn't have met her to know that she was Midland's Queen.

And it was perhaps due to her visit that Guts learned where Julius himself resided within the large manor. From his current position on the roof lining the courtyard, Guts was able to identify the flicker of candle light from the window of the manors spire, along with the soft billow of smoke that escaped from the chimney; adding further fire to the passion that was surely going on between the two of them from within. For a brief flicker of a moment Guts pondered what the king would say if he were to discover what was going on between his wife and his brother.

Ultimately, Guts didn't really care. It was just a fleeting thought. And besides, one of them was going to be dead soon anyways.

After the two of them were finished with their explicit nightly activities, Guts observed Julius escorting her majesty back to her awaiting carriage and then calling his young son Adonis out into the courtyard. "Fetch us some swords!" Julius ordered the Master of Arms.

"The tourney swords, My Lord?"

"My son won't become a great warrior by training with wood all his life," Julius said, ignoring the nervous look from his young son. "Bring us live steel."

"At once, My Lord." The Arms Master returned with two broadswords for the father and son pair. Julius held his sword with a steady grip while Adonis had to use both hands to wield his, and even then he could barely lift it.

"It's heavy, father," Adonis pleaded for a lighter one.

Julius denied his complaint. "Do you expect to become strong by using a sword fit for a baby?" His tone was condescending, and he knew it. "You won't be a boy forever. It's time for you to man up!"

As harsh as Julius' words were to his Adonis, Guts knew them to be true. Who knew when the war with Chuder was going to end? One day Adonis would have to take his father's place and lead a portion of Midland's army; and he wasn't going to do that as a weak little kid.

Their blades clashed and Adonis fell flat on his bottom. "Pick yourself up!" Julius commanded. "Come on, Adonis!"

Pushing himself to his feet, Adonis dragged his sword across the cobblestone courtyard to where his father stood. "Hiyahhh!" Adonis managed to swing the sword, albeit using both hands but Julius was easily able to knock the attack aside. Julius brought up his knee up to Adonis' stomach sending him reeling back.

If anyone were to see Guts' face from beneath the hood of his cloak, they would have seen a flicker of nostalgia pass like a shadow over his brown eyes. Everything about this situation felt oddly surreal to Guts; like he was reliving a scene of his own past in the present. From the much larger opponent, to the sword too large for him to properly lift as a child of six, to even when Julius was a bit too forceful with his strike and ended up cutting his son on the arm. And for a sliver of a minute, Guts could almost feel a tinge run along his nose where the scar running horizontal rested.

"My Lord," the elderly scholar interjected the one-sided sparring match. "Young Adonis should see to his wound. It would do no good to anyone if he were to die from an infection."

"Hmph," Julius sheathed his sword. "Very well, see it done. I'm retiring to my chambers for the night. See that no one disturbs me for the rest of the night." Julius gave his son but a brief glance and a pat on the head before heading inside his manor.

"Come, Adonis," the old scholar beckoned. "Let us see to that wound of yours."

Silently Guts raced along the rooftop to the outside of the spire where the Julius would be arriving in his chambers. Gripping onto the brickwork, Guts was careful to work his fingers into the notches as he began his climb upwards to the man he was sent to kill.

Another year, another Halloween to be celebrated at Hogwarts School. While the doors to the great hall remained closed the sounds of feasting and merriment still carried out around the enchanted castle. Inside the hall students talked and laughed over the latest bit of gossip from grades, to Hogsmead Village, or secret infatuations. And up at the staff table the teachers socialized as well. And of course, they all feasted.

The food was of a variety, a meal for the eyes as well as the stomach. Pork, corn, beans, soup, bread and butter, turkey, chicken, and pumpkin pie were just among a few dishes out of many. But there remained one person within Hogwarts who would not be enjoying the festivities of the night. Instead, they stood outside of the great hall, waiting to make an entrance.

The plan was a bit rushed in Quirrell's opinion, but it was well thought out enough in most parts. He and his master both knew Dumbledore to be hiding the Sorcerers' Stone on the third floor, and that every other staff member was currently in the great hall enjoying the feast. But knowing Dumbledore, the aged wizard had most likely installed some kind of ward that would alert him if anyone were to enter the corridor. So what better way to distract the staff than with a misdirect?

Quirrell was far from the most powerful professor under Hogwarts employ, but he did have a certain gift with magical creatures, Mountain Trolls to be more precise. Getting it in the school had been an easier task than expected as he was able to use the guise that it was a security measure to guard the object he was secretly plotting to steal. He had subdued the creature enough that he was able to put it in the dungeons before lifting the sleeping spell he had put on it. That had bought Quirrell just enough time to rush back to the entrance hall where he waited now.

"Give a convincing performance," the muffled voice of his master spoke from under his purple turban.

"Of course," Quirrell confirmed. He had managed to fool the entire school that he was a stuttering incompetent who lost his courage after a vampire encounter; he could easily pull this next act off without a hitch. To get into the role, Quirrell began to hyperventilate to give the impression he had been running for his very life. Carefully, he unrolled his turban by one roll so not to give too much suspicion about his relatively clean appearance, as well as to still keep his master concealed. With that, Quirrell ran forth, throwing the doors wide as he barreled straight into the hall.

All chatter stopped as the students eyed their normally quite Defense Professor running at full speed and shouting at the top of his lungs. "Trollll! In the dungeon!" Quirrell wailed. "Troll in the dungeon!"

Dumbledore had risen from his seat, but aside from that no one moved or said anything. "Thought you ought to know," Quirrell quietly said before faking a faint and falling face down on the stone floor. His eyes might have been closed, but his ears were much attuned to the collective scream that followed after. The students were in a clear panic, the sounds of their feet scrambling over one another to get to the exit assaulted his ears.

And then, "Silence!" Dumbledore bellowed, his magically amplified voice carrying out to quell any other noise in the hall. It worked. "Prefects," Dumbledore's voice was much quieter now, but still carried authority, "escort students back to their dormitories. Teachers will come with me to the dungeon."

Quirrell remained motionless as he listened to sounds of feet shuffling by, they were loud at first as the halls inhabitants grouped together with their houses and followed the orders the prefects were giving them, and then it was like listening to the end of a rainstorm with only a few drops falling before leaving silence in its wake.

Sure that the hall had emptied, Quirrell got to his feet and rushed out of the hall himself. But Quirrell rushed not down to the dungeons, but up to the forbidden third floor corridor. The door to enter was locked, but a simple alohomora charm made short work of the lock. Shutting the door behind him, Quirrell made quick stride down the corridor, the torches magically lighting as he past them.

At the end of the corridor there would be another locked door, but Quirrell knew that another alohomora would unlock it just the same as the first. It was too easy so far really. The magically locked doors could be unlocked by a charm learned by a first year student. Of course, there were the other protections around the stone but anyone in the school could make it this far and then come across the-,

"WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!"

"Agh!"

The door at the end of the corridor slammed shut, as Professor Snape forced it closed with all his might; using his wand to secure the lock in place once more. The other Hogwarts Professor breathed heavily as he held a bleeding gash on his leg and lifted his beady dark eyes to look at Quirrell. "My, my," Snape flatly said. "What a coincidence to meet you here, Quirrell."

No. No! This could not be happening! How could Snape have possibly known?! He could even feel his master seethe from this unexpected interruption.

"P-professor S-s-snape!" Quirrell defected back to his bumbling persona. "W-what a s-surprise! I t-thought y-you had come this w-way. I d-didn't think I saw y-you g-go to the dungeons. E-every other p-professor is down t-there."

Snape let go of the door and limped over to where Quirrell stood. "Save for the two of us. I wonder why that is." Another step forward and Quirrell found himself backed against a wall. "Surely you would have gone to assist our fellow colleagues, you seem to have made a full recovery in such a short time."

"I a-am not much of a f-fighter y-you see," Quirrell began to weave a tale together. "I w-wouldn't have been m-much of a h-help. N-not directly a-anyways. I t-thought t-that's what y-you were o-off to do, to m-make s-sure no one w-wandered away to this c-corridor."

"Hm," Snape's black eyes never left his. "How considerate of you."

"I-indeed," Quirrell stuttered further. "I w-would only be an h-hindrance a-any other way."

Snape's lip curled into bit of a sneer. "I will never understand how you got your position, Quirrell." Snape stepped away from him. "Come, Quirrell! There is no danger here. Let us go aid our fellow staff against this troll."

"O-of c-course!" Quirrell managed a fake, but convincing smile. It couldn't be farther from what he was feeling on the inside.

The fireplace and a few candles provided light to the lord's chambers atop the spire, a spacious living quarter, Guts had to admit, but with the lingering stench of Julius' and the queen's sex it felt much less homely than it could've.

Guts waited in a corner of the room where the light did not illuminate, and with the hood of his cloak pulled up it seemed to cast him further into the shadows. He fire hissed as a log cracked and the sound of approaching footsteps ascended from the spiral staircase leading upwards. A lock was undone and Julius stepped into his quarters not bothering to close the door fully behind him.

The king's brother went to the desk in the middle of the room and took a seat, unbuckling his sword belt and resting it against his desk. By all accounts, Julius believed himself to be alone in his room. Guts took a slow step out of the shadows, the firelight briefly reflecting off of his sword.

Julius noticed the gleam from his peripheral vision and turned, startled to see that there was an intruder. Quickly, he reached for his sword, but Guts was faster as he shot towards him. Julius barely had time to block Guts' attack and staggered from the force of the swing. Guts swung upwards and sent Julius' sword flying out of his hands. Raising his sword high, Guts brought it swinging down. In a vain attempt to block the swing, Julius raised his hand, but the swing cut right through his appendage and sank into his shoulder.

The once expensive robes Julius wore quickly became tainted red with blood as he dropped to his knees, bleeding out within his own chambers. And in his last dying bit of strength, Julius managed to use his non-mangled hand to pull Guts' cloak down looked up at his now assassin and was able to catch a brief glimpse of Guts' face. Guts saw the recognition pass over Julius' face as he recalled seeing him with Griffith that one day during their recovery. The thought that Griffith had bested him would be the last thought Julius had. A pitiful half gurgle escaped Julius' lips and his body went limp in a pool of his own blood.

Moving away from the body, Guts started back for the window he had entered from. He would have to go tell Griffith that Julius was no longer an issue. In just a few minutes he would be-, Creeeeek.

The door to the chamber creaked open enough to elicit a noise and Guts knew that it had not been the wind. Guts turned his head and sure enough he was able to identify a shape looking through the crack in the door. He couldn't see who it was but he knew that they could see the body. They could see his face. Not wasting a second, Guts ran forth, threw open the door, and drove his sword forward. Schuck! His sword pierced the body, pinning it against the wall.

"Uughh," Adonis moaned as his mouth filled with blood. Guts sword penetrating his abdomen, most likely puncturing both of the boys lungs. Guts' eyes widened as he took in the sight.

It was no guard, nor an advisor, just Julius' son, a boy younger than Rickert, younger than Harry even. Just a boy.

Adonis' eyes began to close and he reached out weakly to the room where his father lay dead. It must have just been the shock of the situation, but Guts reached out and grasped the boy's hand in his much larger one. Adonis' hand already growing cold. The boy gave one last gurgled cry before his eyes closed for good; his hand falling limp in Guts' grasp.

A boy.

Guts pulled his sword out, and Adonis slid down the wall; a trail of blood following his movement.

A boy. Not a soldier.

"Master Adonis?" The voice of the aged scholar called from somewhere on the staircase. He sounded close. "Master Adonis, you shouldn't disturb your father at such an hour. He tends to-," the scholar and his two guards rounded the corner and saw the sight of Adonis laying dead, and Guts standing over him.

"I-intruder!" The scholar yelled. "Intruder in the-!" Guts rushed forth and quickly cut him down. The two guards both swung at him, but he blocked both of their swings and with a single swing of his own blade cut them both down.

Guts put his fallen hood up as he raced down the spiral staircase. He just had to get out of here. Get out of here and report back to Griffith. Julius was dead, his mission complete. And so was the boy.

"Intruder!" More guards saw him racing through the manor and charged forth to prevent his escape.

Careful to keep his hood up, Guts swung, blocked, and hacked his way through a fresh wave of guards that came to challenge him. Guts made short work of all of them as he cut through their armor and barreled out of the manor.

"Don't let him escape!" More cries sounded from the manor, and soon the place was in an uproar. "Archers, to your posts!"

Get to the river! Guts mentally pushed himself. If he could get there and get across he could leave this place behind and make it back to Windham. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! Arrows rained down around him, but he didn't break stride as he kept rushing for the river that was within his sights by now.

Thunk!

"Gah!" Guts grit his teeth as an arrow found its mark on his upper arm, and remained lodged in place. But an arrow wound was the least of his worries as he heard the sound of riders approaching fast on horseback. "Shit!" Guts cursed as he neared the river, he could see where he had tied his horse, he just had to get there and crossing the river would be an easy task.

Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! "Neeigghgh!" One of the riders must have seen his horse and shot it before Guts could take the saddle.

Damn it! Guts mentally berated.

"Stop him!"

With little options left, Guts took his chances and jumped into the river himself. His armor and cloak quickly became soaked, and the current of the river began to carry him down stream. "Aah!" Guts' head broke the surface of the water, but had little time to savor his breath as the current of the river forced him under.

His back slammed into a rock as the current continued to pull him along with its meandering flow and bend. The impact of colliding with the rock briefly had Guts seeing stars. Feeling water seep into his lungs and frustration overtake his senses, Guts kicked off from the bottom of the river with enough force to breach the surface once more.

"Bah-ah-ah-ah!" Guts coughed up water as he kicked his way over to the other side of the river bank. Pulling himself ashore, Guts plopped down of his back as he took in sight of the arrow protruding from his bicep.

His right hand, Guts grasped the arrow, and with a fierce yank pulled it out of his arm. "Tch!" Guts tossed the arrow aside and ran a hand through his watered down black hair. Why's it feel so warm? Guts wondered as looked at his hand. Blood? Oh, he must have hit it on that one rock.

Maybe. It wouldn't hurt if he just… rested for a bit. His eyes grew heavy.

…

And he was a child again. A boy of the mere age of six, holding a sword that was much too large for him to be wielding. He swung it around without the skill that he had now, and his opponent knew it as well.

It was a face Guts recognized; the one of the mercenary leader who had raised him as a boy: Gambino. The spar that passed between them, was largely one sided, as Gambino knocked every one of his strikes aside, all the while wearing a knowing smirk on his face. But that smirk faded fast as Child Guts was able to knick Gambino on his hand.

Gambino scowled, and the friendly spar between them turned deadly when Gambino cut Guts across the bridge of his nose, ensuring a scar would stay in its place.

"It was all your fault," Gambino said, accusingly and Guts noticed that his mentor was missing a leg. Gambino raised his sword to kill him, and as he stepped into his strike, Guts raised his sword, and Gambino walked into the blade; killing himself.

But it wasn't his kneck that had been impaled on the blade, now it was his chest. And Gambino was not a grown man, he was a child. Adonis. And Guts was still the one holding the sword in his hand.

"HUHUHUHUH!" A deep rumbling laughter echoed around him and it took shape in the form of Zodd. The demonic figure loomed over Guts and snarled. But it was not the beastlike face that he had seen before. The face snarling down at him was his own.

The flicker of the candlelight in the nearly empty dining hall cast its light over the weathered pages of the old text. It probably wasn't wise to have it so close to the book itself, but it was necessary on account of the near faded ink, a clear indicator that it was perhaps hundreds of years old. Both Harry and Casca found themselves having to squint to read certain passages.

It was from the royal family's private library, a gift to Griffith from the king as thanks for saving Princess Charlotte during the hunt. And to further show his thanks, the king had invited Griffith to a feast alongside some other very high ranking nobles, hence why the white-haired man was not looking at the text as well. But that did not diminish the fact that it had been a great insight so far. Or the parts that they could read at least.

The book was written by a name Harry recalled from many a children's fairy tales: Merlin. Apparently he had wrote it as a field journal of sorts to record his travels throughout Midland, only leaving it behind to the royal family as it contained the recipe for the potion that had saved the then king's wife should they ever have to brew it themselves as it required no magic on their end.

Casca's dark eyes scanned the page they were on. "This is… something else alright." Harry was glad to see that she didn't show the signs of freaking out like when he had first spoke to that snake.

"So do you think its true then?" Harry asked. "Magic, I mean."

"Well, this Merlin was either a complete lunatic or the real deal," she answered, scanning the page over once more. "I mean he says on the first page that he attended a school that teaches magic called Hogwarts. I had to reread that to make sure I wasn't seeing it wrong. That and something about a tree of some kind."

"It does sound made up," Harry couldn't help but agree. "But did you see anything about talking to snakes?"

"Actually, yes." Casca turned to a previous page and slid it over so he could see it better. "Merlin wrote something about further studying parsalspeech, the language of snakes. He had been studying it for sixteen years before learning the speech himself."

"But I never studied to talk to snakes."

"Well he wrote that its largely a family trait and can only be learned by those with the mental capacity for it," Casca read off. "You used to live with your aunt and uncle right? Did they-?"

"No," Harry bluntly answered. "Vernon and Petunia would have freaked out if they could." Huh. He hadn't added uncle or aunt before their names.

"Maybe our parents then," Casca inferred. "If it can be passed by blood then maybe."

"I guess," Harry said. "But if they had magic then they could have saved themselves from dying, right?"

"I… don't have an answer for you there," Casca said, her tone gentle. "Just from what I've read so far magic, if it really is real, has a lot of uses but stopping death… that's not one of them." Seeing his disappointment, Casca changed the topic. "But I do think I might have found how magic is performed."

"With a wand?" Harry guessed.

"More of a staff," Casca said. "Merlin wrote that he was able to pass his staff off as a simple walking stick when passing through a village that openly burned supposed witches."

"So if I had a staff, you'd think I'd be able to do magic?" Harry guessed. He even noticed that he sounded a little excited when asking. Sure he had been nervous after Casca initial reaction to the snake, but knowing that she was willing to help him now was a comforting thought.

"Heh," She chuckled. "Maybe you could go try and find his then. He wrote that he stumbled across witches living in one of Midland's forests and made them a powerful staff as a token of good will."

"Really?" Harry asked as he tried to decipher some of the smudged letters. Either it was that old, or Merlin had the worst handwriting ever. "Does it say which one he-?" the sound of the hall's door opening prompted Harry to suddenly close the book and stuff it away in his satchel.

"Oh," Casca said her tone flat when turning to address the newcomer. "It's just you."

"Griffith," Guts said as he eyed the near empty hall. "Where is he?"

"He's at a dinner event," Harry told him, standing up and shouldering the satchel. "He was invited for-,"

"Thanks," Guts said abruptly, before walking back out the way he had came.

"What was that about?" Harry wondered, watching a very drenched Guts walk out.

"Who knows," Casca replied. "But we best stop him before he interrupts the event and embarrasses Griffith."

Whatever it was Guts wanted to see Griffith about he clearly wanted to do it soon. His stride had them racing to keep pace with him as they caught up to him on a set of stairs leading up to a fountain just outside a section of the castle. Two figures were sitting on the fountains edge talking, not noticing the three looking up on them from their position.

"There you are," Casca said in a berating tone once they had caught up with him after he had stopped midway up the steps. "What's so important that- what's this?" Both of them looked to see that apart from being soaking wet, Guts had acquired a fresh wound on his upper arm that looked like it belonged to an arrow. Guts didn't reply as he stared up at the two by the fountain. He didn't even react until Casca had tore the sleeve of her shirt and began to tie it around his wound.

"Hey, what are you-?"

"Shut up, and let me patch this," Casca told him, tying it around to absorb some of the blood. Seeing her example, Harry tore a sleeve from his shirt as well and handed it to Guts.

"For your head," Harry pointed to where he saw a patch of blood. Guts accepted it and tied it around his head like a bandana, turning his attention back to the two figures soon after. No surprise considering one of them was Griffith. He and Charlotte must have come outside to enjoy the cool night air.

"Sir Griffith," Charlotte shyly spoke, "do you believe in destiny?" The three of them heard the princess ask Griffith.

"Like everything that happens, happens because it was meant to?" Griffith asked. "I don't believe in that," they heard him tell her. "I don't believe that we're supposed to live our lives as intended by forces out of our own control, but by what we make for ourselves. If the former were true I would just be a beggar boy in some alley. And here I am now."

"I never thought of it that way," they could all almost visualize Charlotte's blush. "If you don't mind my asking, why do you see it that way?"

"Because of my dream," Griffith easily responded. "I always dreamed more for myself than a boy of my status had any right to. The aspiration that burned inside me like a raging bonfire that could not be extinguished."

"You speak true?" Charlotte asked. "Most would have said that they do not possess such a dream. But what is it you desire? A lover? A knight's honor?"

"Both are important, aren't they?" Griffith answered with a question. "Fighting and dying for a cause are important, but it is their own dreams that are more important I see it."

"More important?" Charlotte parroted.

"The dream supports them, breathes fire into their soul that continues to burn even after they have fallen," Griffith explained. "And it is that quality that I measure on the most, because it is how I am to call a man my friend. Someone who has their own dream in sight and will fight to obtain it, even me if it so stands. The dream will keep him afloat so that we are on an equal field. A dream that is different that we are equals in aspiring towards it."

Harry listened to the speech Griffith gave to Charlotte, unknowingly being overheard by three of his own. That's what Griffith considers a friend? Harry internally mused. A person who lived live according to their own dream and could stand by it until the very end, that was an equal? For the time Harry had known him, he never would have thought Griffith would have that opinion on friendship. From day one he had come across as an understanding guy keen on doing what he could to help another out. He was nice, compassionate, smart, almost the picture perfect image of how a person should be in both looks and traits.

But the words he had just spoken now seemed cold and distant, as if to shatter that image Harry had of Griffith in his head with a single flaw doting a near perfect record. The words Griffith had said replayed over and over in his mind, the idea of a dream presenting itself to Harry and seeing nothing in its place. What was his dream? What passion kept him burning? What made him an equal to Griffith? Was he even Griffith's friend?

It wasn't a question he wanted to think about. He wanted to tell himself that he was, Griffith had been nothing but friendly to him, so why wouldn't he be his friend? It felt wrong to even think about, and yet Griffith had just said that was the quality he measures a friend by. What was he to Griffith? What was everyone else?

He wanted to ask Guts what he thought of it, he was closer to Griffith than he was anyways. For all Harry knew Griffith could have just been saying that to impress Charlotte. But Guts was already walking back down the steps the way he had come. Casca put a hand on his shoulder to lead him away as they followed after.

"Guts?" Harry asked as they caught up him. "Are you-?"

"What did you find in that one book?" Guts cut him off.

"A few things," Casca answered. "Mind telling us why you're all wet and wanted to see Griffith as soon as-?"

"What are you doing tomorrow, Harry?" Guts cut her off as well.

"I- don't really know yet. Maybe look through that book some more. I mean it-,"

"Has anyone showed you how to block a full thrust attack?" Guts asked.

"Well, a few times, but I don't-,"

"Why don't I show you tomorrow?" Suggested Guts. It caught both Harry and Casca off guard. For the time he had known Guts he trained in solitude.

"Why are you offering?" Casca questioned, clearly not understanding Guts' motives.

"Just 'cus," he replied. "What do you say?"

"Well- I guess," Harry agreed. "But why are-?"

"See you then," Guts ended the conversation as abruptly as he had cut them both off. Harry had no idea why Guts made the offer that he did, but the one thing he did know for sure: Griffith's words had resonated within Guts as well.

The green flames of the Floo powder lightly tickled at Dumbledore's crooked nose as he stuck his head into the enchanted flames to talk to his contact on the other side. "Alastor?" He asked as he was able to see the interior of Moody's home office. The multiple Dark Detectors on the desk were a clear sign that they belonged to Moody. The troll fiasco had delayed him in contacting the Ex-Auror, but the creature had been dealt with by McGonagall, Snape, and himself while Quirrell promised to deal with the body after wards. And the matter of sending a poor first-year student to Madam Pomfrey had to be dealt with as well. How the troll had wandered into a girls bathroom was something that remained to be seen.

"I'm here Dumbledore," Moody knelt down into his line of sight.

"Good, good, how has your monitoring been going?" Dumbledore asked getting right down to the point.

"Different, unlike last year," Moody replied. "We monitored Stonehenge again this year, Albus. Something was different."

"Pray tell," Dumbledore urged sounding frantic.

"We were able to detect a slight ripple in magical influx," Mood reported. "Something crossed over here Albus."

"Could it be?" Dumbledore didn't want to get his hopes up, but the prospect was too promising.

"I don't think it was a person, Albus," Moody reported. "And whatever it was it isn't in England."

…

Elsewhere in an Albanian forest, a small green object landed on the hard ground. Gravity pulled it down a rocky slope where it finally came to a stop nestled between the gnarled roots of a tree. It was a small object for sure, and the color green was a rather emerald shade, and its egg shape was adorned by a variety of scattered facial features.

A/N: So that's it for this chapter. Quite a lot was foreshadowed in this chapter and some crossover in the HP side of things has finally happened as well. Thank you for reading.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

It seemed that Hogwarts was abuzz in the days following the Halloween incident, as it quickly became a major topic of conversation among the student body population. Neville had no idea how many rumors were flying around, but if the resident gossiping Gryffindor's, Pavarti and Lavender were an indication, there were more than necessary.

"The troll was twelve feet tall, at least," Lavender whispered to Pavarti in the Gryffindor common room.

"And it had a club that was half its height," Pavarti whispered back.

"How do you think it got in?"

"Maybe someone let it in."

"No. Who would do that?"

"Probably a seventh year, they thought it would make a good prank."

"Well it wasn't funny," Lavender concluded. "I mean, did you hear about what almost happened with that girl in our year? She almost got killed by it."

"In the bathroom?" Pavarti asked. "She was in there all day after Weasley insulted her after Charms."

"Uh-huh," Lavender nodded. "Maybe he let the troll in. You know, to mess with her some more? He can be really mean most of the time."

Pavarti shook her head. "No. That isn't like the Weasley in our year. "His brother's maybe. They pull pranks like there's no tomorrow."

Neville knew the two Weasley's through reputation. Fred and George Weasley were two years ahead of him and spent a majority of their time slacking off in the common room, and planning pranks with another friend of theirs, Lee Jordan. When they weren't doing that, they were practicing their game out on the Quidditch field. They were a total opposite of their older brother, Percy, the Gryffindor Prefect and a stickler for the rules.

"I think you may be right," Lavender agreed, "they would find this funny. Did you see how they laughed about Quirrell passing out?"

"I did. One of these days their pranks will get the better of them." Even Neville was surprised at how quick their conversation had turned direction. The only reason he was listening to what they were saying was because they had sat in the armchair next to him, and talked louder than they thought.

"Is she alright, though?" Neville decided to ask. It was a strange bout of courage that compelled him to ask, but he was curious, and hearing the two girls just gloss over the subject and onto another one so seamlessly.

The both of them looked at him, as if just realizing that he was there all this time. "You're Neville, right?" Pavarti asked him, to which he nodded. "Yeah, she's alright, just resting in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey."

"Do you know if her parents know what happened?" Neville further inquired. With a student in the hospital wing it would only be fitting to notify someone back home of what happened. And considering a troll was involved in the mix, who knows how they would react.

"Maybe," Lavender answered. "She's from a non-magical family so no one can really say what's going to happen. They might just pull her out of school if they hear about it. Getting attacked by a troll and being picked on by Weasley, why would she want to stay after that?"

"Oh," Neville solemnly said. "That's… too bad."

"Wait," Lavender said, seemingly examining his face. "Neville, do you like her?"

The suddenness of the question as well as its nature threw him off, and he felt heat rising to his face. How and why would she ask him that question?! It had absolutely nothing to do with what they were just talking about. "W-what?" Neville asked confused. "No. I don't. I mean I don't even- I don't even know her really."

His response had both girls looking to each other before descending into a fit of giggles. "It's so cute," he heard Lavender whisper (not so quietly) to Pavarti. "Do you see how red he just got?"

"I know," Pavarti whisper-talked back, "he must really like her."

Neville face palmed. All he had been trying to do was find out if the girl was okay or not; and now he was most likely going to end up the center for a love story in the Hogwarts rumor mill, courtesy of his two house mates. His motives for asking in the first place had nothing to do with what Lavender and Pavarti assumed; it was entirely different.

It had little to nothing to do with romantic feelings, but just that of understanding. He was there in class that day that Weasley had remarked that she had no friends, and he had seen her run off crying because of it. And he knew what it felt like. Neville knew that he was not popular by any means here at Hogwarts, but even he got along well with the people he did know. Seamus and Dean, his fellow dorm mates were easy enough to talk to, and were always good for a conversation, but he wasn't best friends with them by any means. He had gotten the impression they talked to him because he was in their house and their year, and they might have even felt a little sorry for him seeing his lack of real friends. Maybe they knew that Neville was only one insult away from running off and crying like she had. Perhaps given the chance he and the girl could relate to the other.

But surprisingly enough, that didn't mean that Neville didn't know people from outside of Gryffindor. In Hufflepuff house, there was Susan Bones, a girl he had seen a few times when his gran hosted dinner parties. Apparently his gran and Susan's aunt knew each other quite well from fighting together against You-Know-Who's forces. From what he recalled, Susan looked like a miniature version of her aunt.

He had stumbled upon the Hufflepuff at the library, sitting at a table with two of her housemates, Ernie and Hannah. The three of them were holding their wands over a piece of parchment and seemed to be trying to figure out how to enchant it.

"Uh, hello," Neville meekly greeted. The three Hufflepuff's lifted their heads to acknowledge him.

"Hi, Neville," Susan warmly greeted. "It's nice to see you out of class. You know Hannah and Ernie, right?"

"Yeah," Neville recalled. "We have Herbology together."

"Oh, yeah!" Ernie exclaimed, before being silenced by the librarian, Madam Pince. "You have a natural green thumb. I actually know what to do most of the time watching what you do."

"…Really?" Neville asked, not sure if what he said was true or not. Ernie didn't strike him as a liar, but he didn't want to be the bottom of an inside joke.

"Really," Hannah confirmed. "Professor Sprout is always saying good things about you. I think she wants you to be a Hufflepuff instead."

"She did?" Neville felt a swelling of pride towards his Herbology professor. The stout witch always tried to be fair with all students present, but he never would have guessed she would value the work he did that much. "Well, now that you mention it, the Sorting Hat did consider putting me in Hufflepuff."

"You're joking?! Really?!" Ernie asked, earning another shush from the librarian.

"Yeah…" Neville trailed. "It told me I would do good there, but it chose Gryffindor in the end."

"Well no wonder Professor Sprout took such a liking to you, you're a badger at heart," Ernie declared.

"Maybe," Neville somewhat agreed, shying away from their looks before asking, "What is it that you were working on?"

Susan held up the piece of parchment, "It's a get well card, for the girl who got attacked by the troll. You're in her house."

"We were trying to get it to when she opens it, our names will write themselves out," Hannah explained. "We don't think anyone's stopped by to say anything yet, so we wanted to be the first."

"Do you want to sign too, Neville?" Susan asked laying it down for him to write out him name.

"Sure, yeah," Neville agreed. It seemed like Susan was still the kind girl he knew from those dinner parties back then. Her and her friends struck him as being good people, maybe even as being friends later on.

But aside from Susan and her group of friends, the only person Neville had a somewhat civil acquaintance with was the Slytherin, Tracey Davis. Unlike Malfoy and his two goons, she didn't seem interested in harassing him, as Neville noted on that one day Snape made him work with her. And while she might not go out of her way to tease him like Malfoy, Neville still felt a bit uncomfortable with the way she looked at him, it made him feel as if he had done something wrong but he didn't know what.

She threw him for an even bigger loop when she had pulled him aside after another dreadful Potions class to talk to him. "Still terrified of Professor Snape." The manner in which she said it made Neville realize that it was not a question.

"I never stopped being," Neville admitted, adverting his gaze away from hers. She had that exact look right now. "He really hates Gryffindor."

Tracey just shrugged, not denying it at all. "No thanks to your skills, right?" Neville's lack of response was all the answer she needed. "Maybe I could help you out." She fished a note page from her robe and handed it to him. "Daphne and I took notes on how to brew all the potions up until this point." She offered him the notes.

"Um, thank you," Neville hesitantly accepted the notes. "Where were you keeping them until now?"

"In my bra," Tracey casually said. Neville instantly paled and the notes fell from his hands.

"W-what?"

She shook her head. "I'm joking."

It wasn't funny, Neville kept his thought to himself. "…Alright, but why are you giving this to me?"

"Think of it as an exchange," she explained. "You're terrible at Potions and I could use a few pointers in Herbology; notes for notes. Daphne and I trade ours all the time."

"So you do this with your friend too?"

"I do, but we've known each other since we were four," Tracey elaborated. "Because she and I are friends we share without an alternative means."

"It's just about notes then?" Neville asked. He wasn't opposed to sharing what notes he did have, but he didn't expect her to treat it like a business deal of some kind.

"What did you expect?" She asked, not seeing an issue with her offer. "That's how we usually do exchanges in Slytherin, best to know someone else's motives up front than risk getting double crossed."

"I understand that much," Neville truthfully did. "But you could have just always asked me for them, I don't have a reason to say no."

"You mean like doing good just to do good?" Tracey tilted her head.

"Well…" Neville didn't finish his sentence, but his expression must have told the rest of his unspoken statement.

"Heh," Tracey laughed lightly.

"What's funny?" Neville asked.

"Nothing," she told him, her face a mask. "But you really do belong in Gryffindor."

Before Neville could ask her what she meant by that a new voice interjected. "What are you doing, Longbottom?" The pompous and arrogant tone could only belong to one student at Hogwarts. The blonde scion, flanked by his gorilla like goons approached a very nervous Neville.

"Is this Gryffindor," Malfoy spat the word as if it were poison, "bothering you, Davis?" Both Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles to further intimidate Neville, who looked between the pair nervously.

"Its fine, Malfoy," Tracey told her fellow Slytherin. "Longbottom was just asking for some tips in potion making. I told him to just go ask Professor Snape."

"Really?" Malfoy asked. "Longbottom had to courage to actually ask a Slytherin for help?"

"That's what happened," Tracey lied.

Malfoy chuckled in mock pity. "You really are pathetic, aren't you Longbottom? I'm surprised they even let you into this school. Are you sure you're not a squib?"

Neville chose to remain silent. Malfoy's father was rumored to have a silver tongue, and if he was anything like his father then any comeback Neville could think of would probably be combated with more fury.

"Don't ever let me see you socializing with a Slytherin again," Malfoy warned his gray eyes boring into Neville. "Come on, Davis, let's return to the common room."

"I don't need an escort, Malfoy," Tracey denied the offer. "My legs can walk on their own."

"Hmpf," Malfoy snorted at her refusal. "Suit yourself. Come on then boys." Crabbe and Goyle followed behind Malfoy like two trained dogs.

Once they were out of sight, Neville turned to face Tracey again. "Thank you. For handling Malfoy back there."

"Do you know how you can really thank me?" Tracey asked, sounding a little too innocent. "Some nice Herbology notes, if you would." She didn't wait for an answer as she already began walking away leaving Neville behind to consider her offer. He wouldn't exactly call her a friend because of it, but it was still something.

The sounds of steel against steel rang throughout the courtyard almost as a callback to the mournful sounds of the church bells when Count Julius' funeral was held a few days prior for both himself and his young son, Adonis. But this was a far less gloomy occasion than a funeral for the king's brother, and yet it still presented a challenge for Harry who had managed to just barely knock Guts' blade aside for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.

True to his word, Guts had taken to showing Harry how to properly defend against a powerful lunge attack. Why Guts had him parrying, dodging, and blocking that particular kind of attack was lost logic to him, Guts was not one to offer specific help in just one kind of defense, he hardly offered any at all. When Harry had asked him why he would take the time to do this he had responded with, "Got nothing better to do."

That might have been a very Guts answer to the question, but Harry suspected that there was something else to it as well, whether it was overhearing the words Griffith had spoken to Charlotte or just something else entirely.

Even if he may never get the answer as to why, Harry had an inkling that the swordsman was beginning to warm up, if just a bit. During their training session, Guts was not telling him to stop hesitating with how he would evade or block the incoming attack. He would tell him which one he wanted done and trusted Harry enough to handle it. On the occasions where Harry would miss a swing or a sidestep, Guts demonstrated a mastery over his sword arm by stopping the blade mere inches from where his chest would have been. When that happened Guts would have him do it over until he got it right.

It was grueling, tedious, and exhausting; Harry could feel that intense burn in his limbs after a while of wielding his sword. He kept hearing that it was a good thing, and although it hurt, he could feel the muscles in his arms begin to tear and strengthen to accommodate his training.

Despite the growing burning sensation in his arm, Harry managed the strength to strike the incoming blade from below, giving him time to duck under the lunge. Guts looked down at him, perspiration evident on his brow making some of the black hair cling to his forehead. "That's enough for today," Guts simply stated, hefting his blade and sheathing it. "We ride out in a few hours, best save our strength for the coming battle."

"Right," Harry nodded, feeling how parched his throat truly was. Guts didn't take his hand, but instead grasped him by his forearm to pull him up. It seemed to Harry that Guts wanted to avoid being touched, like some sort of compulsion on his end.

Harry brushed that concern aside as he donned the rest of his armor. The rest of the band seemed to already be saddled up and ready to depart. True to what he agreed on, Harry sought out Casca, who would keep an eye on him during the upcoming battle.

He knew as soon as he saw her that something was wrong. She was breathing heavily, as if dehydrated. Perspiration doted her brow, but it was not from training nor the heat, it was a cloudy day and looked as if it could rain.

"Casca?" He asked, concerned. She took deep breaths but did not answer. "Casca?" He asked again. No answer. "Casca?"

"What?!" She all but snapped at him causing Harry to flinch.

"I just… are you feeling alright?"

She inhaled deeply through her nose. "Fine. Just a head cold, it'll pass."

Truthfully, he had no idea if that were true, and he didn't have time to dwell on it as Griffith issued the command, "Forward, time to depart!" And the band followed along.

The battle was set to take place against the Blue Whale Knights, led by the Chuder commander Sir Adon. Reports stated that Sir Adon's forces were spotted to the south, along a Cliffside overlooking a river. And the reports were correct. The Blue Whale Knights were every bit as the name described them to be, large and imposing, and donning blue armor with whale shaped helms.

Even with the Hawks receiving additional forces from a band of knights led by a man named Sir Owen, a young man with his blonde hair cut to just above his ears, the fight would appear to have equal numbers.

"You ready?" Rickert asked, handing him a spare crossbow.

"Harry accepted. "If I wasn't by now I'm not sure what I'd be doing here."

Griffith's silver armor shone in what sunlight escaped from the clouds overhead as he rode his horse to the front rank. "Vanguard, break their right flank!"

"You heard him!" Casca yelled, her voice not betrayed by her appearance. "My men with me!" She was quick to follow Griffith's command.

Riders from the enemy flank rode forth to meet them head-on in their charge, leading to Harry and some of the other crossbowman to send a volley of bolts their way. The armor on the Whale Knights proved to be as strong as their namesake, save for the slits on the helms. While the design for the rest of the armor was superb, the slits were far too wide and open and made them an easy target to be penetrated.

After the suppressing fire from the crossbows, it came time to physical side to the battle. Swords clashed and shields were splintered from the impact of maces that were flung around. But Harry made sure to keep in formation with the surrounding charge, never swinging at the heavy armor of the Whale Knights, but instead at their horses. If their mounts were cut down then they would fall as well.

That fact proved all too true when Harry saw Casca's horse get slain from under her. She jumped from the saddle and into a roll to avoid being crushed under her dead horse. The culprit behind killing her horse was a large man wearing the more upgraded armor than the rest of the Whale Knights, as well as a cape that held some sort of family insignia. If Harry had to guess, this was Sir Adon.

"Ahaha!" Sir Adon laughed. "You're a woman?! What are you doing on the battlefield? You disgrace it with your very presence! If you seek to be around soldiers that much you should just let them have their way with you!"

Casca's anger flared at Sir Adon's insults as she rose to her feet. This is it! Harry thought, eager to see her put Adon in his place. His eagerness quickly turned south when he saw that Casca was not moving at her regular pace. Her moves were slow, uncoordinated, and sloppy. And worst of all, she wasn't thinking clearly. Her anger towards Sir Adon was clouding her judgment, and it showed.

Every swing of her sword was easily knocked aside by his weapon of choice, a three pronged trident. He caught her blade between two of his prongs and twisted the blade from her hand. She was losing.

"C'mon!" Someone shouted to Harry's left, and he and a small group rode forth to assist Casca against her opponent.

"No interference!" Sir Adon shouted as he swung his trident around in an arc and cut through the advancing unit. Harry would have been one of them, had his horse not reared up and taken the blow in his stead, throwing him to the ground. "Now then, woman," Adon turned his attention back to Casca, "if you surrender now I'll allow you to live the rest of your days as my personal concubine."

Casca spat at his feet. "Go to hell!"

"Insolent wench!" Adon yelled. "You want to play the part of a warrior?! Then allow me to grant you- Arrrrgh!"

Adon was cut off as Guts rode forward and brought his sword up and cut through his helm, tearing it off as well as a majority of his teeth. Adon fell from his horse grasping at his damaged face. Harry would have smiled at the sight, if he hadn't caught sight of Casca beforehand. Whatever was wrong with her seemed to be far more than a head cold, as she swayed on her feet dangerously close to the cliffs edge.

"Casca!" Harry yelled. Guts turned to see the state she was in and rode to grasp her hand before she could fall off. That proved to be a fatal move as the fallen Sir Adon retrieved his trident and threw it, killing Guts' horse and sending both he and Casca over the cliff.

"Ahaha!" Adon laughed. "Serves that bitch rig-,"

Harry had enough of Adon's gloating. He didn't think twice as he felt a rage take hold of him at hearing that laugh, at hearing him insult Casca like that. He brought his sword down, cutting Adon's right hand off. Some blood sprayed him, surprising him that he had that in him. Adon's armor was heavy and thick, how had he-?

A glance at his blade showed that it seemed to glow like it were in a blacksmith's shop fresh out of the embers. Some steam wavered off as Adon's blood began to evaporate. Had he- somehow heated his sword?

"Aaaaaaaghhhhhhhhh!" Sir Adon wailed as he clutched his bleeding stump. "You cut my hand, you disgraceful twat!"

"Maybe you should watch your mouth," Harry advised in a tone that sounded much more mature than he thought possible, "I'm cutting it next."

He hadn't even took a step forward when a barrage of arrows came raining down between him and Sir Adon. The remainder of the Blue Whale Knights had taken a defensive position and their archers were providing cover fire as two men rushed forth to help Sir Adon mount a horse.

"Retreat!" Adon ordered. "All of you, fall back!" Harry was prepared to mount up and make chase after them, but some archers continued to fire at him even from horseback, causing him to retreat.

"Harry!" He heard his name being called, probably by Rickert, but he paid it no mind as he instead ran over to the Cliffside to look down. It was a good fall down to the river below, and it was fast moving on top of that. His eyes scanned the riverbank, looking for the glimmer of armor or something to break the surface of the water. Much to his dismay, nothing of the sort happened.

"Harry!" It was not Rickert, but Griffith. Riding up to dismount next to him, he knelt down. "What happened?"

"Guts and Casca!" He exclaimed. "Something was wrong with Casca, she and Guts fell off the cliff!" More gathered around the two of them.

"From here?" Corkus looked down the edge. "No way they could have survived that."

"I would be too sure of that, Corkus," Judeau contemplated. "They're both stubborn in their own right, together; it'll take more than that to kill them."

"They're alive," Harry insisted. "I know it!"

"I hate to interrupt," Sir Owen rode to join them, "but the king will want us to return as soon as possible. He told me so before I made my departure."

Harry wasn't willing to give up so easily. "But what about-?!"

"I cannot refuse a summons from the king," Griffith said, killing a portion of his hope. Without Griffith who was going to save the two of them. "I'll return to the capital with Sir Owen, the rest of you set up camp in a secure location."

"But Guts and Casca are-!"

"Valuable members to our band," Griffith finished for him. "While I may not be able to refuse a royal summons, I do not intent to leave them behind." Relief washed over Harry, knowing that Griffith didn't plan to just abandon them. But in the back of his mind, Griffith's previous words played reciting what he considered a true friend. "I instead leave that task to you."

Harry looked to see who Griffith was referring to but saw that Judeau's, Rickert's, Corkus', and even Pippin's eyes were on him. "Me?"

"You show the most conviction," Griffith observed. "Take a few dozen men with you to form a search party." Judeau and Rickert gave him a reassuring nod. "I trust you with this." Griffith turned to ride with Sir Owen back to Windham. The sight of Griffith's white hair billowing behind him as he rode towards the stormy horizon was like something right out of a painting.

"Bahaaa!" Guts coughed up a mouthful of water as his head breached the river's surface. He kicked himself to the shore, dragging an unconscious Casca in his wake. He had done all he could to try and keep her head above water, but with both of their armor weighting them down, he might have failed in that regard. Guts removed her breastplate and pushed down with his hands until Casca coughed up a stream of water. However her eyes did not open to signal she was awake.

In fact she had been acting weird all day, if guts recalled. He put a hand to her forehead. She's burning up, he realized. If she had some kind of sickness then lying around in her soaked clothing and armor wasn't going to help. The sound of thunder rolled across the sky. "Great," Guts said to himself, as he carried the limp form of Casca a ways into the surrounding forest until stumbling onto a tree with a hollowed out trunk that was large enough for the both of them to take shelter in.

Guts stripped himself of his soaked armor and clothes so they could dry, and started to do the same to Casca. He felt a bit uncomfortable doing so, but he was at least glad she wasn't able to chew him out on it. She would feel even worse if she stayed in her wet clothes anyway. He piled her clothed and armor next to his own, and he caught sight of something red and warm while taking off her boots and breeches.

Blood, Guts realized as his fingers came into contact with the liquid. Had she taken a hit in the fight, or from the impact of falling into the river? He stopped his internal line of questioning when he saw that it was trailing from between her legs.

Oh. Ohhh. "Oh," he said out loud, it suddenly all made sense. "So that's what it is." What the hell was she thinking, going into battle with… this going on?! Just what the hell was she trying to prove?

Guts grabbed his breastplate and went out back to the river. Rain fell onto his head as he brought his armor piece up, water gathered in the center. He brought in back to the hollow tree and rubbed some water on her forehead. She stirred a bit in her sleep, but did not wake. Guts propped her up in his arms as the rain began to pour outside.

The rain began as a drizzle, but soon erupted into an all out thunderstorm and the rain fell hard enough that Harry could feel it through his hood. Pippin attached a lantern and hung it at the end of his massive mace, but the rain continued to extinguish it after every few minutes. Harry was grateful that Pippin didn't need to be told to stop trying to light it after a few more tries, it would have felt awfully uncomfortable if he had.

It didn't mean Harry was opposed to having people with him search for Guts and Casca, but more the fact that they were following him that struck him as odd. He got on well enough with Pippin, Judeau, Rickert, and even Corkus, but they were all older than him; even Rickert was a year his senior. Of course he would feel overwhelmed at being in command of them and a few additional men.

He had laughed with them, trained with them, fought alongside them, but everyone in the Hawks had done so. What had he done to constitute this responsibility? Griffith had said that he had trusted him, but why? Harry had overheard what Griffith considered a friend, an equal, he didn't meet that standard. There was no dream that he held that he could use to support himself, no goal in sight that he could see burning like a flame. So why? As far as Griffith should have been concerned Harry was just a boy who could talk to snakes.

And heat up a blade, a voice spoke within his mind. But even that could not equate to an ultimate goal in life. Any and all magic powers, could they really hold true if he had no purpose or desire to use them?

"Worried about them?" Judeau asked, cutting into his train of thought. Harry looked to see a rain drop fall from the tip of Judeau's nose.

"Oh, yeah," Harry answered. "I was just wondering- wondering why-,"

"Why Griffith chose you for this?" Judeau correctly guessed.

"Yeah," Harry affirmed. "I mean I'm all for looking for them and all, but…"

"You just feel that there are others more qualified to do so?" Judeau inferred.

"You're good at that," Harry told him.

Judeau shrugged. "You're actually pretty easy to read. But I get where you're coming from."

"You do?" Harry asked, quizzically. "How?"

"When Griffith asked me to become one of his captains," Judeau explained. "Of course I was one of the earlier ones to join up, but it still took me by surprise. I was just a young performer with a few knife tricks and a pouch of elf dust."

"Elves?" Harry asked, his interest peaked and not minding the change of topic.

"One fell in with my former acting troupe," Judeau explained. "As far as I know, he's still there. But I do know what you're feeling. The self-doubt and uncertainty, believe me, I know."

A sense of appreciation swelled inside him. "So, any pointers then?"

"Well… if they washed ashore, they'd be downstream. If we follow the river we might find a slope that we can descend down with our horses," Judeau advised.

"And that's what we should do?" Harry asked.

Judeau put his hands up. "You're in charge for now. I'm just giving a pointer. We won't go through with it without your word."

"Alright then," Harry nodded, his voice betraying no emotion. "We'll do it."

A bundled up cloak served as a pillow for Casca, while Guts wrung out his breeches and shook water out of his boots. Much to his benefit his breeches were dry enough for him to put back on, and while his boots were still a bit soggy, they were far from the worst they could have been. Guts partially dressed himself and reclined against the interior of the hollow tree; the rain was finally starting to let up.

"Hnnnn," Guts tilted his head to see Casca begin to stir from her dark eyes fluttered open as she took in her new surroundings.

"You're awake," Guts observed. "We're safe for now, the current of the river carried us downstream, but I wouldn't put it past ours or Chuder to have sent out a few scouts to look for us." She didn't answer; instead, she looked at him with an unreadable expression. "What?" Guts asked, confused by her lack of response.

Guts soon found himself scrambling out of the tree as Casca began to throw pieces of discarded armor his way. "Will you cut it-?!" He narrowly ducked his head as a dagger came flying at him, just missing the top of his head. "What the hell's wrong with you, you crazy bitch?!"

Casca stood with her cloak pillow draped around her form, clearly embarrassed to be in such a state. "Look away," she ordered as she began to sort through her clothing.

"Don't flatter yourself," Guts quipped but turned away all the same.

"My clothes are all soaked," she called to him.

"Yeah, that happens when you fall into the water," Guts sarcastically said.

"How is it yours are almost dry then?" She questioned.

"I wrung them out, any other questions?"

"…You can come back in now," she told him. As Guts climbed back inside he took notice of Casca wearing his sleeveless tunic, her legs pulled up to her chest. He rolled his eyes at the sight.

"Comfortable?" He asked.

"I'd be better if my clothes were dry."

"That's not what I mean," Guts corrected. "You know what I'm talking about."

She looked away in embarrassment, clearly not a subject she wanted to talk about. "Why do you care?"

"I don't really," Guts replied. "But when I get caught up in it, that's a different story." She briefly looked at him. "Why'd you do it? Why ride into battle when you knew you were going trough that? Aren't you always saying not to go charging in?"

"Because Griffith relies on me, that's why" Casca curtly replied. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"I'm pretty sure the same could be said for anyone," Guts objected. "We're all here to get him to his dream, right?"

Casca scoffed. "Like I said, you wouldn't understand."

Guts was generally confused. "What? You're not making-,"

"Because everyone pledged themselves to him willingly, except for you!" She nearly shouted at him. Her words reminded him of that day when Griffith had beaten him in their first initial fight. Griffith's words from that day still stood out to him, "From now, you belong to me."

"And yet," Casca continued, "somehow he trusts you over everyone else. You're his favorite, and you don't even care about it."

Guts stared her down for a moment, as if waiting for her to continue to rant. "So that's it?" He asked. "You risked your life to prove yourself over your feelings of jealousy? That's stupid." Casca glared at him

"That's just like you to say. You don't appreciate what you have and look down on someone who wants what you have," Casca looked close form tears; weather they were from the hormones of her monthly bleeding or her personal stake in the argument, Guts didn't know.

"Just why the hell does it matter so much to you anyway? You just said you know I don't care about any of that."

"Because!" She yelled. "Because I want to feel that way again. You have no idea the life I lived before this, do you?"

You have no idea the life I lived before this, Guts thought but kept silent, not wanting to talk about any of that.

"I came from a small farm, with parents who had too many children than they could afford. To pay for the farm we all had to pitch in to work in the field, then one day a noble lord came to our farmstead with an offer to take me to his castle as a new servant. My parents agreed with his price and I agreed like the naïve little girl I was. Who was I to know what his true intentions were, until he tried to have me in his carriage." For the briefest of minutes Guts saw an image of Donovan, the man who violated him as a child, flash through his mind.

"And that's when I met Griffith," Casca continued. "He cut off the noble's ear and threw a sword at my feet. I finished the deed and pledged to live my life by the sword if Griffith would have me. And he did. For once in my life I had control over my own life, I wasn't powerless. So yes, it's selfish of me to feel that way, but it is what it is." She turned away from him. "Like I said, I wouldn't expect you to understand."

No wonder she's so attached to him, Guts realized. In Casca's mind, Griffith was her literal knight-in-shining-armor. "No," Guts said, much to her surprise. "I know exactly what you're talking about. And I don't plan on ever feeling that way again."

They waited until the rest of Casca's clothes had dried before setting off from their tree, although the sun had already set by that time. It might have been a hasty decision, but if they didn't move then they risked getting left behind by their band if they hadn't already set up camp back up on the other side of the river and cliff.

Their trek through the woods proved especially difficult on Casca, who was still experiencing the effects of her monthly cycle. She was always a few paces behind Guts, her ragged breathing cutting through the silence of the forest. More than once she looked close to collapsing, but a few snide comments on Guts' end seemed to motivate her to prove that she wasn't weak. Guts could respect that, but he didn't believe he should have to be doing it in the first place. They were in this situation largely in part to her to begin with.

But apart from Casca's uneven breathing, the forest was dead silent, the rain having stopped hours ago. It was quiet to the point where Guts could hear the subtle sounds going on around, much like the sound of an extra pair of footsteps coming up from behind them. He spun around and knocked Casca aside from the spear that came from behind. Guts was quick to draw his sword and cut the intruder down.

"His armor," Casca noted as she shakily rose to her feet. "He's a sellsword." As the intruder's body fell limp, the forest became alive with the noises with more people rushing to their location. Casca drew her sword, as well as the two of them, became encircled by a variety of men, maybe even a hundred or more.

"Ahahaha!" Laughter erupted from the surrounding men. Making his way to stand on the exposed root of a tree was Sir Adon. His face was largely covered in bandage, and Guts noted that one of his hands to be missing and bandaged as well. How had he lost that? "I had a gut feeling that the two of you were alive! I wouldn't let those who humiliated an esteemed knight like myself to escape with their lives."

"And do you expect to kill us?" Guts challenged. "You've seen better days, I'd say you're on your last legs. One good hit and you're done."

"No thanks to you and that little shit!" Adon bellowed. "And as for killing you, my offer before for the woman still stands. The men could use some stress relief and she fits the position perfectly."

Casca spat once more. "Fuck you, cockbite."

Adon bristled at her response. "Suit yourself, you've chosen your own demise then. Sampson!" The ground seemed to quake as the largest man of the bunch emerged. He wore heavy Blue Whale armor and carried a massive spiked flail. "Allow me to introduce my younger brother, Sampson!" He might have been younger, but he was not smaller. "Sampson, bring honor to the Corbowitz family and slay these two degenerates!"

Sampson stepped forth, swinging his flail and launching it straight towards the pair of them. Guts sword came swinging to meet the spiked ball and sent it off course, striking and killing one of Adon's men.

"He knocked Sampson's attack aside," whispers broke out amongst the assembled men.

Flail attack was flung one after the other, but Guts sword matched every swing, never missing a beat. This can't go on forever, Guts realized. One of our weapons in bound to give way sooner or later, and I know which. To the onlookers it appeared that Guts was just matching Sampson's attacks, but that was only the surface of it. His counter attacks were used to measure weak points in the flail. And he found one.

As the next attack came swinging down on him, Guts reared back and swung overhead with all his might, striking just between two of the spikes. As expected, the flail shattered. Guts couldn't see Sampson's eyes from behind his whale helm, but he got a good look at them when he rushed forth and drove his sword through the large slits.

"S-Sampson?" Adon looked down at his fallen brother. "Bastard! A thousand pieces of gold to whoever brings me that man's head!"

The fear at seeing their largest fall vanished at the prospect of gold and a line of sword and pike man rushed to meet them. Guts wasted no time in cutting down any who got within range of his sword, their blood drenching his blade in hot red liquid.

"Hyahh!" His back bumped into another, and a turn of his head recognized it as Casca. A few bodies lay at her feet who would have attacked him from behind. She was sweating and breathing heavily, but she was fighting with him. "I got your back, alright?" He gave a curt nod, and the both of them cut down a foolhardy man.

"What is this?!" Sir Adon yelled at his men. "There are just two of them! Shoot them already!" A group of half-a-dozen crossbowmen took aim and fired. Guts tilted his sword to its broad side and allowed the bolts to deflect off of his blade, but one found its mark and stuck through his left hand. His sword faltered.

"Ha!" Adon exclaimed. "He's wounded; no way he can lift that blade now. Hurry and finish him off!"

The crossbowmen were too caught up in the fact that they had landed a blow, that they neglected to reload as Guts shot toward them and cut them down in the midst of their excitement. Casca was locking blades with another man, but she managed to maneuver her blade under an upcoming strike and cut the man's throat. A few more corpses piled at her feet, but Guts could tell she was still not up to her normal standards. He met with her once again and they stood back to back.

"Get ready to run," Guts spoke to her. He could feel her eyes on the back of his head. "I'll clear a path for you, after that run as fast as you can."

"Are you mad?!" Casca questioned, sounding insulted. "You expect me to just leave you here to fight them by yourself?! That's not brave, that's suicide!"

"Hey!" Guts snapped, silencing her from protesting further. "You want to live right? You want to be of use to him, right? Then trust me on this. I'm just the guy who's best at swinging his sword around, right? This is where I'm most alive. So when I tell you to run, you run; run back to him."

Knocking a spear aside, Guts cut down another man, and another, and two more, enough to create a breech in their lines for Casca to run past. "Go!" Guts shouted. "Get out of here!"

She hesitated but moved to the opening he had created. Running off, Guts thought he heard her shout, "Stay alive! I'll find them and bring them back for you!"

"Fools!" Adon pointed to the fleeing Casca. "You're letting her get away! Go after, pursue!" Some men made chase after, but Guts was quick to blindside them and impale them one after the other on his sword. Adon growled in frustration. "And someone kill this man!"

The forest roared with the yells of men as they rushed Guts, most of their attacks he blocked and cut his assailants down, but a spear got lucky and cut him across the cheek. Then another cut just above his knee, and then across his arm.

"Arrrgh!" Guts roared as he brought his sword up, down, and center, killing his attackers with one swing each.

"Unbelievable," Adon grimaced. "Despite his wounds, he's killed nearly half of my hundred men."

"What's that?" Guts asked. "You mean there are still fifty of you left? At this rate, it'll be dawn before I get a chance to crack open all of your skulls."

"Kill him!" Adon shouted. "Kill him this instant!" A collective roar was bellowed from the assembled men as they began to pour down on Guts in droves. Guts dashed past spears and sword strikes and brought his sword behind his head to block an ax that would have split his skull open.

What am I doing here, in this miserable place? Guts questioned as more men died by his hand. Is this worth risking my life for? Blood sprayed as he severed a man's leg. Am I fighting for Casca? No, that can't be it. Three, four, five more dead. This is no time to be thinking about that. I just need to focus on wielding my sword, and how I'll kill them. Blood drenched his hair and ran down into his line of vision as his sword became a whirlwind of death. Nothing more.

"You really think we'll find them all the way out here?" Corkus questioned Harry as they rode through a dense wood located near the river by the cliff. Harry sighed. Corkus had been the most skeptical about finding them.

"This is where they could have taken shelter by the storm," Harry pointed out. "They could have found a cave or something to hide out in."

"Maybe," Corkus said, not sounding all too convinced. "But let's say that they didn't make it."

"Don't talk like that, Corkus," Rickert scolded the older man. "They're two of our strongest; they can make it for a few hours alone." Harry looked to the sky, a few hours looked like it would be turning into dawn soon. They had been looking for almost the whole night.

"Harry," Judeau called to him, a hand on one of his throwing knives, "do you hear that?"

Harry listened to what Judeau was talking about, and sure enough he heard a few voices, they sounded to be men's.

"Hold her still," one voice said, following the sound of fabric ripping.

Curious, Harry dismounted and crept alongside Judeau to peer through a nearby shrub. On the other side, three men in armor loomed over Casca, who laid on her back with her hands being pinned under one of the men's feet. The sight reignited that previous anger Harry had felt earlier when he had cut Sir Adon, and he rushed from the bush. Judeau saw this and threw one of his knives, killing one of the men.

Casca used this opportunity to grab her fallen sword and cut another's throat. Harry meanwhile engaged the third in a sword fight. His opponent was far larger than he was, but Harry was faster. Their swords clashed, and the man pulled back to deliver a finishing blow, but his practice with Guts had prepared him just for this.

Harry ducked under the lunge, and drove his sword through a chink in the man's armor. The anger he had towards this man and his companions seemed to manifest in his blade and Harry swore he felt the hilt heat in his grasp. He pulled his sword out, or at least what remained of it. A jagged slab of iron was all that was left attached to his hilt, while the rest of the blade remained lodged in the assailants' stomach, steam lightly drifting from the metal.

"Casca!" Harry turned to help her up. "Are you-?" Harry quickly averted his eyes and felt heat rushing to his face when he realized that the front of Casca's shirt was ripped, exposing her chest. He had heard talk from Corkus of his experiences in brothels, and how women took jobs to expose themselves, but seeing Casca in a state like that made him feel… just wrong. He was glad that they had killed those men before anything else could happen to her.

"Here," Harry unclasped his cloak and handed it to Casca to wrap around herself. She accepted.

"C'mon!" She grasped his wrist and began to drag him through the woods. "Judeau, Rickert, everyone, follow me!"

"Where are you leading us?" Harry asked. "Where's Guts?"

"He stayed behind to let me escape," Casca explained as they ran. "We have to hurry! He's all by himself, fighting those men!"

Time seemed to fly by as the sunlight began to stream through the tree branches, but Casca was insistent on making it back as soon as possible. And then the smell of death assaulted all of their noses. Dead men lay scattered everywhere Harry turned his head. Swordsmen, pike men, crossbowmen, all lay dead. Their blood staining the forest floor. And he lay amongst them, slumped against a tree, multiple wounds across his face, arms, and legs. His overly large sword coated in blood and resting against his shoulder.

"Guts!" Harry and Casca cried as they rushed to his side. For what felt like an eternity, Harry believed him to be dead. The strong man that he had known, looked no better than a corpse at this moment. That was until he moved his hand to pat Casca on her shoulder. His brown eyes opening to their relieved faces.

A full day had passed since the battle in the forest, and despite the healer's wishes, Guts was already up and walking around. His destination of choice, a hill overlooking the current campsite. The night air was cool on his bandaged torso, but the heat blowing from the campfires below helped to balance the chill out.

New scars adorned his body since that fight, some more serious than others, maybe they would fade. But even if they didn't it made little difference; the fight was over and he had come out alive. That's all that ever mattered in a fight and no matter how many opponents there were would change that.

"Hey," a voice said from behind him. He looked back to see Casca holding a pouch of something. "Do you have a minute?"

Guts eyed her and the pouch she carried. "Not doing anything else, why?" She walked up behind him and stuck her hand in the pouch when she pulled her hand out her fingers were coated in some sort of sparkling jell.

"Hold still then." She reached out to his bare back.

"Hey! What're you-?" Guts began.

"Just hold still, please," Casca ordered as her fingers coated in the jell brushed their way across one of the scars on his back. Guts half expected himself to flinch from her touch, but he didn't. Any pain that came from the wound she touched seemed to be fading fast.

"What is that?" Guts asked about the sparkling jell.

"Elf dust," Casca said. "Judeau had some from his encounter with one. He said this might help." He watched as she put more of it on his wounds. "Why'd you do it?" She finally asked. "Why'd you stay behind to fight?"

Guts looked out over the camp. "You know, there's nothing for you to worry yourself over. I only did that for my own sake. I'd rather fight with my sword than run away. It's in my nature."

"That's it?" Casca asked, looking him in the eye. "You fought a hundred men because it's in your nature?"

The sound of crickets chirping filled the silence between them. "Yeah, that's it," Guts confirmed. "Plus I wanted to give that Adon bastard some payback."

"Did you kill him too?"

"I got so caught up in swinging my sword I lost track," Guts affirmed. "But all the while I was doing that, fighting, I couldn't get something out of my head. Fighting a hundred men means nothing, compared to what you're doing." Casca listened. "And not just you, Griffith too. You two have something important to stake your lives on. I think it's great," he offered a small smile, uncommon for him. "I mean it." Another silence fell between them. "Some view, huh?" Guts referred to the camp below.

"Some view," Casca concurred looking out with him.

"You know, Gaston plans on opening a tailoring business after the war," Guts told her. "He might not look it but he's good with his hands. Nicholas plans to get promoted so he can marry a woman who rejected him. Even Harry seems to be studying over that one book about that wizard guy. Looking at them from here, it's like I can see each of their desires flickering in the light."

"A bonfire of dreams then," Casca compared.

"Nice comparison, something a princess would say," he teased.

"As if!" She suppressed a laugh. "But you're right. They each shine when gathered like that."

"Yeah, and to keep burning they join with the brightest one of all," Guts referred to to the fire that was Griffith's ambition. "But, I don't see my light amongst theirs. I'm more like someone who stopped by the bonfire to warm up." Casca looked at him, concerned. He lifted his sword from the ground to hold in front of him. "As long as I've had my sword, I know I could survive any battle, that's all the mercenary leader who took me in taught me. I fight because it's all I know how to do, I've always fought for people with purpose, never knowing myself what I fight for myself."

"Heh," he finally gave a small chuckle. "I guess I must sound pretty stupid right now, makes me wonder why I told you all of that."

"Maybe you're right," Casca said, but she didn't laugh with him. "But you know, what you just said about fighting being all you know, why don't I… teach you how to read."

"I know how."

"You said you know enough words," Casca recalled. "Just consider it my way of saying thanks, for what you did earlier." Guts stood up shouldering his sword. "Who know," Casca continued, "maybe you'll find your flame."

The heat from the nearby fires warmed Harry in the cool night air. He wasn't sitting next to any one fire, but rested his back against a tent recalling earlier events. His sword breaking being the key one in particular. Had it been some manifestation of magic that had heated the blade to such a degree? What else but? He would have to look over that book again, maybe the answer would lie somewhere in there. Could magic just be the answer to everything then? Why his sword broke? Perhaps even a dream he could pursue?

"Something troubling you?" The voice of Griffith spoke to his side. Harry rose to his instantly, not even aware that Griffith had returned from the capital.

"No," Harry told him. "Just thinking, that's all." Harry found it a bit difficult to look Griffith in his piercing blue eyes, once again remembering what Griffith had spoken to with Charlotte when he though no one near.

"Hm, well why not join in the other's celebration? You did find them in the end after all."

"Yeah, maybe."

Griffith stared at him for a minute. "Very well, if you wish to remain here, you're free to do so." He began to walk away.

"Actually," Harry said, making Griffith stop. "There was something that was bothering me." Griffith looked back at him. "I just wanted to ask you… are we your friends?"

Griffith looked perplexed. "What? What makes you ask that?" His answer wasn't an immediate yes.

"Just… something you once said about dreams," Harry left the explanation vague. But Griffith seemed to know exactly what he was talking about.

"Oh. You heard that?" Harry nodded. "Well to tell you the truth, I meant what I said to Charlotte." Harry internally deflated. "But that does not mean that I don't hold you all in high regard and think any less of you all."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Everyone here has a dream they aspire to," Griffith told him. "It might not be as grand as having their own kingdom, but it is something they are working towards obtaining by being here. And for that I have the upmost respect for them. And there's no one else I would want with me in a fight."

"Not everyone," Harry sullenly said.

To his surprise, Griffith chuckled at him. "You mean you don't see it?"

"See what?"

Griffith shook his head. "I don't think I ever said this, but you and Guts are very much alike. Look around." Harry looked at the assembled bonfires, and the people crowded around. "Even if you don't see it, it's there. It's always been there. Why else would you have joined." Harry continued to stare at the mass of people milling about. Trying to see the hidden message Griffith was hinting at. "I'll tell you this much, there was a reason I chose you to search for the two of them. For what it's worth."

Harry spotted Guts walking through the crowds, still covered in bandages. "Why not talk to him yourself?" Griffith suggested. "You might just figure it out."

As Harry approached the larger man he noticed that Guts seemed different in a way. His usual reserved walls seemed to have been lifted for tonight, as a genuine smile was worn on his face.

"Hey, Harry," Guts greeted.

"Hey," Harry greeted back. Rickert came up to the both of them and handed them a flagon each. Guts downed his, but Harry just stared at the liquid within.

"You ever have ale before?" Guts asked.

"I've never had any alcohol before," Harry confessed much to many of the men's shock. That was apparently going to change as the men began to chant his name, urging him to take a sip. It was both the best and worst taste he ever experienced.

A/N: Sorry if this chapter took a bit longer than the others. The lenght of it is the longest yet, and I just recently had eye surgery so looking at a computer screen took time getting used to. Thank you for reading.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

One, two, three, and a swish of his wand.

Nothing.

Another attempt. One, two, three, and a swish of his wand.

Again, nothing.

Time to try yet again. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. Over and over Neville swished his wand with every attempt as he stared down into the goblet that held regular water. The transfiguration that he and the rest of the class were attempting to turn water into pumpkin juice. McGonagall wanted to start them off simple after the class had all managed to turn matchsticks into needles, and water transfiguration was the next step up.

Water was what McGonagall had referred to as a base liquid for them to work with since its properties made it viable to work with magically. She had properly demonstrated the spell and wand work at the beginning of class, and half the class had already succeeded after the third or fifth try. As usual, Neville had yet to get his water to even change color to an orange hue. It remained as crystal and clear as when McGonagall had first poured it into his goblet.

What was he doing wrong? He was saying the incantation the same as the rest of the class and following the wand movements, so why? He didn't even need to look over his shoulder to know that Malfoy was laughing with Crabbe and Goyle at his expense.

The only small comfort he derived from his multitude of failures was knowing that he hadn't made a complete fool of himself in front of the entire class. Seamus Finnegan had somehow caused a small combustion to occur, evaporating all of his water and covering his face in soot.

"Trouble, Mr. Longbottom?" The curt voice of Professor McGonagall spoke from over his shoulder.

"Just- trying to get a feel for it, professor," Neville explained as he went over the wand motion once more. McGonagall watched and waited to see if this trial would yield and other results. She pursued her lips in thought when nothing happened.

"Mr. Longbottom, what did Mr. Olivander say when you purchased your wand?" She inquired, eyeing his wand suspiciously.

Neville shook his head. "I didn't get mine from Olivander's," he truthfully replied. "My gran gave me my father's."

McGonagall nodded in understanding. "I thought it looked familiar. Stay behind after class, Mr. Longbottom."

"Oh, alright, professor," Neville gave a small nod himself. He gave the spell a few more tries, but those results fared about as well as all of his previous attempts, his mind wandering to what it was McGonagall wanted to speak with him about. Knowing his luck, he was likely to get removed from her class. Oh God, what would his gran say?!

"Neville! How could you let your parents down like that?! You were supposed to make them proud! Make them proud!"

He shuttered at the mental berating he had constructed for himself. For as long as he had known his gran, it was right up her alley to say something along those lines. As much as she did care for Neville, she did make it clear on more than one occasion that he wasn't living up to his full potential. It hurt even more that he knew that she was right.

The Hogwarts bell tolled its noise and one by one the class began to pack up their books, filing out to get to their next class. All except Neville of course.

"You wanted to speak with me, professor?" Neville asked as he tentatively walked up to McGonagall's desk.

"Yes." McGonagall waved her wand and a chair levitated over next to him. "Please have a seat for a moment." He did as was instructed. "You said this was your father's wand, correct?"

"Yes. That's right."

She held out her hand, and Neville handed it over for her inspection. "Oh yes. This is Frank's wand alright." She muttered an incantation and a green spark shot from the end. "You've been keeping it in good condition I hope."

"Oh yes," Neville quickly confirmed. "My gran would send me a howler if I didn't. I might be forgetful, but I would never neglect my wand."

"And a find wand it is," she handed it back to him. "But it's not suited for you, I'm afraid."

Neville grimaced as he looked down at the wand in his hands. He should have known that he wasn't worthy of his father's wand. His father was a brave man who didn't talk under the cruciatus curse, and he was just… Neville. "Am I going to have to drop your class?"

"Whatever are you talking about, Mr. Longbottom?" McGonagall asked sounding confused.

"Well, a wizard without a wand is practically a squib," explained Neville. "Squibs can't-do magic."

McGonagall shook her head, seemingly disappointed in his logic. "Mr. Longbottom, you would not have been accepted into Hogwarts if that were the case." She waited to see if he had anything to add to his previous statement. He didn't. "A wand is but a vessel for a wizard, Mr. Longbottom. Magic, is around you, inside of you. Your wand is just a tool for you to direct it, manipulate it. There have even been examples of wizards performing magic without a wand if their knowledge of the field is strong enough. Why Merlin himself even used a staff, but I don't believe he ever really had need of it."

"I… never knew that," Neville admitted as much. He looked at his wand with a much different light now. He knew that he wasn't like his father, but he would never have thought that they were that different to where he couldn't use his father's wand. Gran had always kept it safe, so he had little time to practice with it when he was a child.

"Considering you haven't stopped at Olivander's, I'm not too surprised," McGonagall stated. "There is a phrase he says to first-year students, it goes something along the lines of 'the wand chooses the wizard.'"

"The wand chooses the wizard?" Neville repeated.

"Indeed. As powerful a wand as your fathers is, it just isn't a fit for you."

"So, what do I do?" Neville inquired.

Pulling a piece of parchment from her desk drawer, McGonagall began to write. "I'll send an owl to your grandmother explaining the situation. With her permission, I'll escort you to Diagon Alley to acquire a new one."

"I don't know if my gran will like that," Neville confessed. "She was really set on me using my dad's wand."

"Well I'm also sure Augusta would like to see her grandson's magical performance reach its peak," McGonagall was quick to counter. "She'll just have to accept that you are Frank's son, not Frank himself." She grabbed an envelope and sealed it shut. "That will be all, Mr. Longbottom. I suggest you hurry to your next class."

"Yes, professor," Neville nodded, packing up the rest of his things and heading for the door.

"Oh, Mr. Longbottom!" McGonagall called. Neville stopped to look back. "Just so you know, you're father was a late bloomer when it came to magic. But when he came into his own, he was one of the best I ever taught."

"Where is this place exactly?" Harry asked as he rode his horse alongside Guts' through the scenic countryside of southwest Midland. All Guts had told him about their destination was that they were going to get a replacement for the sword that Harry broke. If Harry's suspicion about it being from magic was true, then his new sword would have to be of a better make.

"Not far now," Guts told him. His idea of far must be drastically different from Harry's, as they had been riding for close to four hours out from Windham. "This guy's a bit of a recluse, but he's the best at what he does."

"You know him then?" Harry asked, curious as to who it was.

Guts gave a half nod. "He's the one who made the sword I'm using now." Harry eyed the blade strapped to Guts' back. For as big as it was, it looked to have gotten a few chinks in it from his battle in the forest.

"And you think he can make a magic sword?" Harry further questioned.

"I didn't say that," Guts corrected, "I just said he's the best at what he does."

"Meaning a magic sword?"

"Shut up." It didn't sound as serious as it should have.

That was around the time they came upon a cabin near the wall of a cliff. Smoke drifted up from the chimney and the sound of metal hitting metal rang throughout the air. Guts hopped off of his horse and tied the reins around a low tree branch and Harry followed suit. "This is it," Guts said as he strode to the cabin. Guts gave two knocks on the door and Harry could hear the metal clanking decrease to some degree. In a few short seconds, the door opened.

Instead of looking up, Harry found himself looking down at the little girl who answered. She had fair skin and light brown hair. Her bluish green eyes reflected curiosity as she looked up at the two of them. If harry had to guess, he would say she was probably only about seven years old at most.

Guts met her gaze with his own. "Hey," he casually greeted.

Her face broke into a wide smile. "Papa!" She shouted into the cabin. "He's back! The sword guy is here!" She took a look at Harry. "And there's someone with glasses!"

A grunt was heard, followed by a gruff voice. "Alright, Erica. I'm coming." Standing behind the girl now known as Erica was, in Harry's opinion, the definition of a blacksmith. He had a long, grizzled gray beard and the hair on his head was long but thin. His skin was tanned from the heat of the forge, protected by the large smock he had on. While his hands were wrinkled like old leather, they looked as strong as fresh steel.

"Been some time," the smith said to Guts. "You haven't broken that sword I made for you, have you?"

"No, Godo," Guts told the smith, "you're swords fine."

"Then why'd you come?" Godo asked. "Not like you to just pay a visit because you feel like it."

Guts pointed a thumb at Harry. "He's here for a sword."

Godo turned his attention to Harry, looking at him as if to get a good judge of his character. "A sword you say?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Don't call me sir," Godo advised. "I ain't no knight." He ran a hand through his scraggly beard.

"He's looking for a custom sword," Guts continued. "Something special."

"Special?" Godo repeated, almost sounding amused. "Never liked that word. I can do unique, but special? A sword is a sword, no matter how big or small."

"I'm not hearing a 'no,'" Guts observed.

"Hold your horses, lad!" Godo put up his hands. "You haven't even told me the details about it yet. I can't work if I have nothing to go off of."

Guts urged Harry forward. "Tell him."

"Well, I was thinking about a sword that can handle heat," Harry said, unsure of how to phase it without sounding crazy.

"All swords have to get heated," Godo told him. "That's how we make 'em. Even a non-smith knows that."

"I mean after it's made," Harry said, defending his intelligence. "Like when I use it, it can handle heat."

"You make it sound like you want a magic sword," Godo sounded borderline amused. Harry didn't respond to that. And with his lack of response, Godo began to chuckle. "Har-har-har! Boy, let me show you something. Erica, go unlock the shed."

His daughter nodded. "Alright, papa." She grabbed a set of keys and skipped over to a large shed off to the side of the cabin. The three followed behind her. Erica twisted the key into the lock and pushed the door open. "Ta-da!"

Godo patted her on the head. "Good work, Erica." He led them in to a cornucopia of arms, armor, and a bunch of other scarps littered over work tables. Harry took notice of a custom repeating crossbow, what looked like cannonballs, and various other tinker toys. But Godo led them to the back of the shed were something was propped up against the wall, covered by a tarp.

"What's under there?" Harry asked.

"A story," Godo answered cryptically. "Before I lived out here, I was commissioned by the previous king of Midland to forge a sword like no other, a sword that could slay dragons. So for days, I worked away at the forge, I had to construct stirrups to lift in and out of the flames. By the time I had finished it, it was more a heap of iron to be called a sword. Much too massive and thick. It was so large the king could not wield it." Godo looked over at Guts. "I doubt even you could lift it, lad." Guts scoffed but didn't retort.

"So the king ordered that I close my forge and relocate," Godo continued. "And I did just that. I made him a sword that could slay dragons if dragons existed. But dragons and every other mythical creature vanished long, long ago. The only things the left behind were stories and legends like the ones you would hear from Enoch village about trolls and enchanted forests."

"What about your cave, papa?" Erica asked, putting a helmet over her head that was much too big for her.

"Aye, my cave too."

"Cave?" Harry asked, looking away from the tarp-covered sword.

"Elves used to live in these parts," Godo explained. "The cliff wall behind my cabin houses a cave that elves used to live in. Ore can be found there, but I can tell that's it's different. The elves, they may have left some of their magic behind before they left."

"Why are you telling us these stories, Godo?" Guts questioned. "We came for a sword, not a history lesson."

"Aye, and a sword you'll get," Godo confirmed. "If you're talking about a magic sword, I'll see about using some of the ore from my cave. I tell you that story because I want you to know. I've dealt with fools who didn't know the consequence of their request, I don't want you getting your hopes up when you discover that the sword you get is no different than any other sword in this shed." Godo cast a look at the tarp. "Any other sword."

"Thank you," Harry said. "Whatever your price is, I'll pay it." He reached for his coin pouch, but Godo raised a hand to stop him.

"My price, huh?" Godo thought it over. "Alright, your companion will come with me to the cave to mine that ore, and you… you can chop some wood for me."

"Cutting wood?" Harry asked.

"The seasons are changing," Godo stated. "Fall is here and soon enough it'll be winter. My back ain't what it once was. You, you're young. That's my price. I don't want me or my daughter freezing when the snow starts falling."

The next hour found Harry wiping sweat from his brow after bringing the ax down on yet another chunk of wood. Godo apparently had a pile of wood he wanted to be chopped behind his shed, but he said that after that was done, he wanted Harry to cut some of the trees around his settlement. He wasn't looking forward to it, but if it meant it was the price for te sword, he would have to pay it.

He put the split pieces of wood into a cart and pulled it up to the side of the cabin. As he did, he caught sight of a head peaking around the corner of the cabin at him. Turing his head to look, Erica emerged from her hiding place holding a bucket. "Hiya!" she greeted cheerily.

"Hi," Harry greeted back unsure of her reason for visiting.

She presented him with the bucket. "Here. You looked thirsty, so I got you some water." Harry accepted it and drank his fill of the cool liquid.

"Haaa," he sighed. "Thanks."

"No problem," she smiled warmly at him, a complete contrast to her father's serious face.

"So do you like living out here?" Harry asked the younger girl. "It must be pretty quiet most of the time."

"Uh-huh," she nodded vigorously. "I love living with papa, he's the best blacksmith ever! And one day I will be too." The mental image of a girl as small as Erica lifting a hammer twice her size brought a smile to Harry's face. "But it does get lonely out here. I think papa thinks so too."

"Really?" Harry was not too convinced of that. "He seems content enough."

"He likes when Guts comes to visit," Erica told him.

"He said that?" Harry asked. He knew Guts was not a very social person, and Godo didn't strike him as one either.

"Wellllll, he didn't say it," Erica emphasized. "But it gives him something to do. Papa is always thinking about what he can make next, and Guts always asks for bigger swords. Then he puts him to work like you're doing now. If he pays by staying to do work, that's extra company."

"Extra company," Harry parroted. He wasn't Godo, so he couldn't say for sure.

"Yup!" Erica said. "Maybe after you're done cutting wood for papa you can play with me?"

"Huh?"

"Yeah, I don't know any kids my age. You're still a kid right?"

Still a kid? He was only eleven, but he felt older than that. Maybe it was spending time with people who were older than him or having to adapt to life, but Harry couldn't recall a time he ever felt like a kid. Rickert was good company, but they didn't do childish things besides joke around. And while Griffith had childlike tendencies, Harry knew he was mature.

"Sure," Harry agreed after a moment of thought. "What did you have in mind?"

Her eyes lit up. "You mean it?!" He nodded. "I know all the hiding spots around here, or I can run and you can try to catch me, I'm fast just so you know. Or, or maybe we could go to the waterfall, or-," Erica began to list off activates much to her pleasure and Harry's acceptance.

Sir Laban, a nobleman of twenty-nine years and a knight and general of a portion of Midland's army knew that the war was nearing its end. It was as plain as day to all the generals who had attended the meeting that Chuder was close to defeat. Scouts had reported that a majority of Chuder's forces were now held up in the captured fortress of Doldrey, one of Midlands's best strongholds.

The report had stated that Sir Boscogn of the Purple Rhino Knights, supposedly Chuder's strongest commander was holding the fortress under the command of a Lord Gennon. Laban had heard enough about Boscogn's career to know that the rumors of his fighting prowess were no joke. Lord Gennon however, was the enigma to him.

Gennon was a wealthy lord, with an apparent perversion for young men, keeping a handful of boys as his pleasure slaves to suit his needs. Why Gennon was at Doldrey remained a mystery, but that made it all the more important to sack the fortress before the lord could leave. If Gennon is slain, then Chuder loses a substantial income of wealth.

The problem that lay before Midland's forces was deciding who should assault the fortress. Many a general feared that with Boscogn present, that the nearly impenetrable fortress was a lost cause. How soon they forget that Chuder had taken the impenetrable fortress from Midland, the action that sparked the hundred year war. Laban knew the true reason the rest of noblemen and generals did not wish to assault the fortress because they would be the ones in danger.

How they could govern Midland was lost logic on him and Sir Owen both. It seemed the only general willing to fully commit to the assault was the recently anointed General Griffith. He had volunteered to take Doldrey with just his own forces with no assistance from any of the other generals. This, of course, sparked a reaction from the others; a newly anointed low born general taking back the fortress of Doldrey? It seemed absurd.

They were even more taken aback when Laban himself gave Griffith his support for his plan to retake Doldrey. He cared little if Griffith was high born or low born, what mattered was that he was willing to commit himself to the cause, and that spoke more than any status in Laban's eyes. What did concern him was how eager Griffith seemed to be when Lord Gennon was mentioned to be at Doldrey. If Griffith somehow knew Gennon, it wouldn't bode well to have his emotions cloud his judgment.

"That was quite bold of you to put your faith in General Griffith like that," Sir Owen spoke with him after the war meeting was over with.

"A bold move for a bold man," Laban agreed. "He showed the most conviction, Midland needs that kind of spirit."

"At this rate, he's likely to win the hand of Princess Charlotte," Sir Owen half-joked. It was no secret that Griffith was moving up the social latter at an exponential rate. And with the princess' not so secret infatuation for the young hawk, it seemed inevitable.

"That is if our king allows it," Laban added. "He loves his daughter as a father should, but the princess is a woman flowered and his majesty has denied all marriage proposals for her hand."

"She's the last thing he has to remember of his first wife," Owen reminded. "We can only pray that the princess becomes like her real mother and not the woman her father married after her passing."

"Yes, her mother was such a sweet woman," Laban recalled the kings' marriage to the queen. She had even shared a dance with Laban during her wedding day. A beautiful woman, frail of health, but one of the sweetest persons to ever live. A drastic difference from the now queen earning her the secret nickname from Laban and Owen as Queen Cunt.

"I suppose Griffith's future with the princess will lie after the Battle of Doldrey," Owen concluded. "One way or another, the war is nearing its close."

"Agreed, my friend," Laban acknowledged. "Change is fast approaching Midland. And the White Hawk will be at its focal point."

A/N: So both Neville and Harry are getting new items. I also included Sirs Laban and Owen at the end of this chapter as they are two of my favorite side characters in the series. Thank you for reading.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned b J.K. Rowling, and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Doldrey. Midland's strongest fortress, now currently in the hands of Chuder forces and current destination for The Band of the Hawks. It was Midland's easternmost stronghold, built in a very arid climate and into the side of a mountain. Supposedly, it was impenetrable.

But that wasn't what concerned Harry, it was Griffith. For some reason, Griffith had denied any additional troops of Midland's royal army and insisted that the numbers the Hawks possessed would be enough. He spoke like he had a personal stake in the matter that went beyond any promotion or a new title.

After a brief talk with Casca, Harry found out why. "We weren't always this large in numbers. To build a mercenary band, you need funding. A lord named Gennon offered if Griffith agreed to his terms." She left the next part unspoken, and Harry picked up on the hidden meaning. He knew enough to know that things like that happened to women all the time in Midland, but to boys and men too… it was disgusting! Would something like that happen to him if they lost a battle?

"You think he just wants to get revenge?" Harry had inquired.

Casca looked ahead to where Griffith rode. "I don't know. All I can say is that he seems rather eager to take Doldrey, that's it."

"But he has a plan," Harry reminded. "He always does."

"I know," Casca said. "Speaking of which, we should get ready to break away from the main force before we cross to the plain outside of Doldrey," Casca shouted a command to her men, who in turn rode away from the ensemble to carry out their part of Griffith's plan. Harry was about to do the same, but he heard Griffith calling to him from the front of the host.

Wondering what Griffith wanted of him; Harry went to ride next to the young man. "Riding out with Casca I see."

"Yeah. Do you need me somewhere else?" Harry asked.

"No," Griffith answered, his voice lacked its playful edge but kept a hint of mischievousness. "I just had something that might come in handy." He opened a satchel on his saddle and pulled out an average garden snake. "I took it from the gardens in Windham before we rode off."

"Okay," Harry said as Griffith handed him the serpent, which seemed more comfortable in Harry's grasp. "How is this snake supposed to come in handy?"

"Yours and Casca's force is going to be the infiltration unit while the rest of us draw Chuder's forces out of Doldrey," Griffith recited the battle plan. "But sending your division in essentially blind would do neither of us any good. However, this little serpent would be dismissed without a second thought."

Harry looked at the snake which curled around his hand and back to Griffith whose blue eyes held a glint of brilliance. "You want me to- tell it to spy for us?" Harry whispered the last part.

"You have a unique gift," was Griffith's answer. "Use it."

The sight before General Boscogn was a disgrace of a knight. Sir Adon Corbowitz, a knight only due to his family name had little right to brag. Even with the support of a hundred men, Adon had been inept to kill two soldiers in a forest. Chuder was renowned for its military history; the capture of Doldrey, the fortress they now stood in was a prime example. For the century-long war that had been fought with Midland, thousands of Chuder soldiers had given their lives for the expansion of the empire, they had been the ones to die with honor.

And then there was Adon.

Adon. The misogynist blowhard coward that was so inept a warrior he relied more on his name than his skills to be considered a true soldier of Chuder. Listening to him run his mouth was giving Boscogn a headache.

"Let them come!" Adon boomed to Boscogn and two other knights. "This fortress is too massive to be taken by a simple assault. Many have tried in the past and failed to retake Doldrey." He was clearly looking for someone to agree with his sentiments, but Boscogn would deny the disgraced knight of that.

"Rather bold words from you, Sir Adon. Have you perhaps forgotten that it's the Hawks who come rushing our walls?" Boscogn watched as Adon grimaced. The disgraced knight still had gauze wrapped around his face from when a swordsman knocked his helm from his face and a prosthetic blade for a hand that a young boy had apparently severed. If the same boy was on the battlefield, Boscogn would thank him for giving him the death of a warrior. With Lord Gennon at Doldrey, Boscogn would not let the boy suffer from the lord's perversions.

Seeing his words have the desired effect on Adon, Boscogn decided to dig deeper. "You of all people should know how dangerous the Hawks can be. Just one of their men killed a hundred of your sell swords, as well as your younger brother, Sampson. Did you try to avenge your brother's death? Or did you perhaps hide amongst the dead until the slaughter was over?"

Adon paled further under Boscogn's interrogation. "My survival was- was the result of generations of Corbowitz family training, and-," Boscogn grew tired of Adon's lie and seized him by the throat.

"I do not plan on killing you, Sir Adon," Boscogn told him, still not releasing the hold on Adon's throat. "You have shamed yourself too much to be given death at my hand, and I will not have a coward ride onto the field. Stay and guard the fortress and Lord Gennon." Boscogn let Adon fall to the floor. "If you accomplish that you might be able to save what little pride you have left."

Adon further cowered as a small snake slithered its way past and continuing on along the corridors of Doldrey. "Do not disappoint, Sir Adon," Boscogn advised, putting his rhino helmet over his shaved head. "Snakes are the least of your worries."

Damn dust, Guts cursed at the arid climate of Doldrey. With the wind as a factor, it was blowing all over the place; but, that was part of Griffith's plan. Using the environment to their advantage. It was a risky strategy to be sure, but under Griffith's command, he was confident that it would work. Guts looked to one of the banner's blowing in the wind. After this battle, Griffith's dream will all but be achieved. And me… This will be the last I fight under this banner.

His time spent with the Hawks had been unlike any other mercenary band before. But even in the company as good as theirs, he did not possess a dream of his own. There was no light in that bonfire for him, just another sword on the field. Maybe- maybe once he finds his own dream he'll return. But now wasn't the time to think about it. Doldrey lay before them, and despite its size, it was just an ordinary fortress and it would fall like so many others.

"How are your wounds?" Griffith asked, riding up alongside him. Guts drew his sword and swung it with enough force to part a cloud of dust and sand.

"Don't even feel them," Guts added. "Whatever medicine it was Judeau had really worked." Guts sent a nod of acknowledgment to the person in question.

Griffith gave a small content smile. "Good to hear. We'll need you to guard the rear during phase two after all." Guts gave a half-grin in response, but it did not quite reach his eyes. Just a sword without a dream.

Nodding, Griffith donned his hawk-helm and addressed the assembled troops. "First division advance!"

"You heard him!" Guts shouted. "Raiders advance!"

A cloud of the loose dust and sand formed behind them as a force of two thousand troops rode to meet the first wave of opposition on the field outside of Doldrey. Guts noted that the first wave of enemies was smaller than the Hawks numbers, maybe even less than half their numbers. Maybe the others were holding back, or maybe they didn't believe a large force was necessary given Doldrey's position.

Either way, those men were already dead. Thanks to the supposed Elf dust that Judeau had given Casca for his wounds, Guts hardly felt the pain from his previous battle in the forest. It showed in how he swung his sword in this new battle.

His sword moved like the wind around them, cutting a straight path toward Doldrey. Any man unlucky enough to get in the way of his sword lost hands, arms, heads, and even half of their bodies. The Battle for Doldrey was turning into a one-sided slaughter.

The push forward continued with the Hawks mercilessly cutting down the first wave of opposition, littering the desert-like terrain with fresh corpses for the vultures. Guts led his men the farthest through the enemy ranks, taking a few hits along the way, but always hitting back. He would need to be the farthest when Griffith executed part two of the plan.

Speaking of which; his leader's voice rang out on the battlefield. "All units fall back to the base camp!"

Boscogn watched, confused as the Band of Hawk suddenly stopped their advance and went into full retreat. It made no sense. Boscogn had been watching the battle unfold, and the Hawks had been dominating the field. He spotted one man in particular who cut down men with a special sort of ferocity. He would be a worthy opponent. And then they had retreated. What was the White Hawk thinking? Surely he didn't think he could take Doldrey with the host he advanced with, so why make the blunder, to begin with? It was out of character for what he knew of the young leader, what was he planning?

"General!" Someone called to him. Much to Boscogn's surprise, Lord Gennon sat saddled on his own horse and wearing an expensive set of golden armor. A young boy accompanied the lord, not looking all too thrilled about it.

"Lord Gennon," Boscogn greeted. "You should be back inside where it is safe."

"Bah!" Gennon spat. "The enemy is retreating. Will you miss this opportunity for victory?"

"No, sir. But we-,"

"Attention!" Gennon yelled to the second division of Purple Rhino Knights. "Do not kill the enemy's leader, Griffith. He is to be captured alive!"

What is Gennon thinking?! Boscogn questioned to himself. Griffith was smart and cunning, far too dangerous to be kept alive. Unless… Boscogn looked at the young boy who Gennon had brought with him. Of course.

Gennon continued to issue his declaration. "Any man who captures him will be thrice promoted, and rewarded a holdfast back in Chuder!" Cries of approval rang out from the men.

"You shouldn't make such promises, Lord Gennon," Boscogn advised. "It undermines their military discipline."

"General," Gennon spoke directly to him. "I am taking control of the field. Have your troops pursue the enemy!"

Boscogn was dangerously close to refusing the order, but Lord Gennon was his superior and a source of funding for Chuder's armies. To refuse him would be a blow to Chuder itself, and years of military discipline had taught him to always follow the orders that were given to you, even if you did not agree with them.

"At once, Lord Gennon," Boscogn finally agreed. "All units prepare to pursue!"

Guts cast look over his shoulder as he brought up the rear of the retreating Hawks. They took the bait. Just as Griffith predicted. The unmistakable shape of rhino armor chasing after them through a cloud of dust proved as much. Their two thousand men soon met up with the other half of their forces under the guise of Judeau and Corkus.

"Regroup formations!" Griffith ordered, and the men obeyed. "We have arrived at a crucial moment. Stake your lives on this fight! Our survival demands that we stake our lives on this fight! And to survive is to be victorious!"

Leave it to him, Guts thought as the Purple Rhino Knights made their advance into the cloud of dust that had been picked up by the Hawks retreat. The familiar feeling of overwhelming odds blew past Guts. A real fight was on its way, and because of that, Guts felt himself smile.

Harry and Casca watched as last of the rhino knights poured out from Doldrey's main gate. Their division had broken off early on to approach Doldrey from the side. Scaling the side of the mountain it was built into, they waited until the majority of soldiers would leave to pursue the first two divisions. And that was when they would strike.

Casca had pulled Harry aside as he spoke to the snake Griffith had given him. It was as expected; the snake had been able to scout inside for them without any suspicion at all. In exchange for its services, it demanded mice as payment. It was simple enough and so the serpent agreed and told Harry everything he wanted to know.

It had seen a man in a room filled with young boys, and Harry assumed that was where Gennon was, but the serpent told him that the man left to go out on the field. The other bit of useful information was the knowledge of a small force of garrison troops stationed in the fortress. And then it mentioned a man with half a face and missing a hand.

"Sir Adon's here," Harry told Casca as they set up ropes to descend down into Doldrey from above.

"Is he now?" Casca looked contemplative. "Good." She teethed her rope around her waist. "Once we're inside I'll have a few men take up position around where they are." She handed Harry a rope too. "Ready?"

He took the rope and tied it around himself as well. "Yeah."

Harry had never been mountain climbing before, but he imagined that this is what is like to scale down the side of a mountain. Save for the people below that wanted to kill him and everyone else of course. Once he and the others touched down on Doldrey's battlements, they cut their ropes and followed after Casca.

"Two teams seal the west and south gates!" Casca ordered. "My division, we'll be taking the keep!" Running along the battlements, they came across a pair of guards, clearly not expecting to see enemy troops inside Doldrey when the battle was being raged outside. Casca wasted no time in cutting down the first one, and Harry drew his sword to engage the second.

Godo had made good on his word to make Harry a new sword with ore from the elf cave. The blade was the same length as his previous one, a good three feet, but it felt much lighter to him. It could be because of training his arm since first joining up, or maybe Godo was just that good at forging. Either way, it felt right. The steel it was made of was much paler than a regular blade and seemed to have an almost electric blue tint embedded in the steel. Maybe Godo had seen his lighting scar and thought the color would look nice, despite telling him it was just an ordinary sword.

Sparks flew as Harry's sword clashed with his foes. Ducking under a swing, Harry stabbed his opponent at the waist, through a chink in his armor. The act of killing had become easier to do, but not mentally. Harry found no joy in doing it but did it because he did not want it done to him, to anyone else in the Hawks ranks. But now was not the time for him to dwell on it. He followed after Casca and the others as the found themselves in a courtyard of sorts.

"Halt!" Casca commanded as three of their men fell from the battlements, bleeding from cuts across their throats. Standing before them, with his trident weapon in hand, was Sir Adon.

"Sir Adon to the rescue," he boasted before his handiwork.

"Oh, it's you," Casca said unimpressed. "You're persistent."

Adon gave a throaty chuckle. "I am known as the indestructible Adon! Known for my vitality and good standing. I saw through your cheap trick and waited patiently for your arrival."

"Liar," both Harry and Casca called his bluff.

"You doubt my intuition?" Adon said insulted. He let out a whistle, and the garrison troops made themselves known. "See?! You're all surrounded!"

Casca threw Adon off guard when she smiled. "Really?" She looked over at Harry. "Do it."

Clearing his throat, Harry yelled as loud as he could, "Now!"

Thanks to the information provided by the serpent scout, they had been able to plan ahead for an ambush like this. It worked in their favor, as the Hawks who had taken up hidden positions revealed themselves. Armed with crossbows, they fired down upon the remnants of the Blue Whale Knights.

Adon seethed in frustration as he watched his ambush fall to pieces. "You insolent woman!" He jabbed at Casca with his trident, but she easily sidestepped and tripped him up. Harry was about to jump into the fight too, but Casca raised her hand to stop him.

"Help the others," she told him as the few other Hawks battled with the rest of the Whales. "I can handle him." Understanding that Casca had things under control, Harry did as ordered, engaging in a sword fight with the enemy.

Each and every attack Adon threw at Casca, she was able to deflect back at him, knocking him down more than once at the cost of his pride. "How is this possible? You weren't like this the last time we fought!"

"Yeah, I wasn't exactly at my best last time," Casca remembered. Adon jabbed at her once more, but she knocked the strike aside and kicked him in the face. What little teeth Adon had left fell out.

"Arrrghhh!" Adon wailed as he fell to his knees before Casca's feet. "I surrender!"

"Pardon?" Casca asked, not impressed with how easy Adon surrendered.

"It's yours! Doldrey, if you want it it's yours! I'm just a lowly commander taking orders from the general!" No one, especially the remainder of Adon's men was impressed with the sight of him groveling on his hands and knees.

"You're pathetic," Casca simply stated. Before she could end Adon's life, however, he struck out with his prosthetic blade hand and cut Casca on her leg. She winced and took a step back.

"Simpleton!" Adon shouted standing back up. "That blade was laced with a paralysis poison for just such an occasion as this! It'll wear off in an hour or two, but you'll be dead before you can see that happen!"

Grabbing his trident, Adon charged forth once again, looking to impale her on the end of his weapon. Already feeling the toxins beginning to take effect, Casca made no move to dodge to the side of the attack. She waited until Adon was close enough before grabbing his weapon and using the last her leg strength to flip over him.

Before Adon could fully comprehend what had happened, or even turn around for that matter, Casca swung her sword in full arc. A thin line of blood began to form along the top of Adon's head. He fell not long after.

"Their leader is fallen!" Casca announced propping herself against a wall. "Finish off what's left of them!" A collective cheer went around from each of the Hawks as they made good of Casca's command.

After dealing with his current opponent, Harry made his way to Casca and slung her arm around his neck. Whatever toxin Adon had used must have been fast acting. "Here. We'll get you bandaged up."

"Take me to the battlements first," Casca told him. "Let's hang our banner for them to see." Doing as instructed, Harry hung the sigil of the Hawks over the side of Doldrey's walls. It was hard to see the battle through the large cloud of dry sand that had been kicked up, but he could see that it was more or less even right now. That was to be expected, but there was something that caught his eye that wasn't on the field of battle.

On a hill overlooking the battle sat a horseman. Harry could tell from here that whoever it was, was coated in muscle. "Do you see that?" Harry asked Casca.

"Where?"

"On the hill," Harry pointed out. "That isn't one of ours, is it?"

"No," she confirmed his suspicions. "It isn't."

Harry would have said that they were with Chuder then, but they made no move to jump in and help out. Just who were they?

Up, down, left, right, Guts' sword cut down as many men that came within his distance. One by one the corpses began to stack up. As the rear guard, he was tasked with holding off as many men as possible from getting to Griffith.

Many of the others had taken defense around their leader as well. Rickert took a hit to his arm but was saved by Pippin, who brought his mace down on the boy's attacker. Corkus was panicked and a little banged up himself and was nearly blindsided until Judeau saved him with a throwing knife. Griffith himself fought with all the pose and grace to be expected. With his elegantly designed sword, he cut right at the throats of any who managed to break through to him. And it seemed an awful lot of men were eager to get at him.

Guts would have cleaved many of those men in half, but his sword was now crossed with an enormous battle-ax, hefted by a man in heavy rhino armor, and a horse dressed to match his fashion. No doubt this was General Boscogn. Through the slit in Boscogn's helm, Guts could see a battle-hardened face, no doubt he would prove tougher than the other men.

Their weapons clashed again and sparks flew in the dust storm that surrounded them. Guts was testing his hits against Boscogn's ax, much to his dismay, the general's weapon had more of an edge than his sword. He learned that the hard way when he received a cut along his shoulder. Guts retaliated by swinging upward and cutting off the front portion of Boscogn's rhino helm.

This process continued with each strike dealt. Guts would chip away at the heavy armor worn by Boscogn, but at the cost of a strike dealt with his own body. It was starting to get on Guts' nerves, and he prepared to put all his strength behind one final blow to the staff of Boscogn's ax. Reacting much faster than expected, Boscogn spun his ax to intercept Guts' sword.

Clstraat!

Guts fell from his horse clutching the hilt of his sword, only a jagged piece of metal remained of the once greatsword.

"Captain!" Some of his raiders yelled as they charged Boscogn.

"No! Get back!" Guts shouted, but it was too late. With a twirl of his ax, Boscogn cleaved three of the raiders in half.

A swooshing sound came whizzing through the air, and suddenly a sword was thrown between Guts and Boscogn. It was just as long as his previous sword but was more a scimitar with a serrated edge. It looked almost like the one that had been used by-

Guts looked where it had been thrown from, and he thought he caught a glimpse of a mounted horseman overlooking the battle some distance away.

"Guts!" Griffith called his name. "Use that sword!"

He didn't need to be told twice, grabbing the sword like it was second nature he was able to block an overhead attack from Boscogn. Unlike his previous sword, this one did not break under the pressure of the attack. Pivoting at his heels, Guts pulled away from the lock and twisted in a full arc. Boscogn's head, as well as his horse's, rolled along on the sandy ground now colored red.

The reaction was near instantaneous. At seeing their general dead, the remaining enemies turned to flee back inside Doldrey, only to find the banner of the Hawk now decorating the fortress' walls. In that instant, they simply chose to flee away from the battle, or else risk losing their own lives.

As the Hawks forces chased the fleeing forces, Griffith instead rode to a man in golden armor that had fallen in the chaos of the battle. Looking down on the man, he was more or less the same as when they met close to five years ago. Balding with a full brown beard that made his wrinkled face look a bit younger.

"Griffith," he spoke with awe, looking up at him.

"It's been a while, Lord Gennon," Griffith kept his voice neutral.

Gennon managed to pull himself to his feet. "Oh, Griffith! I've thought about you for so long! Ever since that night we shared and the love we made! We've always helped each other out, that's why you're going to let me escape with my life, right?" Gennon grabbed for one of his hands. "I gave the men strict orders not to harm you, you must understand the feelings I hold in my heart for you."

Griffith's porcelain face conveyed no emotion whatsoever. "D-don't tell me you bear me ill will?" Gennon asked, sounding more afraid of Griffith's opinion than losing his own life.

"I do not bear any ill feelings at all," Griffith settled on, not missing the relieved sigh from Gennon. "However, it concerns me to hear you speaking of our 'making love,' as it means little but nothing to me." Gennon's face fell.

"What are you talking about Griffith?" Gennon said little more than a whisper.

"I took advantage of an opportunity, and it just so happened that it was you who was there at the time," The funding Gennon had provided had been well spent indeed. "I picked up a pebble that lied in my path, and by chance it was you."

Gennon growled at this. Before he could bark out a retort, Griffith's blade found its way into his eye. Gennon's body twitched before Griffith withdrew his sword. "But it would be rather unfortunate if you were alive to spread any nasty rumors of the sort." Griffith rode away without a second glance.

"Here you go," Harry said as he tore off a sleeve from his tunic to wrap around Casca's leg. It wasn't a deep cut, but it would at least help stop the bleeding.

"Thanks," she said. "Would it be too much to ask for a shoulder though?" Harry obliged and led her over to where she could look out over the battlefield. A collective cry of victory spread from every man assembled outside of Doldrey as the last of Chuder's forces went into a full-scale retreat. There was no mistaking Griffith surrounded by some comrades.

The sounds of footsteps approaching caught their attention and a turn of the head showed it was Guts. He sported a few cuts on his forehead and arms, but what drew their attention was the massive sword that he now carried. It wasn't his own.

"Hey," Guts casually greeted the two of them, a rare smile on his face. He joined them looking out over the battlements. "Some view, huh?"

"We couldn't see much because of the sand cloud," Harry told him. "But it looks like it was rough."

"It got a bit dicey," Guts admitted as much. "But we did it." Guts took notice of Casca's cut. "Hurt?"

"It's getting better," Casca told him. "I at least paid the bastard back for it." Guts gave a nod of understanding.

"He sure is something," Guts admired as Griffith went around congratulating the men surrounding him.

Casca gave a smile of the sad kind. "He is. And he seems so far from the rest of us though. Like he's already taken flight."

"There's a quality about him I guess," Harry added. "I don't know how to explain it."

Guts looked between the two of them. "I disagree. C'mon." Guts suddenly picked up Casca, much to her embarrassment.

"What are you doing?" She almost yelled.

"Taking you to meet your commander," Guts said nonchalantly. "That's what you want, right?" Casca looked like she was going to say no, but decided against it. "You coming, Harry?"

"I'll catch up soon," Harry told him. "You go on ahead." It wasn't so much that he had anything else to do, but this was one of the few times that he saw Guts smile. Not a sarcastic smile or borderline sadistic smile, one that was true. And he figured that smile would last even longer if Guts went with just Casca.

Turning his attention back out onto the field, Harry scanned for a sign of that mysterious horseman that he spotted earlier. He found nothing. But even still- a horseman is seen overlooking the battle, and Guts come carrying that other massive sword that he had not had before. A shadow passed by behind him, a large one that could have belonged to Pippin, the silent giant of sorts. When Harry turned to greet who he thought was Pippin, he quickly drew his sword instead.

It was a man he did not know, tall and full of muscle. Instead of armor, he wore almost tribal-like furs and leathers. His hair was dark and spiky like Guts', but his eyes were yellow with spits for pupils. Harry almost dropped his sword. He recognized those eyes, although they had instead been in the head of a demon beast. Zodd.

The human Zodd grabbed the massive sword where Guts had left it, taking a moment to acknowledge Harry's presence. "Your friend can't keep my sword," Zodd said almost sounding civil.

Harry's grip tightened on his own. "W-what are you doing here?" It probably didn't sound brave, but knowing that Zodd could turn into a beast any second wasn't helping.

Zodd hefted the massive blade. "For my sword of course. A warrior is always in need of a weapon."

"Even if you can turn into a beast?" Harry asked not taking his eyes off Zodd's blade.

"Not all opponents warrant my true power," Zodd admitted. "You seem comfortable with your blade, however. I wonder how you would fare against me." Harry steeled himself for an attack that didn't come. "But I've no quarrel with you, another time perhaps."

Harry was relieved, to say the least, but confused all the same. "You're not going to fight?"

"My fight does not lie here. The battle is over, no use now." Zodd sounded disappointed. He walked the rest of the way along the battlements before stopping. "I bestowed your friend a few words last we met. Treasure your days of peace and youth while you can, they will not last." Zodd gave a toothy smile as he jumped from the battlements. Instead of the thud of a body, the sound of wings beating against the wind greeted Harry's ears and a sense of dread in his bones.

A/N: And's that's it for that chapter. The Battle for Doldrey is over. Thank you for reading.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Following the victory at the Battle of Doldrey, Chuder was forced to withdraw a vast majority of their forces form Midland's territory. The deaths of General Boscogn and Lord Gennon proved devastating to Chuder's war effort as Boscogn was their top military general, and Gennon provided them with more funding than any other lord for the war effort. To further compensate for the loss, Chuder's monarchy devised a method for forced military drafting. But in an unexpected turn of events, the peasant population broke out in open revolt at the decree, and instead, their focus turned inward to combat the rebellion rather than Midland. With Chuder now focused on their internal problems, the Hundred Year War was at last at an end.

To all those who resided in Windham, it was a day to be remembered. As the Band of Hawk came riding back through the city streets citizens pooled around to shout praise to the soldiers. Men cheered and drank, women threw bouquets of flowers to the riders, and everyone had their windows open as all clamored to get a look at the young leader of the Hawks himself, Griffith. But the best view was from the castle, where Minister Foss and Queen Mary, as well as a few other nobles, watched the parade trot through the streets.

"Have you made the arrangements?" The queen asked him without looking in his direction. Her attention was on the parade below.

Foss gave an unnoticed bow of his bald head. "Consider it done, your majesty."

"Perhaps we should hold a feast when all is said and done?" She considered. "After his untimely passing."

How ironic, Foss smirked in agreement, that the White Hawk should meet his end after the war is over. He will be trapped inside the very walls he once defended. It was no secret that members of the traditional nobility despised Lord Griffith. A base-born peasant turned lord over a few victories, and if rumors were to be believed, captured the favor of Princess Charlotte.

Griffith was an inspiration to the peasant class, but one need only look at Chuder's current state to see how the low-born outnumbered the high-born. To allow someone like that so much power and influence was a gamble that Midland couldn't afford at the moment. The war with Chuder had nearly bankrupted the kingdom with its hiring of mercenary bands, and pay farmers to stockpile their crop should the capital fall under siege. Foss knew this, and more importantly, so did the queen.

Queen Mary despised Griffith more than anyone. From his birth status, to rise in rank, to her suspicion that he had been involved in Count Julius' death, she hated the young man to his core. It didn't help at all that her stepdaughter was quite taken with him. But the queen would not have to wait long for the demise of Griffith. Foss had pulled a few strings to acquire a poison from the Uterine Isles of the south. It was colorless, odorless, and most importantly, untraceable. A few drops of it in Griffith's goblet during the ball tonight and that would be the end of it.

"Minister Foss," a court courier approached him.

"Hm. What is it?" Foss asked. The courier handed him a letter with an unrecognizable seal. "Who is this from?"

"I was asked to give it to you from a lady of the court," the courier answered. "She didn't say what it was about." He bowed. "Excuse me."

Foss dismissed him and unfurled the parchment. His eyes scanned over the first paragraph and then widened in shock and horror at the contents of the rest of it. "…It can't…"

"Something the matter, Minister Foss?" The queen asked actually looking away from the parade.

Foss could feel sweat forming on his forehead but put on a fake smile. "Nothing is wrong." His hands curled around the now folded letter. "I just have an errand to run. If you'll please excuse me." Foss didn't exactly wait for his dismissal before exiting the chamber.

Once he was out of earshot from the chambers, he broke out into a run as fast as his short legs would allow him. How?! How could this have happened?! Foss' eyes nearly bulged from his sockets. That bastard! How could he have known! He was cunning; there was no denying that, but this? Elize…

Night had fallen quickly in Windham, but looking at the castle was like staring at the sun. Every window was illuminated by candlelight, and none has shown brighter than the ones from the ballroom. Hundreds of people could fit into the room and there was still enough room for others to dance. From the high ceiling and chandelier to freshly polish marble floor and decretive columns, the place practically screamed high class. It was too bad they had to dress how they did.

Griffith had told them that they would have to look their best for tonight's events, and Harry had almost wanted to disobey that order. Much like Rickert, Harry found himself wearing a heavy wool doublet with a poofy collar and, a bib? That probably wasn't what it was actually called, but the way he had to put it around his neck and tuck it in the front of his outfit made it feel like a bib.

Walking into the ballroom beside them was Corkus, who seemed to be pulling off the outfit much better than either of the boys. "Stick your chests out," Corkus advised them. "Act confident, you can't afford to look nervous now." How he was able to say that while wearing a wide-rimmed blue hat with a feather in it, Harry would never know.

"Does it have to be so itchy?" Harry asked Rickert as he scratched at the side of his neck. How did the nobles wear this?

"I have no idea," Rickert fiddled with some of the buttons on his cuffs. Despite getting their outfits tailored Harry felt rather uncomfortable, and the large crowd of nobles in the ballroom wasn't helping much either.

They were supposed to be heroes, and Harry couldn't stop scratching at his neck. The way some of the nobility were looking at them made Harry feel like some kind of fish on display. He was out of his pond and swimming into some larger lake filled with fish much bigger than himself. Harry felt a large hand place itself on his shoulder, and look up revealed it to be Pippin, the resident giant of the Hawks.

Wordlessly, Pippin helped tuck in his bib-like and adjust his collar. "Thanks, Pippin."

The giant nodded and replied, "My sister is a tailor."

"Don't look so nervous," Judeau said to both boys. "Smile. It's good for you." Harry saw Guts actually roll his eyes at the suggestion. It looked like he and Rickert weren't the only ones a bit uncomfortable; Guts looked as if he would rather be anywhere but here. Maybe it had something to do with his outfit, a fancy white doublet, and a blue overcoat. Or more likely than not, his inability to bring his sword with him.

But it came as no surprise for Harry that Griffith seemed completely at ease by the new surroundings. His clothing was tailored to match his piercing blue eyes and he wore his white hair tied behind him. He had only taken a few steps into the center of the hall before being swarmed by a flock of ladies.

"Lord Griffith, would you please share a dance with me later tonight?"

"Lord Griffith, what do you think of my pearl necklace?"

"Lord Griffith, would you please indulge us with stories from your battles?"

Harry had to give credit to him; Griffith was keeping an incredibly cool head under the assault of questions. "While my tales are numerous, it would be uncouth to talk about such things with the conflict over so soon out of respect for all those who have fallen."

Judeau shook his head. "Well, he knows how to please a crowd."

"Wow! He seems so at ease!" Rickert remarked.

"Damn! He could at least send a few our way." Corkus grumbled.

Corkus's wish came true sooner than expected as another flock of ladies made their way over the group of guys. "Are you a member of the Hawks?" "You must be so strong."

"Indeed I am!" Corkus capitalized. "In fact, I'm so strong I sometimes scare myself." However, Corkus' time to shine was cut short when the ladies noticed Guts and swarmed around him instead.

"You're the leader of the Hawk's Raiders, aren't you?"

"…Yeah."

"Is it true you defeated General Boscogn?" "I heard he was the strongest general from Chuder."

"…That's right."

"You must be so brave, would you share a dance with me tonight?"

"…Uh…"

Harry almost felt his jaw hit the floor. For the time that he had known Guts he had never once seen the man nervous, but now in a completely foreign setting, Guts seemed just as socially awkward as Harry felt.

"Maybe some other time," Guts declined the offer walking away from the crowd of ladies, much to their disappointment. "Why don't you talk to my companions? They're free." And like that Harry found himself being swarmed.

"Don't worry; we'll take care of them!" Corkus said to Guts as he struck up a conversation with two ladies.

"Sir, would you care for a dance tonight?" One of them asked Judeau.

"That's kind of you to offer, I'd be happy to accept," Judeau replied.

Three women took to admiring Pippin. "He's got such broad shoulders." "You must be so strong, Sir."

And then there were the ones taking to Harry and Rickert. "They're so adorable!" "They'll grow into little gentlemen, won't they?"

Harry looked over to Rickert and an unspoken conversation happened between them. 'What is even going on?'

'I don't know, Harry. But I'm kind of scared now.'

"Ladies," a new voice cut into the conversation. Walking towards them were two men, one with brown hair and a neatly kept beard, and the other a clean-shaven blonde man whom Harry recognized as Sir Owen.

"If you ladies were interested in a dance, I do believe Lord Wolflame is currently available," Sir Owen informed. Much to Harry's relief, the ladies stopped crowding him and the others in search of this "Lord Wolflame."

"Hey! I'm still available!" Corkus chased after them.

"Forgive our intrusion and allow me to introduce myself," the brunette gave them a polite bow of his head. "My name is Sir Laban, I believe you know Sir Owen from your first battle with the Blue Whale Knights."

"The pleasure is ours," Judeau politely greeted. "And thank you for that. I never knew court ladies to be quite so forward and persistent."

"This is exciting for them," Sir Owen said. "Meeting men who worked for their status is something of a rarity for them."

"They think of us like trophies then?" Harry wondered.

Sir Laban waved stroked at his fine kept beard. "An interesting analogy, but not incorrect. Try not to think less of them for it, most of them have been brought up at a young age with the knowledge that they would one day marry a high lord. To interact with men who are now hailed as heroes of Midland though, and one who worked for their status as well, it is a rarity for them. Perhaps they felt the need to let their hair down for a night."

"Their hair?" Rickert asked confused.

"It's a metaphor," Sir Owen informed. "But Sir Laban speaks truly; it's a break in their way of living, and one they seem to welcome. Just look at your own female companion." Sir Owen nodded to four men who were talking with a rather pretty girl with mocha skin and short black hair wearing a light red dress.

"Whoa, that's Casca!" Harry realized not recognizing her at first.

"And she's not wearing any pants," Rickert noted as well. Compared to her usual attire, a dress seemed the farthest thing from what she would want people to see her in.

"She certainly looks lovely," Judeau commented with a bit of red on his freckled cheeks.

"I've heard many men asking her for a dance," Sir Laban told them. "She's turned them all down."

"If she wishes for a dance with your leader, she best make haste," Sir Owen observed a new crowd of ladies swarm around Griffith. "Once the princess arrives, I doubt anyone else will have a chance to dance with him."

"You know the princess well?" Rickert asked.

The two knights shrugged. "We know her enough to know that she's very much like her mother. A kind girl with a faint heart, but with room to mature."

"Well said, Sir Owen," Laban agreed. "I look forward to the day that I can call Charlotte queen."

Guts hated the crowd. He hated the chatter that came from the crowd; he hated the clothes that he had to wear. It was stupid; all of it was. The war is over, understood, no need for a celebration like this. He leaned back against one of the pillars on the outskirts of the ballroom. Only a handful of people were over here and they were the ones who didn't want to be dragged out to dance, and he fit right in with them.

Guts spared a brief glance when the royal family made their entrance onto the floor. The band began with an elegant tune that was lost on him, and the king opened the dance with Princess Charlotte instead of his own wife.

After that dance concluded, the king shared one with his wife before excusing himself to watch the ball from a balcony overlooking the ballroom. This allowed Charlotte to share in a dance with Griffith. Others soon joined in and the floor was now alive with people dancing along to the tune of the band.

To Guts' left, a group of nobles was asking for the hand of a pretty woman in a light red dress that he didn't recognize. She shook her head twice and rushed over to where he was leaning on the pillar. She grabbed onto his arm and tried pulling him away.

"There you are, I've been looking for you."

Guts was confused and starting to get angry. Who did this woman think she- Casca?

There was no mistaking it; the one leading him away from his stoop was Casca. He hardly recognized her. In place of her helm, there was a flower, she wore heels instead of boots, and of course, the dress. It was so… jarring!

"Those men kept pestering me, and I didn't know what to do about it," Casca hurriedly began explaining. "I kept telling them, no, but more just kept showing up, looking at me like some kind of foreign animal. I figured if you'd pretend to be my partner, then they'd leave me alone."

Guts had no idea what to say to that. The sight of her actually in a dress was incomprehensible. She narrowed her eyes slightly. "You're staring."

"I didn't know that you liked to wear dres-!" Guts was unable to finish his sentence as Casca elbowed him below his jaw and he bit his tongue on accident.

"Don't patronize me," Casca averted her gaze to the nobles she had rejected previously. "And it's working. Just follow me."

"I don't dance," Guts said tasting a bit of blood in his mouth.

"Neither do I," Casca said as she instead let him away from the dance floor and out a set of doors to the outside balcony. She sat down on the railing and took off her heels. Guts sat on the railing itself wondering why she had dragged him out here. He wasn't exactly complaining, it was better than in there at least.

"It's such a change from what I usually wear, I know," she began. "Riding a horse and swinging a sword around is much more comfortable to me."

Guts nodded. "I know the feeling. I never thought I'd be wearing an adult bib," she chuckled, "or see 'Big Sis Casca' in a dress."

At that, she huffed indignantly. "Men's clothing is more practical." A silence fell between. "But, it is a bit silly. Wearing this I feel like a church bell. Be honest, it looks ridiculous, right?"

Honestly?

"No," Guts said. "You actually look nice."

It seemed that opposite of what she was expecting but brightened because of it. "Really? You're being honest?"

"Yeah," Guts told her. "You look better than those noble girls crowding around Griffith. You have more self-control and respect for yourself than any of them." Guts looked up at the half moon. It was getting chilly out with the changing of the seasons and snow would be falling soon, a complete change from the arid climate of Doldrey. But even with the seasons' change, it strangely didn't feel all that cold where the two of them sat.

"Thank you," Casca said.

"Why don't you ask Griffith to dance with you?" Guts wondered.

A sad smile had worked its way onto her face. "Oh no, like I said I don't dance either. I haven't since I was a little girl in my village; I'd end up stepping all over his feet. But I'm surprised you actually came to this. You hate these kinds of events."

"Well, I wanted to see this through to the end," Guts settled on. "Ever since I met you and Griffith three years ago it's been unlike any time I've spent with other mercenary groups. Thant's why I'm here, to see it through to the end."

She was looking at him, the gears in her mind already working to understand the meaning behind his words. "You want to leave. You want to leave the Hawks." The way she said it, he knew she wasn't asking. He remained silent, and perhaps that was all the answer she needed. Until he had that dream like Griffith, he could not call himself an equal.

"You can tell me, you know that," Casca said to him.

A loud round of applause erupted from inside the ballroom, no doubt the king was about to make a speech of some kind. "That sounds like our new sponsor," Guts guessed. "Why don't you head on inside, I'll catch up with you later, I'm not really in the mood to listen to a tedious speech."

"…If that's what you want," Casca reluctantly said as she put her heels back on and made to head back in.

"You know," Guts began, stopping her in her tracks with his words.

"Yes?"

"...Never mind," Guts decided against it. "Go on, try to have fun." She hesitated for a bit longer as if she wanted him to continue, but she headed back in after another silent pause.

There is another reason for me being at this party. She doesn't know, nobody else knows but Griffith. In a few minutes, it'll happen.

Harry thanked whatever god there was that when the king began his speech, all the dancing had stopped. Sirs Laban and Owen were friendly, but they seemed to be about the two most decent nobles in all Midland. He and Rickert eventually had to dance but had found girls roughly their own age.

Knowing basically nothing about dancing, Harry stepped on his partner's feet more than once, but she assured him it was fine. She was probably lying. Rickert had fared no better than he did, and the boys agreed to never dance again in their lives. That was just before the king began his speech.

"A little while ago, a Chuder diplomat entered Windham with a signed treaty of non-aggression. It has been a difficult war that has spanned generations, we've lost many friends and loved ones, but it necessary that we rebuild after this ordeal. I expect all of you to use your assets to continue the prosperity of my reign. As I'm sure all of you are well aware of, this armistice is largely in part to the contribution of The Band of the Hawk, and their leader, Count Griffith.

"They have succeeded where others have failed and showed great bravery and courage of unmatched magnitude. In two days time, a celebration will be held for them as they will bear the title of the White Phoenix Knights and will hold second in command of all of Midland's armies. I shall personally knight all within their band." Cheering erupted from the nobility. Was he going to be a knight? They had been the only toys he had from under the cupboard, and he was going to be one! He and Rickert exchanged a high-five.

Waiters poured out onto the floor serving wine to all who accepted. "Please sir, take one," a servant said to Griffith offering him a goblet.

"Ah, why thank you," Griffith accepted.

The king raised his own goblet. "And now, a toast to our young heroes and to the prosperity of all of Midland."

Cries of, "Here here!" broke out. Harry clinked his goblet with Rickert's and Pippin's. They all took a sip together. That was when it happened.

Krakk!

Griffith's goblet shattered against the floor, and his body fell soon after.

All talking had stopped. Everyone's eyes took in the sight of Griffith lying motionless on the floor. No, Harry's brain finally seemed to boot backup, just in time to hear Casca crying Griffith's name out.

The Queen's Manse

Everything had gone much more smoothly than expected, and Queen Mary couldn't be more thankful. Only an hour had passed since Griffith had died from the poisoning, ending the celebrations rather abruptly. Her stepdaughter, Princess Charlotte had fainted at the sight of Griffith's body and presenting her "husband" with the distraction needed to come here to her personal manse within the city of Windham with a few other noblemen as well as Minister Foss.

The short minister had made the necessary arrangements for the poison to be put in Griffith's drink; it was only fitting to invite him to this after party of sorts as a reward for his services.

"It was a complete success," Lord Wald congratulated the minister for his poison.

Foss seemed to the queen, nervous as he replied. "Oh, come now. It wasn't all me."

She waved his modesty aside. "You should feel proud, Minister Foss. Without you, this plot would never have succeeded."

Foss gave a small bow of his bald head. "You are too kind." Foss' hand grabbed his hat, squeezing it rather tightly.

"What is the matter?" She inquired. "You look positively ill, minister."

Hiccupping a response, "It must be the light. I tend to look rather sickly in candlelight." He was met with skeptical looks from all who were present.

Steering the conversation away from the minister, Lord Richmont asked, "But what of the waiter who served Griffith the wine? If he is to be captured he could confess our involvement."

"You need not worry," Foss assured him. "A few moments ago I received a report from an associate that the waiter has been dealt with."

A chuckle came from Lord Wald. "Is there anything you hadn't accounted for, minister?"

"You flatter me," Foss said as he rose from his seat in the private dining room. "But if you all will excuse me, I have to return to the castle soon. My presence is required to make a final inspection of the body."

The queen eyed Foss as he left the room, but then turned her attention back to the assembled group of lords. "At last the stability of Midland is all but secured."

"To think that a mere mercenary could become a leader of Midland's armies. Ridiculous!" Lord Wald exclaimed.

"Peasants and farmers should stick to what they know best."

"Any other country would have considered us a laughing stock."

She raised her hand to silence their laughing. "In any case, you all have toiled for our common goal. For that, I thank you."

"We are unworthy of your kindness," Lord Wald praised. "It is us who should be thanking you. Without your much-needed support, this would have been a sham."

He thanked her, and he should. For what she had set into motion the royal bloodline of Midland was now secure. Charlotte might not have been her daughter, but it was no secret that the young girl had feelings for the late Griffith. If the young Hawks career had been allowed to prosper for any longer, Mary might have found herself calling him as her son-in-law. Thankfully, that was never going to happen.

Now Charlotte would marry a lord of noble birth, preferably one of Mary's choosing, one who could be manipulated under her influence. Charlotte was too much a damsel to be a fit queen anyhow. What is that smell?

She need only to look down to see plumes of smoke drifting through the wooden floorboards, and she wasn't the only one to notice.

"What is with all this smoke?" Lord Wald questioned as he and Lord Herr tried to open the door.

"Ah!" One of them exclaimed. "The handle's all hot!"

Another tried to open it. "It's no use. It's locked from the other side!" with panic seeping in, two of the noblemen tried to forcibly knock the door down.

"Step aside!" Wald dragged a chair over and began to rapidity knock it against the door. He made far better progress than the others, and on his seventh swing managed to break the door. But there was no cause for celebration, for as soon as the door came down, a torrent of flame came rushing in, burning Lord Wald and three others.

"Fire!"

"How did this happen?!" She shouted as she raced to open the window. Jumping would be a lost cause as the room they were in was at least three stories high. And even if they managed to survive the fall, the fire was encircling the entire manse. They were trapped.

A gush of the cool wind blew the smoke away just enough for the queen to catch sight of a figure standing at the steps leading up to the manse. It was a slim young man with a head of long white hair. "It can't be…"

But it was. Taking a few steps closer, the White Hawk stared up at her defiantly.

"Griffith!" She shouted down. "How is this? You were dead!"

"And for all intensive purposes, I appeared to be," Griffith called up to her and the few remaining. "I arranged for it to be so."

"You what?!" She shrieked

"What I drank was not the poison you intended. Instead, it was a toxin that numbed my muscles for a time long enough for me to appear dead. But it was not just for show, it allowed me to trap you all at once." His voice was lacking any malicious tone, but somehow that seemed to make it all the more sinister. He had known all along what she had been planning.

"Hold your tongue you insolent degenerate!" She yelled down.

"I suppose this is what you were used to," Griffith calmly continued. "Sitting and scheming behind closed doors. But this is war. There is nowhere to sit on the battlefield."

The flames danced their way closer to her and the two other nobles who were trapped. Licking at the hem of their clothing, the warmth and dread quickened. And as the heat raged on in the room, so too did the fury inside of her. "Griffith, you impudent swine! Do you actually intend to kill me, the queen? Do you believe a boy of common blood could burn me, the Queen of Midland to death?!"

Griffith crossed his arms, the only indication that he was losing his patience. "Death on the battlefield comes for everyone, regardless of class. The loser must die."

The flames had reached the beam support in the ceiling. The wood gave out and fell. "Aaaaaaghhh!" A final scream from the queen as the structure of her world caved around her as it went up in flames.

Walking down the steps of the manse, Griffith stopped to address Minister Foss who, at this point was wringing his hands as if to wash away the deed of lighting the fire, to begin with. "Are you unwell, minister? Are these ploys not uncommon in the court?"

Foss swallowed his own saliva before replying. "Elize? Is she safe?" Griffith snapped his fingers and a trio of hired thugs came escorting a young girl with them.

"Father!" The girl yelled as she ran into Foss' arms.

"I thank you for your cooperation, Minister Foss," Griffith said. He then fished out a coin purse and handed it to one of the thugs. "As a reward for keeping the girl safe from all of this." Of course, it was also the money for her kidnapping, to begin with as well.

The leader eagerly accepted the money. "Pleasure doing business with ya. If ya ever need any more dirty deeds done, yeh know where to find us." He flashed a toothless smile.

"I'll keep that in mind," Griffith said, not meaning to ever take them up on their offer. The thugs took their leave, and Griffith followed soon after, but not before casting a last glance back at Foss and his reunited daughter. He would keep quiet about this event, if not… now he at least he knew the price for that.

The sound of the coin purse jingling was how he was able to track the thugs down. But even then they talked much too loud for their own good. They openly boasted of how much money they carried and if Griffith ever decided not to hire them again then they would blackmail him with this.

But the thing was, they wouldn't.

Choosing to reveal himself, Guts stepped out of his hiding place. He had abandoned his horrendous party getup in favor of a breastplate and a dark cloak, and of course, his sword. He had to visit Godo again for a new one after Doldrey, and this one handled just as well as the former.

One swing was all it took for the once trio to be cut into six. And with that, all loose ends were tied in a neat bow.

He met up with Griffith in a secluded location down a back alley in the lower district of Windham. "It's finished?"

"Finished," Guts confirmed. "But what about that minister? Is it safe to let him go?"

"Maybe," Griffith answered. He didn't sound too worried about it.

"Maybe?" Guts parroted.

"Relax," Griffith smiled at him. "I believe he's learned his lesson after this. And if not, I'll take care of it."

Guts looked to where the smoke now touched the sky. "Caused quite the uproar. All those nobles and the queen… Who'd have thought a dead man was pulling the strings."

"Guts…" Griffith began. "Do you think me a dreadful man?"

"Huh?"

"I've hardly dirtied my hands tonight, and left the killing of those men to you," Griffith elaborated. "Out of everyone in the Hawks, I told only you of this plan of mine when they would be more than willing to help. Do you not resent me?"

Was he really asking that? Guts knew that despite the image that Griffith put up, he was no saint. Neither was he. At his very core, Griffith was a man driven by ambition, a raging fire that made the fire that killed the queen pale in comparison. He had that dream in mind.

"You do realize you're asking that question to the guy who killed a hundred men, right?" Guts asked. "Not really much of a point to it. That's what I do, swing my sword. This was to reach your dream, right? You haven't lost sight of it have you?"

After a brief pause, Griffith let out a small sigh of relief at Guts' opinion and chuckled. "Thank you." Guts clapped him on the back.

"Now why don't we head back? A dead man like you shouldn't be spending all night out here. You've probably kept everyone worried too long."

Griffith Hmmd. "I suppose you're right."

"You know," Guts said, "I don't think you noticed, but Casca put on a dress."

Griffith looked shocked. "Did she?"

"Yeah," Guts said. "She actually looked nice." Griffith smiled s the two of them set back to meet with all the others who would no doubt be shocked to see Griffith alive.

A/N: That's it for this chapter. It took a bit longer to write because I had a paper due for my one college class, but hopefully it'll still be on par with the rest. Thank you for reading.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Christmas Eve, 1991

The time to take the Sorcerer's Stone was now. With the coming of the winter holiday, students would be out of the castle and back home. Even some of the staff were taking time off, and among them was Dumbledore. The aged headmaster was busy attending a yule-time Wizengamont gathering brought about by the Minister of Magic.

Voldemort could not have been presented with a more golden opportunity.

For the previous two months, the Dark Lord had been gaining knowledge of what other protections lay before the stone. The first was Hagrid's beastly three-headed dog who guarded the trapdoor to the lower levels. After having Quirrell disguise himself as a trader in a pub Hagrid frequented, he got the information he needed at the price of a dragon's egg.

Below the trapdoor was a nest of Devilsnare, courtesy of Professor Sprout. A powerful lumos charm parted the deadly vines and allowed him further passage.

Next came a room of enchanted flying keys, provided by Flitwick. Voldemort did not have Quirrell bother catching the right key on the broom provided; instead, he used the summoning charm, accio.

McGonagall's giant chess set came next, but at Voldemort's instruction, Quirrell won the game in just a few moves. Becoming the darkest wizard in history required a strategic mind after all.

Quirrell dealt with his own troll easily enough. Despite being a mediocre wizard at best, Quirrell at least knew what spells trolls were vulnerable to.

Beyond that was Snape's own potion riddle required to pass beyond a wall of flame. Voldemort had to respect Severus for his choice of protection; it was the only one that required any use of logic. The others had been so easy a first-year could figure them out.

After drinking the correct potion, and passing harmlessly through the wall of flame, they came to a half-circular room with an arch mirror. No doubt, this was Dumbledore's own protection.

"Go to the mirror, Quirrell," Voldemort ordered. "Look into it and tell me what you see."

"I see… myself," Quirrell stared at the reflection. "And I'm holding the stone." An illusion no doubt. "I see you too, master. You're back to how you once were."

"And I soon will be," Voldemort said. "This mirror is all that stands in our way."

"Yes. Nevertheless, how do we get the stone? Should I break the mirror?"

"Not yet," Voldemort responded. "Let me examine it." Quirrell turned to face the opposite direction and lifted his turban so Voldemort could properly see.

Staring into the mirror, Voldemort saw himself as he was; a parasite so weak that he had to latch onto another to sustain himself. It was pathetic. He, the Dark Lord, attached to the head of a weakling such as Quirrell.

And then, it began to change.

He no longer saw a parasite, he saw himself as he once was. Young and handsome with a full head of dark wavy hair and sharp angular features. He looked as he had before splitting his soul before the horrendous magic of the Horcrux's had taken their effect on his being.

The background of the illusion began to change as well. Instead of seeing the firewall glowing, it became white, and a corridor covered in archways and stairs on all four walls. It almost resembled a painting of that one muggle artist, whose name escaped him at the moment.

Four shadowy figures began to materialize, each in a different archway. Two appeared more rounded, one was unmistakably female and the other… well, it was the tallest of the four, and it looked to have a very high collar for whatever outfit it wore.

Each of them pointed a shadowy finger towards his illusion self. The illusion was holding something in his hand. It was small and rounded; could it be… the stone?

Voldemort wanted nothing more than to reach out and grab whatever it was the illusion held. "Master!" Quirrell's sudden cry and accompanying movement forced Voldemort to lose his focus on the mirror.

As he cast a last glance back at the mirror, he saw no trace of the previous illusion, but he did see the reflection of Dumbledore.

"Hello again, Tom," Dumbledore addressed him by his previous disgrace of a name.

Voldemort sneered in return. "I wasn't expecting you, Dumbledore. But you seemed to know I would be here."

"As Hogwarts Headmaster, it is my duty to know the going on's in my school. And that includes knowing of a possessed professor. So I saw fit to provide an enchantment to alert me if anyone entered this room."

The revelation came as a humorous surprise. "You knew all along, and only now choose to act?! You've grown senile, Dumbledore. You're lost without your would-be-golden-boy!"

"And you are not as powerful as you claim to be," Dumbledore's calm demeanor slowly trickled away. "I can scarcely imagine the lows one must sink to magically cling to a host for survival."

The Dark Lord's red eyes narrowed in response. "I have dabbled deeper into the dark arts than any wizard before me. I am immortal."

Dumbledore drew his wand. "Death is inevitable for all of us, Tom. Unlike you, it does not discriminate. There is no avoiding it when the time comes."

Voldemort laughed dryly. "And you're going to kill me? You? The man who was always preaching for peace, I think not." Quirrell hesitantly drew his wand as he felt Voldemort's bloodlust flare.

The possessed professor shot a non-verbal bone breaking hew at Dumbledore, who cast a shield around himself. The headmaster then shot three stunning curses at Quirrell, who cast a shield charm of his own. The shield nearly broke after the first spell and completely broke after the third. It was pathetic and Voldemort knew it, Dumbledore wasn't even going all out.

"Stop with the mild spells, Quirrell!" Voldemort ordered his lackey. "Use the unforgivables!"

Quirrell raised his wand high to do his masters bidding. "Cruci-,"

Dumbledore moved much faster than a man of his age should have, and a slashing motion with his wand, a blinding white light arced its way to Quirrell effectively knocking him back. "Get up!" Voldemort yelled. Quirrell's fear of Voldemort proved stronger than his of Dumbledore and he got to his feet.

"Master…?"

"Use the spell I taught you," Voldemort's tone made it clear there was no room for argument.

A wave of jagged darkness shot from Quirrell's wand, straight at Dumbledore. It was a spell Voldemort had made himself and was a lesser version of the enchantment that protected his ring Horcrux. If one bit of the darkness so much as touched the flesh, the victim would fall to magical corruption before dying in agony as they bled to death from the inside out.

Instead of jumping to the side to avoid the attack or conjuring a shield, Dumbledore managed to bend the wall of fire to his will and sent a torrent of flame to burn away at the coming darkness. "I can't hold it!" Quirrell yelled as the flames started to overpower the stream of corruption spewing from his wand.

"Enough, Quirrell!" Voldemort snapped. "We must flee!"

"Master…!"

The flames won out and consumed Quirrell's curse to the point that his wand snapped from too much magical overload. "Ahhhh!" Yelled Quirrell as suddenly, the flames wrapped around his wrists and ankles like chains, holding him down. "They burn!"

A look into the mirror showed Dumbledore approaching the beaten Quirrell. It was over. The mission to steal the stone was a bust, a lost cause and nothing more than a trap to lure him into captivity. He had been so desperate for a body of his own that he had become too hasty to achieve his ambition. Of course, this was bound to happen.

"Master, please!" Quirrell begged as the chains of flame tightened. "Help me! Get us out of this!"

Quirrell… such an aspiring young man, filled with so much potential. Squandered potential. The man had played the part of the bumbling fool so well because that's what he was at his core: a fool. What chance did this young fool truly have against Albus Dumbledore? He performed like a fool under fear, he had been a fool when he thought Voldemort would share the stone with him, and he was just pathetic now, begging on his knees.

There was no saving Quirrell at this point. Dumbledore would see to it that the professor would be sentenced to Azkaban for this, and the Dementors might even perform the Kiss on him. There was no help for Quirrell, and he was the biggest fool to live if he truly believed Voldemort would waste his time trying to save him from this situation.

Using what strength was left to him, Voldemort began to undo the magic that bound him to the back of Quirrell's head, taking with him some of his host's own bit of magical energy. "Master?! What are you doing?!"

"You have served well, Quirrell. But you are not worth my capture. As my servant, I expect it will bring joy to your heart knowing that your master has escaped." A flash erupted as the magical bonding broke, and a specter-like figure of Voldemort fled the scene.

"Masterrrrrr!" Quirrell's pleading shout was unheard by Voldemort, who left him behind with no remorse in his blackened heart.

At last, snow had begun to fall on Midland. The cold was a stark contrast to the warm sense of relief experienced by Harry when he realized Griffith had not died from the poison. Those few hours spent thinking that his leader was dead was among the worst he could remember. But his depression was nothing compared to how Casca had been.

The second-in-command seemed to completely shut down, not speaking and just staring off into space in a trance. But when Griffith walked back to them fully alive, it was the first time Harry had ever seen her cry.

Guts, who Harry assumed left the party early, had tracked down the waiter who served Griffith his drink and cut him down before he could flee Windham. On top of that, the Queen of Midland had been killed in a fire within her own private manse.

The king seemed less concerned about the loss of his wife, and more about the safety of his daughter. Additional guards were placed outside her chambers in case a threat was made against her life.

Aside from the political intrigue, the king made good of his word and raised Griffith to the rank of White Phoenix General, and personally knighted all those a member of the Hawks, Harry included. After everything that had happened since first encountering the band of mercenaries, Harry never would have thought it would lead to being a knight. He was by no means complaining or anything, just surprised and- anxious.

After all, what comes after this? What could possibly top being a knight? For him- there was one option.

He and Casca sat in her quarters in the barracks of their new setting within Windham going over a map of Midland. "Enoch village is to the northeast of here," Casca pointed to it. "It's out by a mountain pass and a large forest."

"You think that there might be magic users there then?" Harry asked as he took a scrap piece of paper to copy down its location.

"If you want to believe in children's stories," Casca said. "Pretty much every story about magic and witches are centered on the forest just outside of the village. An old woman is said to live somewhere within those woods, practicing spells on anyone wicked who strolls too far from the path."

"Are you being serious?"

Casca shrugged. "That's what I always heard from my village anyways. My older brother would tell us stories like that."

"Do you think we could ride out there one day to see?" Harry asked.

"We'd have to tell Griffith about it first. I doubt he'd say no. What future king wouldn't want to have a wizard in his court?"

He suddenly felt bashful. "You're getting ahead of yourself."

She smiled. "Maybe. But who knows? One day you…" something outside the window caught her attention. "Oh no!" She hurriedly grabbed her coat and ran for the door.

Taking a look himself, Harry saw an unmistakable figure waking away from the barracks with a bag of belongings thrown over his shoulder. Harry quickly followed after Casca in pursuit of the individual.

Along the way of sprinting outside, the two of them dashed past a very confused Judeau and Corkus, with Harry accidentally stepping on the latter's toes. Harry threw a quick, "Sorry," in their direction as he strived to keep pace with Casca.

The snow muffled the sound of their footsteps as they caught up to the departing man.

"Guts!" Casca shouted halting him in his tracks. He cast a glance over his shoulder to see the both of them. "Guts, are you- leaving us?"

"What?" Harry looked at Guts expectantly. He looked ready to head out all right, but it could be a task for Griffith. He could be going to visit Godo for a new set of armor. Wherever he was going, he was going to come back, right?

"Answer me!" Casca yelled when Guts remained silent. She spoke again but in a much softer tone this time. "I'm sorry. I know that the two of us haven't gotten along in the past. We've had more than our fair share of arguments, but we've fought together for so long. All the work we put in with the rest of the Hawks is bearing its fruit, and this is just the beginning. You don't have to-,"

"Thank you," Guts spoke at last. "But I've already made up my mind. I told you before; I wanted to see things through to the end. With the way they are now, his dream is all but accomplished. It's a dream I can't live under any longer."

Harry shook his head, not able to believe what he was hearing. "What are you talking about? 'Seeing things through to the end, living under a dream?' Where's that coming from? Aren't you happy here?"

"It's not that," Guts said. "I've felt happier with the Hawks than for longer than I could remember. But the war's over. My time fighting here is over; nothing stands between Griffith and his dream now except for Griffith. It's time I found my own."

So this was it? Guts was actually going to leave them for some unrecognized dream? Guts had always been a solitary figure, sure, but to go as far as to leave… Would he even come back once he found what he was looking for?

"Excuse us," Judeau and Corkus came walking their way. "But we seem to have overheard part of what's going on. Guts, why don't you come with us for a drink? For old times' sake. You have the time for that don't you?"

Guts' eyes looked between the two newcomers. "Sure. Why not?"

"Glad to hear it," Judeau smiled at him. "Corkus, why don't you lead the way?"

"Fine. I know a place that'll be open this early in the morning."

As the three of them set out for the tavern, Casca turned and ran back to the barracks. "Where are you going?" Harry called after her.

"To get Griffith," she said. "Just go with them, try and stall."

The four of them sat at one of the tavern's tables, a serving wench came by to take their orders, and Corkus was quick to start chatting her up. Guts had placed his order for some ale but otherwise remained stone-faced. That left Harry to fully explain the situation to Judeau.

"This seems a bit sudden, Guts," Judeau honestly said once Harry finished explaining.

"I think so too," Harry wholeheartedly agreed.

"No. It's not." Guts' tone wasn't angry, just somber. "I've been thinking about this since before the last campaign."

"Why? Are you discontent?"

"No, Judeau. These past three years have meant a lot to me. It feels like I've been at a festival full of excitement." Guts actually allowed a nostalgic smile.

Corkus planted his boots up on the table. "I don't understand you. We're higher than we've ever been. Women and children will swarm around us as we walk these streets, and why not? We're the heroes of the war, we've spilled blood to achieve we have now, and you're willing to give all this up?!" Corkus leaned back as far as he could. "Do whatever makes you happy. Which for most men would be dancing with ladies in court but for you its probably to just swing that sword of yours."

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" Harry asked, not liking the direction Corkus was taking this.

"No," Guts said. "He's right."

"Huh?" Corkus wasn't expecting that.

"It's true. I'd rather fight for my life than live it. I was only a child when I took my first life, and since then I've learned how to refine the art of slaughter so that to live I take life. And I was content, I was my own master. But then I met the man who made me challenge what I hold true and made me need his respect. He possessed nothing, yet he attended to obtain everything. And even with all his ceaseless ambition, there's no one else I respect more than him. But to be beneath him, I can't-do that. I want to stand as an equal by his side."

Corkus sneered at that declaration. "You think yourself Griffith's equal?" Corkus threw his legs off the table and stood up. "Goddamn, you and your childish bitching! Griffith is exceptional, and you are beneath him! You should be grateful for the position he stowed upon you. A position an ass like you doesn't deserve!"

"I don't want what another man can give me," Guts evenly responded.

"Well if wanting was enough to get what we'd want, we'd all be kings," Corkus shot back. "Listen, it's a man's duty to face reality and his own limitations. But you're just too damn weak to admit you've already exceeded your station and you look to the horizon for something that will never come because you're just a coward!"

"That's taking it too far," Harry said, but only Judeau heard him.

"What about you?" Guts asked Corkus, his tone showing less patience. "Are you the only man to never dream?"

Corkus recoiled like he had been struck. "Wha- Tch! I've had enough! If you say another word, I think I'll kill myself." Corkus tossed a few coins to the bartender and left.

"Well that could have gone better," Judeau remarked as he picked up a butter knife from the table. "I've always been good with knives, but nowhere near the best, never the best at anything really. So I resolved to find someone who was." Judeau balanced the knife on one finger and flipped it to another. "Everyone dreams of greatness at one point." He stood up. "I'll see you off. I hope you find it, that thing that makes you whole."

Guts smiled. "Thanks."

Harry had the opposite reaction, however. "Wait! You're not going to talk him out of it?"

"What would be the point of that?" Judeau asked. "I doubt there's anything left for me to say to convince him otherwise, and I sure wouldn't want to physically stop him. This is just something he has to do."

"Well…" Harry racked his brain trying to think of something. "Try and Stall." Casca had asked of him. Casca… "What about Casca?"

"What about her?" Guts put a few coins on the table for his drink as he made ready to leave.

"Have you thought about how she'd react to all this?" Harry asked.

"She'll be fine, she has Griffith," Guts got up and left with Harry and Judeau following.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. I think Harry has a point," Judeau backed him up. "Griffith's dream is within reach, and the only one who can take him farther now is Charlotte. And besides, you two would work well together."

Guts rolled his eyes and let out a small chuckle. "Now you sound like a love-struck teen."

The three of them exited the city, taking the main roadways away to a snowy hill. "This is far enough," Guts told them. "Thanks for walking me out."

C'mon Casca! Harry fretted. If she didn't show up soon with Griffith, then…

A little ways up the hill a small group of people stood. Corkus leaned against a tree with Casca, Pippin, and Rickert present as well. From behind Pippin, Griffith walked out. Any trace of a warm smile on his face was absent.

"You're leaving?" The first thing Griffith asked.

"Yeah," Guts said.

"You're turning your back on the Hawks," Griffith reasoned.

"I'm sorry," was all Guts had to say.

"Guts!" Rickert ran over to him. "Please, explain it to me so I can understand. The Band of the Hawk has been like a family to you, and now that we're doing so well you're just going to leave us?"

"Rickert," Judeau stepped forth to pull him back form Guts. "Leave it be. It's a man's decision. Don't make it any harder on him."

"You could be a little less supportive," Harry grumbled but still had a bit of hope Griffith could talk sense into Guts.

"But Guts is an important captain!" Rickert further argued.

Corkus spat in the snow. "So what? We were undefeated before he joined us. We don't need him."

Harry shook his head. "You're wrong. Guts is-"

"Shut up!" Corkus snapped at him. Both Harry and Rickert flinched a bit at the loud tone.

Corkus now stormed up to Guts to glare at him. "Hey, I don't like you." Guts' face betrayed no emotion; he hardly seemed bothered by it. "I never liked you. I see what you are; you're not special and you'll never be like Griffith! I'll tell you one more thing; if we ever meet on the battlefield then you better watch your back. A stray arrow might just fly your way." Corkus ended his rant and went back to slouch against the tree.

Guts took a last look at each of the assembled Hawks, a small smile etched onto his face. "Thanks for everything." He walked past Pippin and Casca, ready to head out on his own.

This can't be happening, Harry wanted to believe it wasn't true. Guts had always been a solitary person, sure; but he still taught Harry some useful swordplay advice, still fought beside all of them when in battle; was Griffith not going to say anything else?

He didn't have to. Instead of words, Griffith unsheathed his blade and stood in Guts' path. "When we first met, I told you that you belonged to me. I won your loyalty that day. If you wish to be free of me, the rules have not changed; draw your sword and take your freedom from me." Griffith readied his own stance.

"Griffith, please!" Casca pleaded.

"Would you settle for a smile and a fond farewell?" Guts asked. Harry looked at Griffith for his answer, and it was the first time Griffith's blue eyes had ever scared him. They were unblinking, unmoving, fixated on Guts with an obsession. "So be it." Guts dropped his bag into the snow and pulled out his sword. The rising sun casts a blinding gleam from both of their blades.

"Stop this!" Casca ran between the both of them. "Are you two serious about this?! Are you really prepared to kill each other?" Griffith slashed his sword through the air as he shifted into an offensive stance.

"Step aside, Casca," Guts told her. "Don't interfere."

"If you two go at it then someone is going to die!" She argued, but Pippin threw her over his shoulder and pulled her to the side. Harry would have tried to help her, but Judeau put a hand on his shoulder, holding him back as well.

The two of them had yet to make a move. They stood in their own respective stances, sizing the other up. There was Guts, arguably the best at fighting with a very brute force style of swordplay. His sword was made by Godo, the same smith who crafted Harry's elven ore sword, and it was far larger than Griffith's own blade. Guts stood ready to fight to find his own dream, the same purpose that Griffith had done with each and every battle.

And then there was Griffith. He was not as physically strong as Guts with his more lithe frame, but he was faster. His blade was not meant for crushing the skulls of his enemies, instead for quick slashes and jabs, perfect for weeding its way into weak points in armor. Instead of his dream, Griffith was fighting for his own personal feelings, his dream momentarily forgotten. And that made all the difference.

Snow from the tree's branch fell, and Griffith lunged towards Guts, his sword ready to hold nothing back. Guts raised his own sword and brought it down full force towards Griffith's.

Everyone was left speechless as Guts' blade passed completely through Griffith's, breaking it in half. Guts managed to stop the momentum of his swing, just before his sword cut hit Griffith's shoulder. The look of absolute shock on Griffith's face told the whole story: he had lost.

Griffith dropped the hilt of his now destroyed sword and fell to his knees in the snow. "Griffith!" Casca yelled as they all raced over to him. Guts sheathed his own sword and picked up his dropped bag. Griffith didn't even seem to acknowledge this.

"Farewell," Guts said as he continued on his own journey.

Casca looked between the defeated Griffith and the departing Guts. She clenched her fist and yelled after him, "Guts!" He made no indication he heard her and kept walking.

"That's it?" Rickert asked, "He didn't even look back."

"It was a fluke!" Corkus said in denial. "I won't believe it."

"Let's help him up, Harry," Judeau offered, but Griffith raised a hand to stop them. He rose to his own feet, clutching his shoulder where Guts' blade had nearly cut him. He said nothing as he walked back to the city of Windham.

Corkus followed suit, then Pippin, the Judeau and Rickert, and lastly Casca who cast one last look at the departing Guts before leaving as well. As for Harry, he stood where he was, not wanting to believe what had just happened. He cast a look at the retreating Hawks and then to Guts.

All this, just for a dream. Harry followed after Guts, intent on bringing him back.

Night had fallen, and Guts repeated for what must have been the hundredth time, "Go back, Harry." He said it without any malice or anger, he just said it.

And every time Guts would say that to him, Harry would respond with, "Not unless you come too." This back-and-forth had continued from the point of Guts' departure at sunrise to sunset.

Since that time, Guts had set up camp in the woods around Windham, leaving Harry to wonder if Guts had any real plan of how he exactly intended to find his dream. "I just don't understand it," Harry began to elaborate. "You were happy with the Hawks, and you just want to leave? What about Griffith?"

Guts began to light a fire. "It was just a bump in the road for Griffith. He has a stronger will than anyone I've met. He'll get over this; he won't let this stop him."

"It's not going to be the same without you, please just come back and talk to Griffith, please."

Guts fanned the fire to get it to grow before taking a seat on a fallen tree. "What is there to talk about?"

Harry could hardly believe that. "How about apologizing for the fight?"

"He wouldn't have let me leave if I hadn't faced him," Guts debated. "I wouldn't expect you to understand my reason for leaving, just accept it. Accept it and go back."

"It's because of your dream," Harry stated. "That's what this is all about, a stupid dream."

Folding his arms behind his head, Guts focused his attention on the growing fire. "Like I said, I wouldn't expect you to understand."

The fire hissed as smoke escaped from it. "But the thing is, I do," Harry confessed. Guts actually looked in his direction. "After you and Casca got separated during that one battle, Griffith asked me to lead the party to find you both. I didn't understand why I'm just a boy and he could have asked anyone else. Apart from my… magic, I'm nothing special. I don't have a dream to guide me either. Later, when we found you both and celebrated after, I asked him about it. I asked if we were friends and he told me that he holds everyone in the Hawks with high regards. He said they all have something they can stand by, even us; we just couldn't see it."

It looked like he had Guts' full attention. "Look, I don't know what exactly Griffith meant when he said that to me. I don't know what that hidden dream is that we can't see, but I know for a fact you aren't going to find it out… wherever it s you plan on going." He could tell Guts was thinking it over. "So please, please just come back and talk to him. Straighten this out, please."

"…Look, Harry, this is-," Guts stopped talking and suddenly drew his sword. "Get your sword out," Guts ordered, and Harry obliged, the bluish gleam of his own sword seemed almost purple by the light of the fire.

"What is it?" Harry asked, standing next to Guts.

"I heard something. It sounded like a horse." The two of them scanned the surrounding snow-covered forest, looking for any sign of a horse or rider. They were both caught off guard when they felt the warm breath from a neighing horse hit the back of their necks. They hadn't even heard it approach from behind.

Turning around they faced a horse decorated in bone-like armor and a rider who sat tall upon his mount wearing a similar design. His skull helm held those same glowing reddish-purple eyes as when Harry first met him. The Skull Knight.

"It has been some time, wizard," Skull Knight addressed Harry.

"You know this guy?" Guts asked of Harry, he actually sounded a bit nervous.

"I met him that night when I first came into your camp," Harry explained. "I didn't think anyone would believe me."

Guts shifted his stance, ready for a fight if it should come. "So why's he here?"

Skull Knight turned his glowing gaze to Guts now. "So the gears have indeed begun to turn. Take heed, Struggler. In one's year's time, it will mark two-hundred-sixteen years since the last eclipse. A torrent of madness will be unleashed and hell will be experienced. But you, Struggler, you were born from death, so you are best at escaping it." Skull Knight focused back on Harry.

"And you, Wizard, are not of this plain. You're being is different." He looked back to Guts. "Struggle and resist, that is what it means to be free of control and to live by the path of your own choosing. Never forget this." Skull Knight turned to ride off.

"Hold up!" Guts shouted. "How the hell do you know about me?! Who are you?!"

Skull Knight began to ride away. "In the abyss of despair, he who stands with a broken sword… perhaps…" He rode between a few trees and disappeared from sight. His cryptic warning resonating with the both of them.

The walk back to Windham was a depressing one. Instead of snow, there was rain, freezing rain. That coupled with the darkness of night, hadn't helped at all. Harry's boots were completely soaked y the time he arrived back at the barracks for the Hawks.

The members who had witnessed the fight were all gathered at one table within the mess hall, two candles cast their light at the figures sitting in silence. Rickert was the first to notice his arrival. "Harry! There you are. We've been wondering where you- Guts?"

The swordsman walked in after Harry, earning a surprised look from everyone. "Guts!" Rickert shouted running up to him. "You're back!"

"…Yeah," Guts forced a smile. "I wanted to see things through to the end after all."

Harry knew that wasn't the reason. It probably had less to do with Harry's speech to him and more about the sudden arrival of Skull night. It had a clear impact on Guts with the cryptic warning that had been left behind before his departure.

Judeau smiled warmly. "Glad to see you back, but what of your dream?"

"I haven't forgotten about that," Guts said. "I still intend to go my own way, but for now, the least I can do is see this through to the end. I want to see him achieve his dream before I worry about mine."

Pippin gave a nod of approval, but Corkus looked unconvinced. "This doesn't change anything, you know that? You still walked out on us. I've never seen Griffith in a more depressed state. He said he'd see the rest of us in the morning, whatever that means."

Harry would expect that from Corkus, but it was Casca who had him worried. She walked up to Guts with her arms folded in front of her. "Look Casca-," Guts began, but she grabbed him by the hem of his cloak and pulled him down to her eye level.

"I don't care what you say, or what you do, but you make right by him." She pushed him back and walked out of the hall.

An uncomfortable silence fell around them to be broken by Judeau. "She took that better than expected." That she had, but now the only person left was Griffith. Where was he?

The rain ran down the large window to Princess Charlotte's balcony. She had just dismissed her handmaiden for the night and was prepared to slip out of her day dress and into her nightgown. Lightning flashed as he knocked on the window, alerting her to his presence.

She gasped at first thinking him an intruder, but once she saw his face through the rain stained glass, she visibly brightened and opened the window for him to enter.

"Please excuse my visit at this hour, Princess."

"Of course," Charlotte said in a fluster. "But, Count Griffith, this is unexpected. At this hour, it hardly seems appropriate though. You're all wet and-," He silences her by wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close, capturing her lips with his own.

She pulled back after a few seconds, her pale features turned red. "Griffith… this is… this…"

He leaned down to put his mouth next to her ear. "Do you wish for me to stop?" His other hand rubbed circles in the small of her back. He heard her give a small moan of unexpected pleasure.

She wrapped an arm around his neck to whisper in his own ear. "No…"

They embraced again. Griffith's hand roamed to her shoulder to slide the gown off of Charlotte. Before the garment could even touch the floor, Griffith's hand had cupped one of her breasts. She gasped, allowing Griffith to slide his tongue into her mouth.

She was ready to give herself to him. Griffith led her over to her bed and laid her down beneath him as he too began to undress. He tossed his clothes to the side and Charlotte slowly began to spread her legs for him.

"Aah!" Charlotte yelped as he entered her, the pain of her maidenhead breaking was felt throughout her lower body. He allowed her some time to adjust before he began to move his own hips. Her once cry of pain quickly turned to pleasure as Griffith moved in and out of her.

She was obedient to him, whenever he felt the need to change position, she would oblige. Every touch, every bite he left on her pushed her further and further. His hand snaked down to where they were joined and massaged her folds. Her walls tightened and she collapsed on her bed, completely worn out.

Griffith sat on the edge of the bed, sweat coated his body and he rubbed his shoulder where Guts' sword would have cut him. Guts… you… He cast a look at the sleeping Charlotte and pulled a blanket over her.

You made me forget.

Him and the princess. The princess and him. Would he- under normal circumstances- ever do that? It was such a rash move on his end, but Charlotte had given herself willingly. She had not refused; he was not at fault for this. She was of marrying age and now that they had coupled, marriage was sure to follow. Marriage and then the kingdom he had dreamt of for so long.

It was all within his grasp. He could not afford to lose sight of it again. Guts had… made him forget. And that was dangerous. Dangerous for the Hawks, dangerous for himself, and dangerous for the kingdom.

Sunlight began to creep into Charlotte's room. He had been awake all night thinking. Griffith dressed in his discarded clothes and made an exit of the same way he had entered. Charlotte was still asleep, she would know that he had shown himself out.

Griffith jumped from her balcony to a tree and worked his way down to the ground. He barely took two full steps when a dozen guards and their captain surrounded him at spear point. The captain pulled up his visor. "And by what business does the White Phoenix General have for leaving the princess' chambers at an hour as early as this?"

The spears poked closer, preventing any chance of escape as iron chains were clamped around his wrists. "Take him to the dungeon to await the king."

Fire from the torches provided the only light in the dank dungeon as the king strode towards the cell with Minister Foss close on his heels. "Please, your highness, I beg you to wait. A situation such as this-,"

"Is none of your concern, Foss," the king cut him off. "This is a matter of my own daughter and I will see it dealt with." He opened the cell door and his two personal guards followed him inside.

Griffith had been stripped of his shirt, save for the strange red bauble that hung from his neck. His hands were tied above him to a rafter in the ceiling. It was such a degrading position for one who rose to his rank in the Midland army. Griffith didn't say anything as the king approached his suspended body.

"As king, I always viewed knighthood as lees to do with birth and more to do with actions. You have done much for Midland and for that I thank you. But when it comes to my daughter that is another story. She often forgets her lesions of what it means to be of her status and duties, and instead, acts like a town's girl when it comes to you. After her mother passed and before I remarried, Charlotte was everything to me, she still is." The king took a whip from the torturer's rack. "And you undermined that."

He gave the whip a few cracks to test it. "For seventeen years I have made it my duty to keep Charlotte safe from those who would take advantage of her position. I have shot down countless suitors who could have greatly benefitted Midland because I did not believe them fit for my Charlotte. I thought better of you, Griffith."

Much to his displeasure, Griffith finally lets out a chuckle. "I've always found it funny how for a girl of seventeen years to never have found a suitor," Griffith went on. "And now, I think I know the reason. You want her, don't you?" The king froze at Griffith's words. "The King of Midland is nothing but an old man who lusts after his daughter because of the memory of his first wife."

The king had had enough. "Silence!" He cracked the whip against Griffith's chest hard enough to draw blood from his porcelain white skin. He brandished the whip and again and struck Griffith once more. "You know nothing of being king!" Another lashing. "Do you know of the responsibilities that come with the title?! The burden you must bear for the land, the people?!" More and more lashes. "What do you know of it?!"

His two personal guards stood speechless and the stone floor was splattered with Griffith's blood; his torso ripe with cuts. "If one of you so much as speaks of this, you and your families will be put to the sword." They nodded in fear and understanding. "Torturer!"

The torturer came when summoned. He was a dwarf of a man with a balding head and speech impediment of some kind. "Yesh, shire?"

"You are free to use whatever methods you want on this man," the king instructed. "But do not kill him. Keep him alive for another year, he has sinned against my house and will suffer for it."

The torturer bowed. "Of corse, shire." The torturer took the red bauble from around Griffith's neck and dropped it down a drain grate. "His flesh is fine."

The king took his leave, stopping at the door to cast one last look back. "So sad how the mighty fall. You were a hawk who flew too close to the sun, Griffith. And now, your wings are clipped, never to fly again."

The king's next stop was the bedroom of his daughter, Princess Charlotte. Her favorite handmaiden stood outside her room. "Please, your majesty. Princess Charlotte is sleeping, she needs her-," one of the king's guards pulled the handmaiden away to allow him entry.

So precious, he thought as he looked at the sleeping form of his daughter. Her chocolate brown hair lightly clung to her forehead, her mouth open just a tad but letting no sound escape. If her eyes were to open he would be met with the sight of ocean blue orbs to stare back at him. The king approached her and sat at the side of her bed.

Brushing some hair from out of her face, he noticed bite marks around her neck. This is where he bit her. These lips are the ones he kissed. He lightly felt at the bruises on her neck and ran a thumb across her lips. He pulled the sheet covering her away.

She slept naked allowing him a sight of her perky breasts. They're not as big as her mother's had been, but she can still grow. He lightly traced the outline of her breasts as his eyes traveled down.

There- between her legs was a small smear of blood.

Oh, Charlotte! What has he done to you? His sweet princess had been defiled by Griffith! A year of torture would not be enough for the White Hawk! He would see to it Griffith would be moved on the morrow to a place where he could never hope to escape. He would pay for what he had done to his Charlotte.

His Charlotte.

The king planed a kiss on his daughter's forehead before licking the nipple of her breast. She, at last, began to stir. "Griffith?" She asked as her eyes opened. She was met with the sight of her father licking at her breast.

"Aaaaahhhhh!" She shrieked as she pushed him away. "Father! What are you doing?!" She recoiled away from him in fear.

"It is alright, Charlotte," he tried to calm her. "Let me fix this. Let me help you."

Charlotte backed away. "Father, you're scaring me!"

"Do not be afraid, Charlotte," he reached for her legs. "I won't allow your honor to be sullied." He made a move to pry her legs open.

"No! Stop! Father! Stop!" Charlotte began to cry as his face neared her womanhood. In a surprise bit of strength, she pulled one of her legs back and kicked the king in his nose hard enough to break it.

"Ouuggh!" The king recoiled from the blow. "Charlotte you-,"

His daughter was curled up in the corner of her room, her bed sheet wrapped around her protectively. Tears streamed from her beautiful blue eyes. She was afraid of him. She hated him.

The king stood up and left Charlotte's room closing the door behind him and then slamming his fist against it. "Damn you, Griffith! You've tainted her!" He turned to one of his guards. "I want you to send an invitation to the Band of the Hawk under Griffith's name. They are to gather outside in the country of Midland. They will pay for his sins as well."

Albanian forest,

After the failed duel with Dumbledore, Voldemort had no choice but to flee. The bond he had used to attach to Quirrell had allowed him to steal enough of his magic to apparate once he had reached Hogsmeade village in his spectral form.

He had chosen Albania for its connection to one of the Hogwarts founders, Ravenclaw. Or to put a finer point on it, her daughter. This forest is the one she fled to way back when. And now, it was the haven for a badly weakened Voldemort.

The body- if he could call it that- was so frail a breeze could knock it over and break almost every bone he possessed. It was about the size of a baby with stick-thin limbs that he could barely move, let alone hold a wand. But he was alive.

The stone was a loss, no doubt about that, but there were other ways for him to be reborn. There was a blood ritual that could be performed, but he would need a followed to oversee the proceedings.

He used what strength his arms possess to turn himself over, the effort nearly left him drained. And his finger touched something that at first felt like a rock. But brushing over it again it felt fleshier. His fingers strained themselves to grab what he found and bring it close to see.

It was a small bauble, emerald green in color like his favorite unforgivable curse. But it was decorated with various facial features all scattered around. How curious.

A/N: So the rating has at last changed to M for the obvious reason this chapter. And the behelit from a few chapters previous makes a return, but don't expect to see the Hp side of things for awhile.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Horses lightly kicked up truffles of snow as the assembled Band of the Hawk waited in the snowy field for Griffith's arrival. Last night a letter had been sent instructing them all to meet outside of Windham for reasons unknown.

Harry's breath was visible in the chilly air and he rubbed his hands together to keep warm. Near the center of the Hawks was Casca. Every now and again she would look angrily towards Guts as if to make sure he wouldn't leave again.

A change had occurred between the two of them Harry noted. When he had first met the both of them they bickered and argued like crazy. Then when they got separated after the battle with the Blue Whale Knights they appeared less hostile towards each other. Casca had become less standoffish towards Guts, who in turn seemed to have become a little more open. He had even spent most of his time at the ball with Casca than anyone else. Now, Casca seemed to be back to a cool attitude and Guts, despite being back, seemed more solitary than before.

Guts' decision to leave seemed to have a greater impact on everyone that he thought it would.

He rode over to where Guts was. "Have you thought about what you're going to say to him?" It wasn't much of a conversation starter, but he figured it might get Guts to open up a little.

"I'll just say what I mean," said Guts simply. "Griffith is sensible, he'll understand eventually. Besides, you still have to explain about that boneheaded knight."

Yeah, there was no getting around that one. How to explain that though? It wouldn't be that hard to believe, could it? Both Guts and Griffith had seen Zodd as a demon; would a mysterious Skull Knight be too far to comprehend? In fact, Harry shouldn't even be too worried about explaining it. Three people he trusted knew about his magic, maybe this Skull Knight was connected to that somehow. There was the matter of the warning both him and Guts received during the brief encounter, something about next year being the year of some sort of rare event.

A glint in the sky reflected off of Harry's lens. Actually, more than a few something's was catching the light of the sun. They looked almost like a flock of birds while in formation, but as they traveled downward Harry saw that that was not the case.

A volley of arrows fell into their ranks filling the snow with ammunition and worse, some of the Hawks. An ambush.

"Second volley!" An order was given from somewhere surrounding them and another wave of arrows came pouring down towards them. Completely caught off guard, many Hawks fell victim to the surprise attack. The white snow quickly became stained red with blood.

It was a sheer instinct that told Harry to ride left just as half a dozen arrows landed where he had been previously. His horse neighed and whined from the confusion and he almost lost hold of the reins. Who was doing this? Who was attacking them? It couldn't have been Chuder, the war was over and they had signed a non-aggression treaty. A mercenary band? It would be foolish of them to do so, the Hawks were a member of a larger force of Midland's armies.

More arrows fell taking the lives of more Hawks in their wake. "Agh!" Cried Casca, an arrow protruded from her shoulder. Both Harry and a nearby Judeau rode over to her.

"Casca!" Judeau exclaimed.

She wore a face of discomfort as she pulled the arrow out. Blood quickly began to soak her undershirt. "I'm fine, I'll live."

Maybe not. Half a volley was bearing straight down on them. Thunk!Thunk!Thunk!Thunk!Thunk!Thunk!Thunk!

Most of the arrows had embedded themselves in the shield Guts had grabbed from a fallen soldier, protecting them from the onslaught. But even that wasn't enough to stop one of the projectiles from hitting Guts in his forearm. He must have been doing a lot to numb out the pain he must be feeling.

"Raiders!" Guts shouted out for his group of men. "Surround and-!"

"No!" Casca canceled whatever order Guts was about to issue. "Guts, you and your Raiders get ready to make a break in the enemies' formation. Clear a path for us to regroup and gain our bearings! Judeau, you and Harry bring up the rear! Pippin, you assist Guts and his men!"

It might not have been Griffith giving the orders, but Casca knew what had to be done. There was no way they could stay here and get picked off, they had to retreat. But a retreat now didn't mean defeat. Whoever was attacking had spilled the blood of the Hawks; for that alone, they had to pay.

Corkus took a shot with a crossbow at where he thought an enemy archer to be hiding, and he cheered as his shot struck true. "Rickert! Hand some crossbows to the boys in the back! I know where the bastards are hiding now!"

"One volley only!" Casca ordered as Guts and his men charged an approaching mount of lance knights adding more bodies to the fallen in the snow. As the remainder of the Hawks began to follow after Guts and his Raiders, Casca gave the okay for Harry and the rest to fire their volley at the archers.

Some archers fell as well, but not nearly as many that had been lost to the Hawks already. As one of the archers dropped dead to the snowy ground, Harry was able to catch a fleeting glance of the sigil on his surcoat as he followed after the Hawk's Raiders. The sigil was that of Midland's Royal Army.

There was little light in his cell. The stone floor was cold against his naked flesh but welcomed a cooling element to his skin which had been pierced with hot spikes not an hour ago. His torturer made sure to prod him in areas that would be non-vital, but not un-painful. The torturer had even had the smiths make an iron helm to encase his head almost exactly similar to the one he used to wear in battle styled like a hawk.

Water from above dripped down one drop after another. A small puddle began to form in front of his face. He had trouble moving his body, it was still sore from the prodding. After much struggling and clawing his way forth, he was still unable to lap up the water. The helmet restricted his head movement, and his tongue just couldn't reach.

Another drop of water fell, this time hitting his flesh between the eyehole of the helm. It rolled down his cheek, close enough to his mouth for him to lick it. Two more drops fell in quick succession, granting him his only drink for the day.

This life… this life is… He shut his eyes and immersed himself in total darkness. What a fall from glory he had experienced. His dream had been everything; it had kept him going since he was still a child living in poverty. Where was his dream now?

Here in this dungeon, he saw only the cold stone walls around him, that castle he had always envisioned was all but a few lines and cracks in the masonry. And it was all because of one man- no! No, he was just as to blame as Guts was. The swordsman might have caused him to momentarily lose sight of what was important, but he had acted on his own misjudgments.

He had indeed flown too close to the sun.

Did he deserve this though? Did he deserve to be tortured for daring to dream? Every being had a dream even if they didn't know it; his problem was that he knew all too well what he was, and more horrifically, what had to be done to achieve it.

Count Julius, the Queen of Midland, they had been obstacles. All their lives they sneered down on those who dared wish to make their lives better, what did they know about the benefits of working towards a dream? They didn't, they never did.

All those who had followed him, who pledged their swords to his cause, those were the ones who knew. Their lives, their own dreams were his responsibility. Where were they now? Perhaps they were like the castle he had always pictured, now just cracks and lines in the masonry. Just like the stone that was being pushed out of the wall right now.

What?

Indeed, one of the stones in the wall was being pushed out from something on the other side. The stone fell from its slot allowing for whatever had been pushing it to slither out and onto the floor of his cell.

Out of the darkness came- a thing. He honestly had no godly way of saying what kind. It was small and blood red. Multiple small heads and limbs composed it, making it seem like a combination of small human children joined together by some unholy method. The dozens of small eyes stared into his piercing blue orbs and it began to crawl toward him with its stunted limbs.

This is… The creature neared his hand and with two of its stubby hands, hugged his index finger and brought it to its lipless mouth to kiss it.

What came next was the creature talking with a dozen small voices at once. "Sweet Prince! Oh, sweet prince of the eternally unforgiving. We have to come to pay respect and to marvel at what you have become."

Many of the small disfigured heads bowed to him and a dozen of their hands pointed to the way they had entered. His blue eyes followed their gesture, unable to move his body and escape.

From the darkness where it had crawled forth, a space of sorts started to become visible. It looked like a white corridor with dark archways on the walls and floors. He stared, captivated by the image, and the following voice that spoke from somewhere within. "We shall meet again, in another world." Whatever was speaking had a voice like a bottomless pit.

His imagination of whom or what it could become clearer as four shadowy figures materialized each in a different archway. Two of them were smaller and more rounded, the third was without a doubt the shadow of a woman, and the last one was the tallest and most likely the leader and the one who had spoken.

"We are kindred. Your kinsman."

A rattle of keys sounded, and when Griffith blinked, the grotesque disfigurement and the shadowy figures were gone, leaving the cell to just him and the arriving torturer. The latter happily played around with a pair of pliers, kneeling down in his line of sight to wave them around his face.

"You don't threem when I prod you," the torturer spoke with his lisp. "You's ghtss nice fingees. Tho well keept." He picked up Griffith's hand and positioned his fingernail between the pliers. Griffith never screamed as his nail was yanked from him, his eyes still gazed off into the darkness where those figures had been.

Another nail was lost. Just like those figures; just like his dream.

After the first initial ambush from the Midland army, the Hawk's numbers had suffered a severe blow. Nearly a hundred had been lost that first day, and then twenty when a group of riders tracked them down. After about a week of evading attacks, it became painfully obvious that Griffith was being kept prisoner, but for what reason was unknown.

Without Griffith's leadership, it fell on Casca, his right hand, to take up the mantle in his stead. She knew what she was doing, Harry didn't question it, but she didn't have the charisma that Griffith did. That alone cost them nearly a quarter of their remaining numbers as the men left believing the Hawks to be a lost cause without Griffith.

What numbers remained were subjected to a life of nomadic warriors, constantly being tailed by the Midland army, and having to fight for their lives. More men were lost this way; as without any income for food, some died of starvation when the hunting parties returned with less food than expected.

Those weeks on the run without a destination saw winter through to its end, and then spring, and then summer, and in a few more months, it would be fall once more. It had almost been an entire year.

For those who remained, they had to withstand another battle entirely, that between Guts and Casca. Both of them believed Griffith to be alive, both wanted him back, and both disagreed on how to handle it.

Guts wanted to just storm Windham the day after the ambush, but Casca insisted that they not rush headfirst into this, one wrong move could mean death for Griffith. Their arguments had gotten so heated that Harry feared Guts would leave them again, but he didn't. He would curse Casca out, call her names like stupid, crazy, and bitch; Casca would retaliate with ignorant, fool, and jackass.

It almost came to the point where other Hawks had to choose sides between the two. Those who wanted action instantly like Guts, or those who wanted to save what numbers remained and plan ahead like Casca. The problem with the latter as they hardly had any time to plan before fighting another raid from Midland's army.

The stress was starting to show on Casca as well. She would stay up all night, mapping out their next path while juggling Griffith rescue plans. When Harry saw her in the morning bags would be under her already dark eyes and her silky black hair would always be in a state of dishevel. This night was no exception.

He and Judeau lifted the flap to her tent and saw her sitting at her table resting her chin on it. A map of Midland lay before her, hastily spread out with different markings drawn over marking where they had been, where it was unsafe, and where they could go. She looked exhausted than ever.

"Casca," Judeau said handing her a blanket and wineskin filled with water. "You-are-exhausted."

She took a drink of the water. "Thanks. And it just comes with the title I suppose. I don't know how he managed it."

"You won't have to for much longer," Harry told her. "Judeau and I were talking, and we thinking of sneaking into Windham to-,"

"We've been over this before," Casca cut him off, "if we storm the capital it'll-,"

"That's not the idea," Judeau stopped her worrying. "With all of the running around we've been doing for the last couple of months, I hardly had the time check up on an old lead I had about an underground passage into the city."

That got her attention. "It was built when the war with Chuder broke out a hundred years ago as a means for the royal family to escape if the city fell under siege," Judeau continued. "It's built in a graveyard outside of the city, so we'd only be able to take a few. Maybe Harry, Corkus, and myself. We're lighter on our feet than the rest."

"We could find what cell he's in and break him out for good," Harry picked up.

"That's optimistic thinking," Casca finished the last of the water. "Rare to see that now." She rubbed Harry's head ruffling his already messy black hair. "Tomorrow night then. Take who you need, Judeau. I trust you."

Judeau smiled. "Will do, boss."

"I'm not your boss, you know that."

"You are until Griffith is with us safe and sound," Judeau argued. "And that's why you should get some rest already. You're no good to anyone if you're working yourself into the ground."

Casca put the blanket around her shoulders. "You guys are making me soft." Her eyes began to close.

"Let's let her have this," Judeau spoke softly and they took their leave.

A few fires had been lit already, what few men remained gathered around them, not telling jokes and stories like they once used to, they more or less just sat there in silence just lucky to be alive for this long. Corkus sat by himself against a tree, a half-empty wineskin sat in his lap.

"The Band of the Hawk, eh?" Corkus address them. "Mightiest warriors in all of Midland! Look at us now."

Judeau shook his head in disappointment. "Wine should be valued more, Corkus. Save it. We need you for an operation tomorrow."

Corkus fell into a series of hiccups. "You still think he's alive? Looks like I was wrong thinking Guts was the hardheaded one."

Harry quickly became fed up with Corkus' attitude. "Then why are you still here?"

Corkus eyed him shrewdly. "What'd ya mean?"

"Everyone who believed Griffith's dead already has left and the ones still here are the ones who know that he's not. So why are you still here? If all you're going to do is sit around and complain, why stay?"

"Harry," Judeau sounded concerned. "Leave him be."

"Why?" Harry asked. "What about all the nasty things he's said to Guts over the years? No one stopped him when he said those things."

Corkus spat and rose shakily to his feet. "You want to know why I've stayed." Harry looked at him defiantly. "Because if I leave, then I'm no better than he was back then. That's why." Corkus shouldered his way past them and toward the campfire.

"I don't recall you having that standoffishness when you were eleven," Judeau noted. Harry was going to say that he was still eleven, but this summer was almost over, he would be twelve now.

"Only to people who act like that," Harry rebutted. Corkus had always been a downer, now more than ever.

"And that person is bigger than you are," Judeau pointed out. "There's nothing wrong with sticking up for what's right, but do be smart about it. Even Guts would agree- to an extent."

That was Judeau for you, always trying to help out. "Do you have words of wisdom for everything?"

"No man can know everything."

Yup. Judeau. Helping out and being quick with his wit as he was with his knives.

"Hey!" One of the Hawks yelled. "Fire! It's spreading!"

Panicked, they both turned to where the campfire was- to see that it was under control. The fire that was spreading was due to flaming arrows raining down upon them. Another ambush. Casca was already rushing out of her tent yelling orders to the scrambled Hawks

"Pippin, you and your men take care of the fires! Judeau, form a defensive line! Guts, you and your Raiders take the offensive!"

Sprinting from the trees were not soldiers of Midland's armies. These men wore ragtag cowls and armor; their weapons looked in need of repair. Mercenaries. A bounty must have been placed so high that mercenaries had taken up arms.

As the battle commenced, a swishing sound cut through the air heading straight in Harry and Judeau's path. "Duck!" He pulled on Judeau's arm as a small metal ring cut through the air, taking a lock of Harry's hair.

Another disk flew through the air, but the other Hawk wasn't as lucky to just lose a lock of hair, he lost his life.

"Those disks," Judeau said. "I've heard about them." He drew his sword and Harry did as well. The two disks acted like a boomerang, arcing back to their thrower. A slim young man wearing desert-like clothing, light clothes and a white turban and lower face cowl. The skin visible around his dark eyes was a tanned bronze, the trademark of a Kushan.

The Kushan easily caught his disks as they flew back to him and pulled out two three-pronged blades. The way he moved, Harry observed, was completely unorthodox. He would use his pronged blades to catch swords mid-swing, and with a hidden blade in his shoe, he would deliver a lethal blow. His lithe arms moved like windmills cutting with precision and walking with a swagger of superiority as if he was confident he could defeat any whom he faced.

Casca, despite her fatigue, crossed blades with the Kushan warrior. She fared much better than the man's previous opponents, in terms of speed she was able to match the Kushan's swings. What threw her off was when the Kushan contorted his body and brought his foot up from behind his back to kick her on her chin. Casca staggered backward and lost her sword to the Kushan whacking it from her hands.

Harry could almost see the smirk from behind his cowl, but Casca soon wiped it from his face when she ducked under his swing and swept his feet from under him. It brought her enough time to retrieve her sword, but the Kushan jumped back to his feet a second later, now taking on a defensive stance.

"Impressive," he said in an accented voice. "I've never crossed blades with a woman before, I must say you fight quite like a man, a shame you have to die." The Kushan jumped and performed a spin kick, his boot blade nearly missing Casca's face.

Deciding enough was enough, Judeau handed Harry a throwing knife, and the both of them flung them at the Kushan. Much to his credit, the Kushan picked up on the new danger and back flipped out of harm's way. Now his attention was focused on the two of them.

"Interference?" He sounded insulted. "I would expect nothing less from those of Midland. So unable to understand the art of a battle." He posed his blades ready to attack.

As he lunged for them, the Kushan had to quickly redirect his blades as Guts' sword struck them, sending him flying off course. "I saw your disk trick," Guts stoically told the Kushan. "How about you show me how good you are with those blades?"

The Kushan scowled. "Another interference? It is a travesty that any of you are called warriors-very well." The Kushan crouched ready to spring. "Don't assume size gives you the advantage!"

He leaped, and soon found himself on his knees as Guts' following swing forced the Kushan to assume the defensive. The Kushan's eyes visibly widened as his pronged blades began to crack under pressure. He rolled back and Guts' sword came down on where he was previously.

"Your steel is crap," Guts eyed the Kushan who pulled out a whip-like weapon, but instead of leather lashes, this whip had long thin pieces of sharpened steel.

"And your tongue is sharp," the Kushan shot back. "Let's see how you fare against this."

With a flick of his wrists, the metal lashes tore their way towards Guts, who didn't even bother to move out of the way. He swung with the blunt of his sword, catching the lashes with his blade and forcing them off target.

Guts then took the offensive and charged the Kushan. He abandoned his whips and jumped out of the way of Guts, and then had to dodge Harry and Judeau who had been flanking him the entire time the fight was ongoing.

Casca surrounded him as well, and soon the Kushan found himself cornered. His black eyes darted around looking for an escape. "Do you yield?" Casca asked her sword level with the Kushan.

The Kushan squinted in contempt."You must be awfully arrogant to assume that-,"

"You might want to rethink whatever it is you're about to say," Judeau advised. "Look at what's left of your forces."

Despite being less in numbers, the Hawks still had some of the most capable fighters in Midland. While this Kushan's mercenary band might have gotten the initial drop on them, things had switched in the Hawks' favor.

He growled. "It is not often I find myself so… humiliated. What is your name?" He asked Guts.

"Why?"

"I want to know it," the Kushan said. "I'll give you mine; I am Silat of the Bakiraka clan."

"Guts," he gave his name.

"Hmm," Silat hummed. "Don't forget my name, Guts. I want you to remember it when I kill you." And Harry saw the small metal ball Silat held between two of his fingers.

"He's got a-!" A loud bang and cloud of thick heavy smoke beat Harry to the warning, and by the time the smoke cleared-Silat was gone.

"Leave it to a Kushan to rely on parlor tricks," Judeau said wiping his eyes clear.

In the hours after this latest ambush, Guts took the time to saunter off to a cliff near a waterfall ways away from their newest campsite. He examined his sword, perhaps Silat's steel had not been as crappy as he thought previous. The Kushan's blades had left a few chinks in his sword.

Perhaps he could have Godo make another one for him. The aged blacksmith wouldn't care if he or the Hawks were more or less outlaws in Midland now. As long as he got a payment out of it, he would do his work.

The waterfall behind him nearly drowned out the sound of approaching footsteps. Guts glanced over his shoulder. "What is it?"

Casca stood with her arms crossed. "I wanted to tell you that Judeau and Harry have a plan to rescue Griffith." Way to get his attention.

"When? Are we going to sit around and wait for months on end?" It was harsh and he knew it. If he had done things his way, Griffith would already be back among their ranks.

"Tomorrow," she sounded annoyed. "And you've expressed how you've felt about waiting before. No need to remind me."

"Really?" Guts stood up, his sword momentarily forgotten. "I would have thought if you had listened to what I had to say, then we might have done this much sooner. My mistake."

She was reaching her boiling point. "And do you why that is? Is that last raid not a perfect example why?" Her voice was rising. "Every day since Griffith was lost on us, we've had to keep moving, it was that or we die. Do you not think I want him back as much as you?!"

"I know you do, that's, why" Guts said.

"And I also want what's left of us to stay together!" she finally yelled. Tears were welling in her eyes and beginning to flow. For all the times they had argued, she hardly cried, this might be the first. "Do you know what's it like to worry about him day and night, while knowing that once we get him back you're just going to leave again?"

Guts found his words lost to him. After Griffith was rescued, he knew he would make right by his once leader, but after that? What about finding his own dream? Would Griffith understand then? He simply didn't bother to answer her.

Casca picked up on his silence as all the answer she needed. "You really are just like him, you know?" Her tears flowed freely now. "Just chasing after a dream."

"Casca-,"

She threw a punch at him, which he caught. Casca swung again, grabbing hold of both of her wrists. "Let go, you idiot!" She yelled. "Idiot! Idiot! Idiot. Idiot…" Her strength faded from her and she just butted her head against his chest. "Idiot. You really are."

For his part Guts did let go of her wrists, but she made no move to strike at him anymore. She just stood there, face buried in his shirt staining his shirt with her tears. She had meant it when she called him an idiot chasing after a dream. A conversation with Harry floated to his mind, about Harry telling him how Griffith believed there was something he just could not see.

Guts looked down and brought up a hand to Casca's head. He brushed some hair from her forehead, and much to his own surprise, leaned down to kiss it. She looked up, surprised herself, but stepped closer to him.

Hesitantly, Guts kissed her forehead again. She didn't refuse. He put an arm around her, and their lips met.

It was… it was… Guts had no idea how to describe it; he had nothing to compare it to. If it was good or bad, he didn't know. But it felt real. It probably sounded stupid to think of it like that, but if he was an idiot then it probably was. What he did know was that being here with Casca felt real.

His hand cupped her cheek and they found themselves seated on the grass, their clothing slowly being discarded and their positions shifted to resting against the trunk of a tree. A visible blush was present on Casca's mocha skin, but she moved her arms away from her breasts and began to open her legs.

He knew what to do- he had never done it, but he still knew what to do. Guts took her hand in his and kissed her once more. His hips moved closer to hers. Casca let out a sudden gasp as he began to enter her. Her hand clawed at his back and she gave a nod of her head for him to continue.

A feeling of some unknown bliss enveloped his senses, and Guts knew nothing apart from him and Casca. "Guts…" Her voice was softer than he ever heard it.

They kissed once more, their fingers intertwined as they enjoyed their time joined as one.

A/N: So that's it for this chapter. Sorry if it was a bit late, I had other papers to write, but I still managed to finish this as early as possible. Thank you for reading.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

"What's taking them so long?" Harry wondered out loud as he and the rest of the Griffith retrieval team waited for Guts and Casca's return. The two of them had been gone the rest of the night and with dawn at its peak, people were starting to get restless. Harry wanted to go and look for the both of them, but Judeau had advised against it, a knowing gleam in his eyes.

"They'll be back soon," Pippin said. The giant of a man didn't talk often, but when he did he was usually right, so it was no surprise that he had been chosen to rescue Griffith with them. The full party consisted of Harry, Pippin, Judeau, and the absent Guts and Casca.

"If they're slacking off while the rest of us were busting our balls putting camp away, I swear-," Corkus complained to anyone who would listen. He was in charge of the backup brigade. Once Griffith was rescued they would meet up with his forces and make haste to a new hiding spot. After the attack of Silat and his mercenaries, they couldn't risk it.

For all those who had been wounded in last night's raid, they would follow after Corkus' forces at a much slower pace so not to overburden themselves. Surprisingly, Rickert had been chosen-more like a volunteered-as caretaker for the injured. He had briefly pulled Harry aside after he finished adjusting his saddle.

"Hey, Harry," he said.

"What is it?"

"Just make sure you bring him back, okay?" Rickert put his forearm in front of him. Harry smiled and bumped his arm against Rickert's.

"You don't even have to ask." Rickert nodded. "Take care of yourself, Rickert."

He nodded. "You too."

"Hey, Rickert!" One of the injured yelled. "Can I bug you for some water?"

"Coming right up, Harmon!" Rickert grabbed a pal and headed to the stream to fill up.

Harry mounted his horse and rode over to where the only other two members were waiting. "Will they be well enough to ride by night?" It might be dawn now, but by the time it would take to reach Windham it would be around dusk.

"Probably not," Judeau shook his head. "That's why they'll be a bit behind Corkus and the rest."

It wasn't long after that Guts and Casca finally returned. "You're all ready?" Casca asked the three of them. She looked determined as ever.

"And awaiting your orders," Judeau nodded. Harry and Pippin did so as well. Guts brought Casca's horse to her and he saddled his own.

Was it Harry's imagination, or did Casca look a bit sore as she sat on her saddle? She looked over to Guts who was at ease on his, and she mouthed something that sounded like, "Lucky."

But whatever was wrong, she shrugged off and gave the order for them to ride out. It was finally time to rescue Griffith.

They had been right; it was dusk by the time they reached the outskirts of Windham. The darkness would make it hard for any guard to spot them and with the extra addition of a fog their chances of success in infiltrating just increased. And given their current setting, the fog almost seemed appropriate.

It was a graveyard, just outside the city walls. Hidden among one of these tombstones was a secret passage that Judeau had learned of that would lead straight into Windham castle. The passage had been built just as the war with Chuder began a hundred years ago as a means of escape for the royal family should the city ever fall under siege.

"Any idea what we're looking for?" Guts asked eying a few grave markers that looked like they might stand out.

"An engraving of some kind," Judeau said. "Probably the Midland coat of arms or the royal crest."

Casca nodded in understanding. "Alright, split up but don't wander too far. It wouldn't bode well if one of us got lost." She and Guts worked closely together, Judeau moved silently through rows of tombstones, and Pippin lumbered off with surprising stealth for a man his size. Harry took to investigating a few of the mausoleums.

The first was a previous queen, perhaps Charlotte's mother, but much too late for the passage to have been built. He moved to the next one. This one was for a previous king, and from the look of it, it was the father of the king they had now. Harry searched a few more tombstones and wandered far enough to stumble on another mausoleum.

It appeared far older than the other two he had viewed previously, and an inscription of the top provided him with a name to whoever lied inside. Here lies Hilderic, son of Hunderic, descendant of- "Here!"

Pippin's deep voice drew them all to his location. He stood in front of a weathered tombstone covered in a few ivy leaves, it wasn't the biggest in the cemetery, but it looked to be one of the sturdiest. Pippin pointed a mailed hand to an engraving of a small coat of arms next to the name. It was the coat of arms of Midland and on the grave of a random handmaiden.

Putting both hands on the tombstone, Pippin pushed with all his might-which was a great deal given his size. A rumbling was heard and the tombstone slid back like it was built on wheels. Before them now was a set of stairs descending downwards into a dark unknown.

"Good job, Pippin," Casca retrieved a lantern they had packed with them and Harry lit it for her. "Remember, once we're down there we should still keep our guard up." She was about to descend, but Guts spoke up.

"Wait a minute. Shouldn't one of us stay back to keep watch? You're our leader and everything, if you get caught too who's going to lead?" Guts spoke logically, but Harry could tell he didn't want Casca going for some strange reason.

"We have the Hawks' strongest members," Casca reasoned. "This team has the highest rate of success."

Guts still didn't look too convinced. "Yeah, but-,"

Casca wasn't having it, and she stepped up on her tiptoes to try and look him evenly in the eye. "You're worried aren't you?" The three watching blinked a few times in confusion. She wasn't yelling at him. "You're a pro mercenary. You should know that certain things need to get set aside." She backed off and walked down a few steps before casting a look over her shoulder. "I can still watch your back. Don't forget it."

Judeau and Pippin stifled a laugh as Guts looked at them to shut up. Harry meanwhile didn't know what to make of what he just saw. That was unexpected from Casca, and for Guts to tell Casca to sit this one out, it didn't make sense.

Although, Casca and Guts being gone for the rest of last night, Casca looking uncomfortable on her saddle, that entire interaction just then. And like that, all the pieces fell together. "Oh, I get it," Harry said.

"Just get in the hole, Harry," Guts deadpanned.

After descending the stairs, Harry's boots made contact with ankle high water. Even with his boots on, Harry could feel that the water was as cold as the grave, fitting he supposed, but not pleasant. Their group made haste through the dank tunnel, having stepped on a few rats along the way. With Casca in the lead, they continued straight until finally arriving at another staircase leading to a sealed exit.

It was Pippin's time to shine once more and with an almighty push, he held the exit open for the rest of them to pour out of. Pippin closed the passage behind them; they had come out under a pedestal of a marble statue. Instead of the graveyard they now found themselves in a dark art gallery.

The gallery was completely dark, save for the lantern that was coming towards them. "Who's there?" A feminine voice asked.

Guts got ready to bust out his sword, but Judeau stopped him. "Hold on. They're on our side."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked before Guts could. Two hooded figured approached them.

"Well, I had to have known about that passage somehow," Judeau explained. "A few weeks previous I snuck back to the city to try and find a way in. A guard spotted me and I thought I was a goner. But he handed me a letter instead, claiming to be an ally."

As the hooded couple stopped a few feet away, Harry could see that they were both women. One of them seemed to recognize Harry and Guts. "You two were there the day of the royal hunt." She pointed to Guts. "And you said "hey pal" to Count Julius once."

"You did what?" Casca asked him.

Guts looked equally confused. "How did you know that?"

"Forgive me," she pulled her hood over her head. The light from the lantern cast a warm glow on her dark chocolate hair and deep cobalt eyes. "I am Charlotte. How do you do?"

"The frecking princess?" Guts bemused.

Casca flicked his head. "You're being rude."

Charlotte waved her hands nervously. "It is alright. I don't mind."

"My name is Casca, acting leader of the Band of Hawk. These are my cohorts, Guts, Judeau, Harry, and Pippin."

Harry eyed the second hooded woman. "Who are you then?"

She stiffened as if she had not expected to have to introduce herself. Pulling back her hood she was revealed to be a nervous looking blonde haired woman. "Forgive me, I am Anna. Princess Charlotte's handmaiden. As such I could not let her go wandering around unsupervised."

"Speaking of which," Casca tried to get them back on topic. "We only have a limited amount of time. If we are to rescue Griffith, it must be now."

Charlotte nodded. "Very well. Please, follow me."

They followed after Charlotte and Anna, who had led them to another secret passage that took them outside of Windham castle. Now, they wandered the deserted streets of the upper district of the city.

Judeau looked around at the surrounding buildings. "I recognize this area. Not quite the homecoming I was expecting though." A look of guilt passed along Charlotte's face.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "But as Princess of Midland, I feel I must apologize for my father's actions against you all and your companions. You all have done nothing wrong, and yet you are hunted like animals throughout the kingdom."

Harry looked at her face. It was hung low, and an embarrassed tinge of red stained her alabaster features. She seemed genuine. "You don't need to apologize for him," Harry told her. "But- it would help to know why he just turned on us the way he did." He tried not to look at her expectantly, but it was hard not to.

She hesitated. "It is as I said, I apologize. My father, he loved my mother very much. He loves me too…" Charlotte looked troubled. "That night, a year ago, Lord Griffith, he visited my chambers…"

And it all made sense.

"I hardly recognize my father anymore. His hair is completely white, his skin is all wrinkled; he looks older than my grandfather once looked. He sits on his throne all day ignoring Minister Foss' council; he's obsessed with ending the Band of Hawk." If that were true, the king had officially gone mad.

Two distinct torch lights rounded the street they were on. "Halt!" One of the torchbearers yelled. They halted. Three men approached them. Two carried the torches, but the third man, he was a face Harry recognized. Yes, he had seen him, talked with him at the ball. Dark brown hair with a well kept beard; it was Sir Laban.

Charlotte stepped into the light, and the reaction was instantaneous. All three men dropped to their knees, sprouting the words, "Princess! Forgive us; we did not know it was you!"

Charlotte put on an innocent smile and beckoned them to rise. "It is alright, you were only doing your duty of protecting our city."

"Princess Charlotte, why are you out here all at this hour?" Laban questioned, concerned for her safety.

"I needed some fresh air," she lied poorly, but none of them made a move to correct her. "I found that I could not sleep and decided to take a walk."

"Without protection?"

"No, I have my handmaiden, Anna," the aforementioned woman waved sheepishly to the knight. "And I have some select bodyguards' accompanying me as well." Sir Laban and his men eyed them. And for the briefest of moments, Harry saw a trace of recognition pass Laban's face.

He knows.

One of the guards seemed to notice as well. "Sir Laban! Aren't those-?"

"The princess' bodyguards." Laban finished for him. "They appear to be, yes."

"But, sir-,"

"Do you doubt the integrity of your princess?" Laban questioned his men.

"Of course not, sir!"

"Then I see no cause for concern." Laban bowed his head to Charlotte. "Please, forgive my men, Princess Charlotte. They are new to the night patrol and only wish to keep the city safe."

"Of course," Charlotte said. "Anna, why not give these brave soldiers a little compensation for their hard efforts."

Anna picked up on the meaning and pulled out her coin purse. Royalty never carried the money themselves. "I believe this will be a healthy sum," Anna handed the money to the patrolmen.

Sir Laban bowed once more. "Please, if you will excuse us. Have a nice walk, princess. And do stay safe."

Guts eyed them as they continued on their patrol. "I never thought you would have had that in you. I guess you're not just a do nothing princess." Anna looked offended at Guts' comment, but Charlotte smiled as she wobbled a little on her feet.

"Are you alright?" Casca asked.

"I'm-fine," Charlotte said unconvincingly. "Its just-Sir Laban has always been so nice. To lie to him like that it doesn't feel right."

"I think he knew," Harry told her. Charlotte looked at him, silently asking for him to explain. "When he looked at us, he recognized us from before. But he let us go still."

Charlotte put a finger to her lip in thought. "Then that means there are those who are more loyal to the realm than to my father. Perhaps that's for the best."

Guts kept his eyes wandering as Charlotte led them down a semi-hidden side street that continued straight to a small wooded confine within the city. The road was straight, and the lack of any stone buildings nearby put him on edge. They weren't being led to Windham's dungeon that was for sure. Wherever it was she was taking them must be a special sort of prison.

He was proven right when a tower came into view. It stood on a raised construct for added height and stood tall against the night sky, making Guts question how they had not seen it before now. "That's an old looking tower," he observed vocally.

"The Tower of Rebirth," Judeau clarified.

Harry looked curious. "You know about it?"

Judeau looked somber. "Of all the towers in Midland, it's the most ancient. Many say its been here since Midland was established… maybe even before then. I don't know why it was built, but in times of war it was used as holding for prisoners of war, and during the Holy See's grand inquisition it was used to hold heretics."

Charlotte and Anna looked impressed by his knowledge. "Indeed," said Charlotte. "The bottom is used to house the vilest of criminals. I heard my father say that Lord Griffith is being kept in the lowest cell."

Casca bowed in gratitude to the princess. "Thank you for your assistance, Princess. If there is anything any of us can to repay you for your help-,"

"Actually," Charlotte began to wring her hands in anticipation, "I was hoping to be taken too, along with Lord Griffith." The Hawks stared at her, completely dumbfounded while Anna looked ready to faint. "Would you be willing to do that?"

Is this girl for real? Guts mentally berated. Did she have any idea what life would be like outside of her pampered lifestyle? There would be no warm mattress for her to sleep on, she would be a liability in a fight, and men were more likely to rape her than bow to her should she wander out of the Hawks' protection. He was ready to speak these hard truths to the naïve girl, but her panicked looking handmaiden beat him to it.

"But, your highness! Have you even considered what that would do to the kingdom? If you were to go missing, there would be riots in the streets! Inquiries would be sent out throughout the realm!"

Charlotte did not look too concerned, not about any of that anyway.

"What about your father?" Harry asked now. "He already has it out for us as it is, if we took you too he won't stop until every Hawk is dead."

She shook her head. "I would be willing to be a hostage. Besides-I no longer consider that man to be my father." A look of sheer uncomfortableness spread evenly across her face. Just speaking of the king made her uneasy. "Please, I want to be with Lord Griffith."

Why are we even talking about this? Guts wondered, looking at the tower. Griffith is so close.

"PLEASE!" Charlotte suddenly yelled. "I'll do whatever you ask of me! Just please don't make me go back to my father!" Her shouting prompted Casca, Guts, Harry, Judeau, and even Anna to put a hand over her mouth. If there were any guards up top who could have heard that.

"She's got a set of lungs, that's for sure," Guts noted, not happy with her outburst. Casca was the first to take her hand away.

"Let her go," she ordered. "I know what it is she's feeling; that longing to be next to someone." Casca actually smiled. "We'll rescue Griffith together." Charlotte beamed, but Casca continued. "However, should Griffith dismiss you, you must obey his wish." She nodded, hesitantly but still nodded.

Guts approached Casca. "That was big on your end."

She didn't respond at first. "…Maybe. Only time will tell I suppose."

"Forget about time and think about Griffith, it's his say after all." The two of them joined the others by the stairs leading up to the tower with Harry and Judeau taking point.

They stopped just before the last step as Judeau gave the signal for them to hold. Guts could see two torches lit near the door to the tower. Judeau drew one of his knives and Harry his sword. "Please avert your eyes, Princess."

His knife made no noise as it flew through the air to cut one guard's throat. The second one looked at his fallen cohort allowing Harry time to flank him from the side. He sure came a long way from being hesitant to kill. If he learned to expand on that magic of his, he could become even greater. Maybe, once this was over he would seek out how to better understand it.

Harry fished the keys from one of the guards and unlocked the door to the tower. Inside was a staircase that lined the side of the tower going up and down. There was no railing, so if any of them were to fall it would be straight down into the shadowy unknown.

"It goes deeper than it does for the top," Guts said as they began to trek downwards.

"Yes, and Lord Griffith is in the lowest cell," Charlotte said. As they passed a door to one of the cells, a horribly disfigured man suddenly popped his head up by the small bars at the top of the door. He was missing a nose and all of his hair and it looked like he was blind as well.

The sight frightened Charlotte so bad that she almost fell off the stairs and into the pit below, but Harry reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her back safely. She collapsed to her knees. "I-don't think my legs can support me right now."

You gotta be kidding me, Guts rolled his eyes. "Maybe you should have waited up top."

Despite her clear weakness, Charlotte refused. "No. If I am to go with you all, I need to learn to not run away. Life outside of Windham will be nothing like living in the castle. Maybe- it is best I learn that now."

For a girl as fragile as her, she did have some strength of will to her. "Suit yourself," Guts said handing his sword to Pippin to carry and offering Charlotte his back to climb on. "It won't be as nice as a carriage, I'm warning you."

"Thank you for the trouble," Charlotte meekly thanked.

He saw Casca looking at him funny, but she didn't say anything as they continued walking. "What?" He finally asked. "Do you want a ride too?"

"Nope."

Guts shook his head and eyed the seemingly bottomless hole suspiciously. "How far down does this hole go anyway?" Harry asked if he knew someone was going to ask sooner or later.

"I heard from the king that the prison goes down about as far as the tower is high," Anna finally spoke. "But the hole has been here for much longer. Its actual depth is deeper than any mountain in Midland."

"So what's at the bottom?" Guts asked this time. Charlotte looked down as well.

"Do any of you know the origin of this kingdom's name, Midland?" No one answered and Charlotte continued. "It goes back about a thousand years. In those days the continent saw a constant war between small city-states and tribes. It was a time of rival warlords. But finally one arrived to put an end to it." Everyone listened as they continued their descent.

"Supreme King Gaiseric. He was an emperor who was able to subjugate dozen of nations and established an empire that spanned the entire continent. No one knows where he came from or how he raised his army, but he was said to be a warrior of unparalleled prowess earning names like Demon King and King of Galloping Death. But whenever he would go into battle he would don a terrifying helm shaped like a skull."

At her words, something seemed to resonate within Guts and he looked at Harry who seemed to be thinking the same thing. The Skull Knight. But if what Charlotte said was true, Gaiseric lived over a thousand years ago. It couldn't be.

Judeau jumped in with the rest of the legend. "I believe he also gathered workers from all over to build a capital city. He lived in luxury by levying heavier and heavier taxes. Then one day, an angel of God came and leveled the city in a single night for the king's misdeeds."

"That is correct," Charlotte said. "The city or its remains lie at the bottom of this hole. It was built in the middle of nations, so it earned the name Midland. After Gaiseric's death, the empire split into many countries that are around today."

"Did he have any descendants?" Harry asked. "If the whole kingdom got leveled, who was around to tell the story?"

Charlotte contemplated. "I believe he did, yes. Or at least some who claim to be his descendants. Some of the claimers are buried outside of Windham; my family is even supposedly descended from Gaiseric."

He didn't know if she was telling the truth or not. The idea that a meek girl like Charlotte could be from a line of a warrior like Gaiseric seemed folly. But even so, there was still some manner of strength to her. She could not fight like Casca, but the fact she was willing to give herself up as a hostage to save someone else… speaking of which, they had arrived.

The lowest cell in the tower, the stairs ended here at this door, beyond was a drop off into the pit leading down into the remnants of Gaiseric's once city. It was quiet down here, eerily so. Guts heard no rats scurrying about and there was only a faint sound of water dripping from the other side of the door.

He could practically hear Casca's heart beating in her chest as she unlocked the door and pushed forward with a low creak. It was completely dark inside; the only visibility provided was from the light of their lanterns. And then there was the smell. It smelt of piss and shit and many other horrid things Guts didn't want to think of because somewhere in here was Griffith. They all walked into the cell, looking for any sign of movement from Griffith.

There was no movement, no noise, no nothing.

"Are you sure this is the right cell?" Guts set Charlotte down.

She nodded nervously. "Yes, I'm sure of it. The lowest, darkest cell in the Tower of Rebirth. It has to be."

"Guts," Harry said, spotting something lying on the floor. "Over here."

There on the floor was an extremely pale and unnaturally thin body. What distinguished it was an iron helm like a hawk that was locked shut in a mock fashion of the one worn previous. Guts rushed toward the body, gently cradling it, fearful that they might have been too late. Judeau and Harry looked over his shoulders, and their light casts a better glow at the body in Guts' arms.

He was so thin that his ribs were visible, and some skin on his torso had been peeled off to expose the muscle underneath. His fingernails and toenails had been pulled out, leaving the tips of his appendages to scab over horribly. His back looked to have almost been peeled away, showing off the raw redness underneath and part of the spine. Around the wrist and ankles, cuts were clearly visible; the tendons had been cut.

No way. No way this is Griffith. He wanted to take the helmet off his head, just to see with his own eyes that this person wasn't Griffith. "Casca, give me those keys." He held out his hand but felt nothing. "Casca!"

She stood away, her eyes widened in horror at the sight of the body. Pippin went over to her and took the keys from her and handed them to Guts. He undid the latch on the helmet and pulled the visor off.

There was no mistaking it. The white hair once long now cut short, this was Griffith. Guts couldn't look, he put the visor back in place, and Griffith's blue eyes opened up. They blinked a few times as he took in the sight of Guts' face, almost not sure if what he was seeing was real.

With what strength remained in his feeble limbs, Griffith reached a hand out towards Guts. On his end, Guts just pulled Griffith closer in an embrace, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Guts felt his eyes begin to leak. They dripped down onto Griffith's helm, and his now dull blue eyes closed sadly as well.

The moment of silence was interrupted when the door to the cell suddenly slammed shut alerting them all to the presence on the other side of the door. A very ugly face sneered at them from the other side of the front flap. He was a pudgy man who was missing all but a few of his teeth and a few strands of hair.

"I've ghost youhs," he laughed with a lisp. "I've locked yoush in herehs, sho therehs no chance of eshcape. And I've called the guardhs. They'll be here shoon. I can playhs with youhs like him."

Guts handed Griffith to Harry and Judeau with ease. He stood up. "Are you the one who did this to him?"

The jailor smiled. "Yesh. He wahs shuch a good toy. He never shcreamed, no matter how musch I tortured him. I cut his tendonsh sho he can't walk or hold a shword. The way hesh at now, he will never shire childrens-,"

Guts had heard enough. He grabbed his sword from Pippin and let himself fall into the rage that had been building inside of him. With his sword pointed in front of him, Guts stabbed straight through the door, wood exploded everywhere as his sword demolished it. The tip had gone through and impaled the jailer in his shoulder.

The jailor himself screamed as the only thing keeping him falling off into the pit was guts' sword. He was so small that he had to stand on a stool to look through the top flap, but now the jailor probably wished to be back on the ground with his stumpy legs.

"No, pleash!" The jailor pleaded with Guts whose face was scowling like some sort of rabid wolf.

"You sure scream a lot for a guy who tortures people," Guts flicked his wrist, and the jailor fell down the pit; his arm following soon after.

Harry and Judeau handed Griffith over to Pippin, and they drew their weapons at the sound of metal clanking along down the stairs towards them. The city guards had arrived. "How many of them are there?" Casca asked, trying to keep her mind off the state Griffith was in.

"Maybe two dozen," Judeau inferred. "Maybe more."

Guts started up the stairs. "Stay behind me. Harry, Judeau, Casca, you take out the ones I miss." And he dashed up the stairs, ignoring the calls from the others.

He came upon the first three men like a wolf pouncing on sheep; their armor did little to stop his sword as he cut them down in a straight row. Two more men now, his sword cut them down faster than the first three. Now it was six men. Ax's, spears, his sword weaved its way through their attacks and they were dead before falling into the pit.

"Fire! Shoot him!" The captain of the men must have yelled to the crossbowmen. Guts pulled his cloak in front of him to act as a shield, but still, one or two bolts hit his arm and thigh. It hurt, but barely. Compared to what Griffith went through, this was nothing. If anything it just served as fuel to the raging fire that was burning inside of him.

Heads went flying as Guts cut them before any of them had the chance to reload their weapons. The captain was running for the exit to the tower when he saw Guts continue on his rampage of killing any man that stood in his way. More men tried to stop him, and they all failed falling down the pit to join what was left of the city of Gaiseric.

Any stragglers were picked off, but there were few. As Guts continued carving a way back to the top, everyone who watched him thought he looked more like a demon than a man.

With an almighty swing of his sword, Guts cut the last four men that stood by the exit to the tower, his companions hot on his tail. If he thought the fighting was over-which he didn't, at least thirty armed bowmen of the city guard awaited them outside.

As strong as they were, they couldn't stop the arrows from flying. And once the captain gave the orders, it would be over. Guts readied his sword once more, but Harry whispered something in Charlotte's ear that sounded like "Play along."

Harry stepped behind Charlotte and put his sword level with her neck and walked to the front with her acting as a hostage. The captain saw this and a look of dread was evident. "Hold your fire!" He shouted. "That's the princess!"

Charlotte kept a terrified face on as Harry led her down the steps of the tower with the others following. They received fierce glares from the Windham guards, but they kept their weapons even as they parted through the line of soldiers who were too afraid of what the king might do to them if his daughter was hurt.

Crickets chirped near the reeds of the pond where Rickert filled up his bucket. Most of the wounded men were healing up quite nicely, they just kept asking for more water from the stream. Once they were healthy enough, they would ride out again and meet up with Corkus and the rest.

Gaston, Guts' second-in-command of the Raiders were leading with Corkus. Even though the man had suffered an injury last battle, he still insisted he was well enough to ride with the others. Rickert missed the company. He didn't mind being a caretaker to these men, but he still wished he could have been part of the team that went to rescue Griffith.

Pippin and Guts were the strongest, no doubt about that. Judeau and Harry were both pretty stealthy, and Casca was their acting leader. It made sense why they would be the ones to go. But just for the chance to see Griffith sooner rather than later had been bugging away at Rickert.

With Griffith back, things could finally go back to normal- what was that?

The crickets had stopped chirping, and even the water seemed deathly still. On the other side of the pond bank, there was a light green glow. And it was moving, zigzagging through the trees, heading for him.

Rickert ducked as a child-sized form zoomed over his head, and he was able to catch a glimpse of it. The body was that of a young girl, her arms, and legs covered with light green hair. Her small breasts were exposed, but the carefree expression she wore on her youthful, and bug-eyed face showed that she did not really care.

Bug like was the best way to describe her/it. The eyes were large and oval just like a bug, an antenna curled from the forehead, just like a bug. And a giant pair of moth wings from her back allowed her to fly. She wasn't a full bug, but she wasn't a human girl either.

"An elf?" Rickert wondered as she flew past him straight for the camp of soldiers. Bucket forgotten, Rickert chased off after it back to where his branch of the Hawks were residing. He was running nowhere close to how fast that Elf had been flying, but it was as fast as his legs would carry him.

What would the men think of an elf flying over their camp? Would they freak out and attempt to fight it? He hoped not. Elves were supposed to be friendly, that's what the stories always said anyway.

The campfires were visible now, and Rickert burst through the bush. "Guys! There's a-guys?" The fires still burned, but no one was around to tend to them. "Guys, where are you?!" Rickert called out.

"He-he!"

Sitting up in a tree was the elf girl. She sat with her legs crossed and an amused smile on her young face. A set of eyelids closed over her one bulbous eye giving Rickert the impression she just winked at him. She pointed behind Rickert and he turned around. He wished that he had not.

The firelight illuminated a massive creature standing behind him. Molten green in color and resembling a giant slug, it had a human face with an extra set of eyeballs coming out from the side of its head. Beneath the grinning human face, it had another jaw, this one was closed around the torso of one o the injured Hawks'.

The beast leered down at Rickert as it swallowed the Hawk whole. He was too scared to move, too scared to even scream. The elf girl in the tree snapped her fingers and two giant insect creatures crawled toward him, their intentions as pure as the wicked grin she had on her face.

And then they stopped. Standing next to Rickert on a horse was a knight in skeleton themed armor. Actually- the armor itself looked like a skeleton, and the helm with the glowing eyes only enforced that idea.

The Knight of Skeleton spoke to the two demons. "This is not your festival. Begone, your hour is not at hand. Or would you rather temper your powers against my sword?" He drew his blade and the creatures eyed it nervously.

The slug let out a deep throaty growl and retreated. The elf girl pouted and stuck her tongue out at the Skull Knight like a child would do to a bully. She snapped her fingers and the giant bugs retreated as well. She jumped from her perch and flew off into the night sky.

As for the Skull Knight, it was like he hadn't even been there, to begin with. Rickert clutched his head. Madness. He was alone now. Just madness.

A/N: That's it for this chapter. I didn't make mention of Griffith's tongue because I want that to be a bit more open ended. Thank you for reading.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

They weren't followed, not with Harry holding his sword to Charlotte's neck. Slowly, they had made their way back to Windham Castle presumably to where they snuck in, to begin with. A secret tunnel in an art gallery provided them with their means of an exit to the graveyard beyond.

He felt useless as Pippin carried him the entire distance. All of them had risked their lives to try and save his, or what was left of it. It was a terrible truth for him to admit to himself, but he could do nothing. He could just stay still and be cradled in Pippin's arms and watch the rescue party that had come to his aid.

There was Casca, no surprise there. She had always been one of his top commanders and felt deeply indebted to him for saving her life those years back. Of course, she would be the one leading this mission, she was probably hoping that she wouldn't have to play at being the leader anymore. As capable as he knew her to be, she never desired power for herself, just to help him and remain by his side. And as his blue eyes took her in he felt there was something different about her, but he could not put a finger to it.

Then there was Pippin and Judeau. Pippin had the brawn where Judeau had the stealth. Both would be handy if a brawl erupted or a lock needed picking.

Never would have expected to see the princess or a handmaiden-who was probably just dragged along into all of this. That night he had shared with Charlotte, she seemed to have taken it deep within her heart, so much so she was now willing to give up a pampered lifestyle of a princess to aid them. She was even allowing herself to be taken, hostage.

Harry, the one holding her hostage, had grown in the near year of his imprisonment. He-like Rickert was tall for his age, and within a year or two he might not have to look up to meet Casca's eyes. Aside from his physical growth, he seemed to have matured in his mentality as well. Of course, his holding Charlotte at sword point was an act. There was no way that Harry would have actually harmed the naïve girl, which she seemed to know, unlike her handmaiden.

"What were you thinking, you young ruffian!" The handmaiden-whose name he believed to be Anna, berated Harry once they were out of the graveyard and heading to where the horses were hidden.

"Holding the princess captive after she aided you, how dishon-!"

"It is alright, Anna," Charlotte attempted to assure her servant. "I volunteered to be taken, remember?"

Anna took a second to compose herself. "Be that as it may, you could have gotten hurt." Harry had the decency to look remorseful.

"I am sorry about that, Charlotte."

"Princess Charlotte," Anna corrected.

"Yeah, that. I could have given a better warning than just, 'play along.'"

Casca mounted her house and offered a hand for Charlotte to climb on back. "It doesn't matter," she said. "Lord Griffith is safe, that is what matters."

Strange. With the bout of courage she went through to assist in his rescue, she still held traces of her naivety. Could she not see his body? All the scars and missing nails, were they just paper cuts in her eyes? Or perhaps, was the love she felt for him blinding? Being the only one to have made love to her, had her love for him been so strong that she simply does not care about his appearance?

More likely she just believes that love can heal him, heal everything that had been done and that when he was whole again that they would one day wed one another. If that was true, and he had a suspicion it was, she was living in a dream. And he of all people knew how dangerous that could be.

"You got that right, princess," said Guts hopping onto his own horse. "Corkus and Gaston should be near the border by now, if we ride the rest fast we might be able to reach them by sundown."

Guts.

Guts.

Guts.

Guts.

He had come as well. The one who left returned to save him. When he had opened his eyes the first sight out of all his rescuers had been Guts. The whirlwind of emotions that had begun to brew inside of him made him want to shout, curse his name for their fight, call him a traitor, make Guts feel the pain he felt for losing his dream.

But he didn't. He barely had the strength to move or yell. His throat was incredibly dry, not having a proper drink of water in a while would do that to the voice. Instead, he just allowed himself to be carried away as he watched Guts' fury unfold on the torturer and all the guards who stood in their way. He had grown stronger, they all grew stronger while he grew weaker.

Guts had always been strong, and any who said otherwise clearly hadn't met him before. During their fight was the true eye-opener for Griffith, not only was Guts strong with a sword but with his will. It, in that moment, had been stronger than his own; a dream unrealized.

But Guts was too stubborn to see it. That dream he believed that lied out there, waiting to be found was non-existent. Guts' dream had been within his reach the entire time, much closer than Griffith had ever been to his. And he envied Guts for that.

But even with his envy, he did not hate the swordsman. For walking away, for leaving them, for not seeing the dream that had been so close to him the entire time, Griffith did not hate him. He was just the most disappointed he had ever been in his life.

The sun had risen and was beginning to set when the rescue party neared the border of Midland. The setting sun was beginning to cast a warm orange glow to the clouds in the sky, and the slightest of breezes made the grass of the plain lands ripple like the waves of a great grass sea. That was the rendezvous point for the Bank of the Hawk.

Gaston, the soldier who dreamed of being a tailor later on in life, and Guts' second in command, was the first to greet them. "Captains! You all made it back!" He noticed Charlotte and Anna. "And you've brought guests."

"Not guests," Casca helped Charlotte down from the saddle, "it appears that they're joining us."

Anna fidgeted nervously. "A rather hasty decision."

"Wait-isn't that the princess?" Gaston pointed to Charlotte.

"It is," Judeau said. "She was kind enough to aid us in our rescue of Griffith."

Gaston's face broke into a wide smile. "You actually got him? Where is he?"

The vice captain's face fell instantly at the sight of him being cradled like a baby, wrapped nearly three times around in a cloak. Gaston didn't need to say anything, everything he needed to know was written as plain as day on his face.

"Hey, Corkus!" Gaston called.

"What is it?" Corkus asked back.

"Bring a covered wagon over here! And some gauze!"

Harry offered to tend to his wounds; wrapping him up with the gauze and supplying him with a spare pair of breeches for his lower half. More than once Charlotte stopped outside the wagon to try and check up on him. He watched her talk with Harry from his propped up position in the back of the wagon.

"Please," Charlotte pleaded. "We're safe for the time being, all I request is a moment alone with Lord Griffith."

He saw Harry shake his head. "Griffith's… been through a lot. He just needs time to rest right now."

"Then allow me to assist," she insisted. "Anything that I can do to help I will try my best to do. If I truly am joining you all in your travels, I will need to make myself useful. Please."

"You still can," Harry reasoned. "Just, for right now the most you can do is give him a little space." He couldn't see her face, but she must have been pouting or conveying some other displeased expression. "But… when he's feeling up to it, you can be the first to come and visit him."

That certainly seemed to brighten her up as she flung her arms around Harry's neck for a hugging embrace. "Thank you," she said. "You mean it?"

Harry looked a bit flustered. "Uh… yeah, sure."

Casca yelled for the other girl's attention. "If you want to help, you can go and fetch some water for him."

Charlotte must have looked perplexed. "I've never fetched water before."

Her handmaiden came to her side. "Come then, your highness. I'll show you. Such a menial task," she muttered under her breath.

Harry climbed into the back of the wagon with him holding a pouch of something. "I asked Judeau if I could borrow this," Harry said putting his hand inside to come out with a gel-like substance. "It's elf dust. Casca used some on Guts after the forest fight and it seemed to have worked."

He took his wrist in his hand and rubbed some of the dust over where his tendon had been cut. It took a moment but a slight stinging sensation prickled his wrist where Harry had rubbed but was quickly replaced by a warm soothing feeling, maybe even a little ticklish. "How does it feel? Do you think its working?"

A single nod of his helmeted head was his answer. The dust seemed to fade fast on his wrist and Griffith tried to bend it. His fingers managed to twitch, but instead of moving in his wrist slanted back, the opposite of the direction he wanted it to go. He narrowed his blue eyes in frustration. "Don't push yourself too far," Harry advised as he rubbed some more on his other wrist and heels.

He turned his helmeted head to the side of the wagon where a sword lay propped up. One of his thin arms moved to grasp for it. His skeletal fingers wrapped around the hilt for a second before falling from his clutch. Honestly, what had he expected? Grabbing that sword would not make him the man he once was. Even the elf dust provided could not restore his broken body.

"Whoa," Harry said, putting the sword back where it was before. "Just take it easy. It might not work right away, but it'll help at least." Harry tried some more gauze around his wrists and ankles. "You know, I was thinking that I might be able to help you recover too." Griffith didn't make a sound; he just looked at the boy expectantly. "I might try and go to the woods near Enoch village. Casca told me that a witch lives somewhere inside the forest. She might know some healing spells, I could learn them, or take you there to have you fixed up. We're here to help you; all of us."

Griffith smiled sadly. Fairy tales and legends seemed like a good thing to believe in right now. To be able to just magically wash away all the pain like waves over the sand, what he wouldn't give for that to be so simple.

He heard voices from outside. For a moment he thought Charlotte had returned to offer up her services once more, but no. The voices he was hearing was undoubtedly those of Guts and Casca. Harry heard them too. "I'll let you rest for now," Harry said moving to hop out the back of the wagon. "Guts might come in at some point. There are some things he has to talk to you about."

How Harry would know that Griffith could only guess, but he turned his ear to listen to the conversation unfolding outside. Casca was the one speaking right now. "Do you still plan on leaving again? Now that we've got Griffith, what will you do?"

"Maybe not," said Guts. "I left before to look for a dream that I never had. Now, I don't know. Gaston came up to me earlier; he said he'd leave his dream of wanting to become a tailor behind, so did almost all that's left of the Raiders."

"And does that mean you'll stop looking for yours for Griffith's sake?" Casca asked. "Is that what you really mean?"

"If you're asking me to make that choice now, then yes; I would stay."

That sounds so different from how he once was. What changed in him?

"You mean that?" Casca asked again.

"Why wouldn't I? What do I get from lying to you? You'd know if I were anyways."

"I don't want you to stay if feel that you have to out of some guilt of what happened," she told him. "Stay because you want to. Stay because you'll do everything you can to help Griffith when he needs it."

From the way she was speaking to Guts right now, he could tell that they had grown closer during his imprisonment. "You're crying," Guts said. There was a sight, Casca crying. Maybe that elf dust was starting to work; he was able to push his body up just enough to look over the back of the wagon. Casca stood with her forehead resting on Guts' chest and one of his arms wrapped around her. Yes, they had grown closer.

She wiped away a tear. "Why wouldn't I be? You saw the state that he's in." Her voice was low, but not low enough that he couldn't hear her. "I worry. I worry that the strong confident man he used to be might never come back to us."

He was a burden. She said it best, no longer the strong confident leader. Just a burden, one that would weight them down. He could not walk on his own, he could no longer hold a sword, and what good was he? His arms gave out, and he fell down on his side. Worthless.

The sound of armor creaking made him look back to the exit of the covered wagon, expecting to see either Guts or Casca standing there, not himself. It was how he once looked, standing tall and proud as his long white hair glowed in the warm sun. The hawk helm was held under his arm, not a mock one to remind him of how far he had fallen. When he spoke, it sounded just like him too. "What are you doing, lying here pathetic and weak?"

His prime self-drew his sword and impaled it in front of his face. The light reflected off the blade was not the sun, but a white castle in the distance. The prime pointed to it in the distance. "Have you lost sight of it?" The sword looked so real that he could actually touch it. He could.

Using it as a prop, Griffith managed to pull himself up. The castle was on a hill, so close; if only he had the strength to move his legs on his own. A child's voice cried out next to him. "Let's go! There's still time to play!" His eyes widened when he saw the boy. His voice was high like every child his age, but his long white hair set him apart from any other child. It was him.

His child self-yelled back to him, still running toward that castle. "The sun isn't gone yet!" The child was running, running to an ever blinding white light that seemed to consume everything around them except for that castle, which still stood as the only sturdy thing in sight.

Guts knew that Casca was right. If he was going to stay, it had to be because he wanted it, truly wanted it. The choice to stay or leave was his to make, and if he was going to choose it would be because he wanted to, not because he felt that he had to. Originally, he planned to rescue Griffith, make amends with his friend and then part ways once more on much friendlier terms.

Funny how things had changed. Griffith was in a state that required someone to assist him with near everything, and things between him and Casca were-they were, they made him want to stay. And maybe that made all the difference.

"We've returned!" The surprisingly cheery voice of Charlotte called to them. Both her and Anna came back with pals full of water. "This was my first time fetching water, did I do well?"

Casca nodded. "It's a start." Charlotte beamed.

"May I see Lord Griffith now?" She asked. "I was told that I could before."

Guts managed to suppress a roll of his eyes at the princess' little fantasy. "Sure," he agreed. "I'll give him a heads up that you're coming in." He never got that chance.

The wagon that Griffith was residing in was moving, the horses were being ushered to go by the driver, who much to Guts' surprise was Griffith himself. The reigns were wrapped around his forearm seeing as his wrists were incapable of moving how he would like. Somehow, he had managed to crawl to the front and take control. What could have possibly come over him?

"What's going on?" Charlotte asked nervously as the wagon pulled away from their camp. "Have the horses been spooked?"

Guts quickly ran and saddled his horse. "Princess, you stay here! Harry, make sure she and her handmaiden don't follow. Everyone else, after that wagon!"

"But I can want to come too!" Harry protested. "I can help!"

"Help by making sure the princess doesn't do anything stupid," Guts ordered. "Hiya!" He spurred his horse in hot pursuit of Griffith's wagon. Griffith had a few seconds head start and two horses pulling his wagon, but Guts pushed his horse to its limits.

The others he heard were gaining on them as well and if he couldn't catch up to Griffith, one of them would. One of the faster riders like Corkus, Judeau or Gaston. But why were they even chasing him, to begin with?

He didn't know what was going through Griffith's head right now, but it wasn't good. Just like what was happening up above. The light of the sun was fading; a dark shadow was slowly creeping its way to snuff out the light. Guts didn't like it, not one bit.

With his battered body, Griffith could barely keep the wagon steady, the horses threatened to pull the reigns from his faux grasp. But to him, it was so close. The castle, it was so close, so, so close. He just had to reach out a hand and the castle and its kingdom would be in the palm of his hand.

The wagon hit a rock, and the jolt was enough to throw him from the wagon. Griffith soared like the bird he had taken as his sigil, his arms spread like wings. But his wings had been clipped, the ground came closer.

Splash!

He landed not on grass, but in the cool, clear water of a shallow lake. The water soaked his gauze and breeches and he shivered. Much to his own surprise, he was able to stumble into a kneeling position; it wasn't easy as one of his elbows had bent inward from his fall. Yet another injury to be added.

He was pathetic. He wasn't some proud leader, not anymore. Now, he was just larva, the lowest of the low. In a mundane way, it was like he had never really grown up from his life of poverty. In the end, he was just a burden on those who would follow him. They had Casca, they had Guts, and they did not need him. A jagged root of a fallen tree lay right next to him. They did not need him.

Griffith let his body fall forward toward the jagged wood, looking to end it all. The wood missed his jugular but managed to cut above his shoulder, a single stream of blood trailed down his arm from his attempt. And then he laughed.

Perhaps laugh was the wrong word; it was more the only sound that came out of his throat at the time. "Huhuhuhuaaahuu!" He couldn't even kill himself right for crying out loud.

There was nothing left but to gave down into the ankle high water below. Perhaps he could drown himself, it was deep enough-what was that? Among the rocks of the lake bed, a red bauble on a string stood out. He recognized it; it was something that had fallen down a drain pipe when he was first captured. His old Crimson Behelit. He had thought it lost forever. He snagged it with his finger by the string and held it up in front of him. Blood dripped from his arm and onto the bauble. A sudden cry of, "Griffith!" rang throughout the air.

Harry didn't like it; he didn't like it at all. It was less the fact that Guts had told him to stay behind with the princess, but more with what was happening in the sky above. A large, round, dark shadow was making its way to block the light of the sun. It was almost like an eye looking down, smiling with cruel amusement at events yet to come.

Charlotte noticed it too. "An eclipse. I didn't know one was supposed to happen today."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, his eyes flashing to and from the soon-to-be eclipse. His vision was bad enough as it was, there was no need to ruin them any further. He couldn't help it though; he was a curious person by nature, and this impending eclipse just did not sit right with him for some reason. Harry wanted nothing more than to chase after everyone else and warn them of… something.

The moon climbed closer and closer toward the sun, and the feeling of dread grew with it. Something bad was about to happen. To who, he did not know; all he knew was that it was coming, and soon. He grabbed the reigns of his horse and made ready to depart after the rest of the band.

"Where are you going?" Charlotte asked. "We were told to stay here."

"I know that," said Harry, his voice frantic. "I just need to check on them. I'll be right back, I promise."

Anna looked frightened as well, but for different reasons. "But, what if a group of bandits comes by when you're gone? We have no ways of defending ourselves." Harry took out his dagger and tossed it to the handmaiden. "What's this about?"

"To defend yourselves," Harry said. "If any trouble comes up, try and scare it off or just run to find us." The girls looked uncertain. "Look, I'll be gone five minutes at most, I'll come back and I won't be alone. Just stay here for now."

His horse made haste as it rushed off in the direction that everyone else had headed. Guts or Casca could yell at him later, all that mattered now was reaching them as soon as possible. All the while the moon moved closer and closer to eclipsing the sun.

"Griffith!" Guts shouted as he jumped from his horse and into the water where Griffith kneeled. He bent down to hoist one of Griffith's arms over his shoulder. "What came over you, huh?" If Griffith heard him, he made no indication. His attention was focused on the red bauble dangling from his finger. Guts' eyes widened as well; Griffith had no had that Behelit on him before.

The sound of horses approaching alerted Guts that the rest of the Hawks were quickly approaching them. "C'mon, Griffith. Let's get you patched up again. Casca'll have a fit if she sees that cut on your-," he stopped talking. The Behelit was jiggling. The assorted facial features were moving, rearranging themselves to form a non-abstract face.

The eyes slowly opened to reveal blue orbs, and tears of blood flowed from them as the Behlit appeared to weep. Then the mouth opened and it cried the most blood-chilling sound Guts had ever heard. "BWAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"What is that?" Casca and the others pointed across the lake to where humanoid figures now stood. To Guts, they looked rather sinister standing across the water just staring at all of them. The Behelit continued to scream.

"Everyone!" A new rider was fast approaching. From the voice, Guts could tell that it was Harry. What was he doing here? He should be supervising the princess to make sure she doesn't do something stupid. And the Behelit kept on screaming right up until the moon reached its peak in front of the sun. Then everything changed.

The sky, the lake, the grass; all of it was gone, replaced with a ceaseless pattern of red faces spanning as far as the eye could see. Their eye sockets were either closed or hollow, but the mouths seemed to move, seeking to release screams that would go unheard. The only thing that remained a constant was the sun up above-or rather the eclipsed sun. Indeed, it was high above them like a giant black eye looking down on them like insects.

Some of the Hawks began to lose their nerve. "The hell are we?" "What's going on?" "Commander, get us out of here!" Corkus was having it the worst though. "Look around! We're in hell! This is what hell looks like!"

"Quiet!" Casca scolded him. "You all need to calm down!"

"You're telling us to calm down?! Take a look around, we're in hell surrounded by freaks!" The demonic looking individuals seemed to have grown in numbers and watched them but made no sudden move yet.

"We can't afford to show weakness in front of this enemy!" Casca rallied. "Panicking won't give us a way out of here." Despite it all, Guts smiled. She really was something else.

The demonic looking people began to chant. "The time is now. It is time. Time for our four angels to come."

From the ground, one of the faces began to rise up. It turned from red to a lively alabaster tone and it became more and more clear that it belonged to a woman, for a body was rising up with it. Breasts laid bare, but she didn't seem to mind, if anything she seemed to revel in her attractive appearance, even sending a seductive look at some of the men. As she rose hair fell from her head, an uncommon turquoise color that reminded Guts of snakes. Two large leathery wings sprouted from her back and closed around her feminine form.

Above them, the faces seemed to swirl together like a brewing storm and a pale, chubby face with blacked out glasses and a sickening grin came spiraling down, cackling a sick laugh. It was small, lacking any legs but rather a few short tentacles like appendages that helped it to float around the Hawks. It circled and laughed at Corkus, and then Harry before floating over to the woman.

The ground shuttered once again, and a cornucopia of the faces mashed up into a wide rounded shape. Emerging from that mass was a fleshy ham colored face even chubbier than the last. Its eyes were closed, but its mouth was gaping open. Taking its place next to the two other great beings, it appeared hunched over with its hands intertwining its fingers.

Then, it was as if darkness leaked down from the eclipse above like a giant dark waterfall that took the shape of a tall figure covered in a long leathery black robe with a high popping collar. As the darkness retreated back up to the eclipse, the figure standing had six digits on his hands, skin the color of a corpse with some of it pulled away from his mouth, leaving his teeth exposed. His eyes appeared to be sewn completely shut, but what stood out the most was his brain. It was much larger than any brain had the right to be and it was on full display like it had grown so large it had simply burst forth from his head. Out of all four, Guts felt the most power from this one.

The brain man did not move his mouth, but his voice seemed to speak to all of them within their minds. His voice like a mysterious, vast expanse. "The time has come for the blessing. In this, our final chapter, the final destination. The final days draw near for our sacred children. Enjoy this hallow feast in all its glory." He pointed one of his six fingers towards Griffith. "And you, our disciple, you are chosen. Here and now appointed by God's own hand. We are your brothers, and you, our new blessed kin."

Griffith stared up at them, shock written on the parts of his face that Guts could see. Many of the Hawks looked just as nervous, Harry was transfixed by the four. "That voice," Guts heard him mutter. Getting angry, Guts drew a dagger and pointed it up at the four.

"This is bullshit!" He yelled. "You think you can drag us to this goddamn place and say whatever the hell you want?! Kinsman? Disciple? That's ridiculous! There isn't one shred in this man that makes him like you! How dare you compare yourselves to him!"

"Guts!" Casca yelled his name. Three of them laughed at him.

The woman appeared most pleased. "What a beautiful friendship. You will make a most welcome sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?"

She nodded. "He cannot become one of us without a proper sacrifice."

"Precisely," the hovering imp said. "From the instance, you crossed paths with the Crimson Behelit, it was your destiny to join us. The fact that you have it shows that you possess the traits necessary to become like us. To unite with us, The Godhand."

The demonic people gathered around, had begun to change. They changed much like Zodd had done in their first encounter; some sprouted horns and claws, some extra mouths and limbs. They changed into what they truly were, demons. "These gathered here today have used Behelits to achieve their own ends as well, although they will never be Godhand they are Apostils."

She continued speaking. "He will be reborn in exchange for all of you; but only of his own choosing."

"His fate was written long ago, and all of you were predestined to be his sacrifices," the brain elaborated. "Let us begin the rite of transformation."

"Bring forth the alter!" The one with the gaping mouth shouted, and the ground of faces began to rise, shooting up to the sky like a great mountain, Griffith and Guts were on a ride straight to the top.

"No, Guts! Griffith!" Casca shouted.

"We have to climb up after them!" Harry yelled, but their yells were drowned out as Guts tried his best to not fall off the rising tide of faces and to keep holding on to Griffith.

A tremor sent him falling back, but Griffith found the strength to reach a hand out for him to grab onto. But it was no use, not with the stare Griffith's body was in. A tendon in his arm snapped and Guts fell down while Griffith continued to be pulled up.

Guts wasn't about to give up easily. He plunged the dagger into the side of the rising face mountain to slow his fall. Bits of flesh and blood flew into his face as he plunged it in deeper to keep his stay on the face mountain. No-not a mountain. As he looked up, the faces had arranged themselves into the shape of a giant right hand.

When the rising settled, Griffith found himself in the open palm of the hand. "We are four," the brain man's voice rang out. "Conrad," the one with the gaping mouth on the pinkie, "Ubik," the floating imp circled the ring finger, "Slan," the woman licked her lips from the middle, "and Void." He was on the thumb. "What is it you fear? Us? Who are infinitely more powerful than you? Or is it your future and its uncertainty?"

Ubik floated down toward him. "Why not take a look at your past, before taking the step to your glorious future?" His dark glasses glowed white and Griffith stared into their depths, transfixed by the sight of a young, child version of him running along a street.

It was the same streets he had memorized as a child too, right down to the exact layout, even the castle on the hill was how he had always pictured it. But… this wasn't right. He was the only one here. "Where did everybody go?" His child's voice asked no one. The streets should be full of the other kids this time of day. "I thought we were all going to see the castle." He looked over his shoulder as if expecting someone else to come running.

"Oh well, I guess I'm going on my own." He continued running down the streets. He ran and ran, but his memory of these streets seemed to be failing him. This street was completely unknown to him. But at least there was a person. An old woman with a bonnet over her head to partly obscure her old appearance. She spun a spinning wheel and was so wrapped up in it she didn't seem to notice him at first.

"Excuse me," he said, "do you know how to get to the castle from here?" She pointed a wrinkled finger to the left. "That way. Okay, thank you!" He took off once again.

"You're welcome," she called to him. "You're friends passed by not long ago, they said that they would meet you there." So that's where they had gone.

He ran some more, and it became dark out. How long had he been chasing after his friends? "Hey! Is anybody here?" His foot crunched down on something; it was a corpse. And it wasn't the only one. The entire street was paved with corpses, corpses everywhere. "Ah!" He cried and tried to escape the bodies.

"You're quite the noisy child," the old woman walked up to him as calm as a summer breeze.

"Ma'am, this is terrible! There are so many dead people!"

"I know," she sounded unconcerned.

"That's awful! You knew and you lied to me!" Griffith shouted at the old woman.

"I didn't lie to you," she denied. "This is the only path that leads to the castle. The only way to the castle is over those who have fallen before, they have done their job of paving the road just for you. Look." The castle was only a short distance away, glowing as bright as the sun. "Here comes one of your friends now."

A boy of around his age walked up to Griffith, a toy knight in his hands. "You're on your way to the castle to become king, aren't you? That's great! I want to be a knight someday. Will you take me with you? If you do you can have my toy."

Griffith was hesitant. "I don't know." Who was this boy? He was one of his friends, yes?

"Why not?"

"I can't. I can't because you're-," Griffith looked away from the arrow that pierced the boy's heart. Such a gruesome sight. "You're already dead!"

"Why not take us too?" Some of the corpses had risen, clad in armor and ready to do battle. Let us carry your flag!"

"No," Griffith shook his head. "You're all dead too! Please understand, please!" He sank to his knees on the corpse laded ground and cried. "I'm so sorry!"

The old woman tsked. "Now, now. What are we going to do with you? Don't you understand that they are all dead because of you?"

"What?"

"Don't play dumb with me!" She suddenly snapped. "They became what they are because they followed you! If you had not forced them, they would not be like this."

"But," he wiped a tear away, "I never forced anyone to follow me."

"Then how did they get to the way they are?" She asked. "These corpse cobblestones are the dead who have followed you, killed for you, died for you. All for that dream of yours." The corpses sank down and stretched forward to the castle, just missing it. "You only need a few more."

Griffith remained hesitant. "Having a change of heart? If you are you will become one of the cobblestones yourself." It was like the skin on his arms was peeling off, becoming just like the bodies below him.

"My hands!"

"Foolish child. You should have known this was the price. Why couldn't you be content to simply gaze at the castle from afar?"

"I didn't know, I swear I didn't know!"

"Shut up!" she snapped. "You knew all along what kind of place this was."

Apparitions slowly became visible among the corpses. "You're our leader, we'll follow you!" A young woman with short dark hair. "We're here to help, all of us." A boy with glasses and green eyes. And a swordsman.

"Where do you go from here? Isn't this the path to your dream? What's holding you back?" Guts.

"He's right," the woman said. "It is not too late to lay those stones." She split into Conrad and Ubik. "There is no other path!"

"There is no use in repenting is there?" Griffith walked to the young dead boy. "Where would that take me? My sins, I cannot take them back. There is nothing I have to give the dead who have followed me except for the completion of the goal in which they all fought." He carried the boy down the path of corpses.

"Now you see," Ubik cackled, ending the trance.

"They will forgive you," Slan spoke to him. "Each is a feather in your wing, helping to carry you down your path."

Void spoke next. "If that dream still lives, if that castle still gleams as bright as the sun, then it is your obligation to lay the stones around you now. Stand and face your future on the dark wings that will carry you there"

Griffith's lips seemed to move on their own like he had no control, but that was not true.

"Griffith!" Guts shouted as he finally managed to climb to the palm of the hand. He was panting, exhausted, but he was here. Just in time to see Griffith give the smallest, saddest smile he had ever seen. It was one filled with unfulfilled ambition and the tiniest hint of a promise that this was not the last.

The fingers of the giant hand closed in around Griffith, separating him from Guts. Void lifted his hand and a green emblem materialized. It looked like two diamonds stacked on top of each other with a line running through them. "Time to administer the brand." The green turned to red and split apart like a dozen angry hornets.

Guts felt a burning sensation on the right side of his neck where the brand struck. Below, the brand burned into Corkus' forehead, just below Casca's collarbone, on Pippin's arm and Judeau's hand.

When one approached Harry, it looked to almost striking his forehead where his lightning scar was but pulled away before striking the left side of his neck. It seemed to have a stronger effect on him as well; he cried in pain and fell off his horse, clutching at his head.

And the demon apostils descended on the Band of the Hawk.

A/N: So this was a pretty Griffith heavy chapter, and we all know what the next one is. Thank you for reading.


	18. Eclipse

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

"Princess Charlotte, please wait!" Anna shouted as Charlotte climbed on a horse.

"That boy-Harry has been gone much longer than he promised," Charlotte told her handmaiden. "They should have returned by now. Do you not see what is going on over there? It's happening right where they would be."

It was a rhetorical question. How could anyone not see it? A giant whirlwind had touched down just as the moon had eclipsed the sun. Even from where they waited the two girls could feel the wild gush of wind from the enormous twister. There was no telling how wide the tornado was, but the funnel extended for miles into the sky, seemingly touching the eclipsed sun in the heavens up above.

The sight of it frightened Charlotte to no end. Midland was not known for irregular weather patterns, and a twister of this magnitude was unheard of by any standards. To actually go riding towards something like that would be a foolhardy idea which Anna took the liberty of reminding her of. "The Hawks did not survive by reputation, they have the skills to handle themselves, your highness. Please, I insist we seek shelter from that storm."

"The storm is not moving," Charlotte observed. For as gigantic as it was, the mighty whirlwind remained rooted in a fixed position to resemble something akin to a mighty tree branch that had sprouted from the ground, seeking to connect the deepest region to the highest heaven.

"That does not make it any less dangerous!" Anna insisted.

"But we owe it to the Band of Hawk to at least try to aid them," Charlotte argued. "They rescued me from the king," she shuttered at the memory of what he had tried to do to her that one night, "and I agreed that I would do whatever I could to contribute. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I must make good on my word!"

Anna shook her head. "You've gained a fair amount of confidence, your majesty. I shudder to think what your manners will be like the longer you're exposed to some of these ruffians."

"Will you come with me then?" She hoped so. Riding toward that whirlwind was not something she wanted to do alone.

"As your handmaiden-it is my duty to follow in your wake. Especially when sound words of advice fall deaf to your ears." Anna managed to give a rather nervous smile to showcase the lack of good faith in Charlotte's decision. "Just know that-what in the heavens?!"

Charlotte followed Anna's gave to the sky, but her attention was not directed at the expansive twister, but instead a large dark shape flying toward it. Whatever it was, it was no bird. Birds did not have large leathery wings or goat legs, and especially no horns. Despite its size, the creature flew fast, unlike any animal she had ever seen before in her life. She might have hallucinated, but Charlotte almost felt like the great beast looked down towards them, but never breaking from its flight path.

The sight of it instilled a new fear in the girls, on par with the sound of hooves rapidly approaching them. "The king must have sent out mercenaries!" Anna shrieked. "We're done for!" Riding over the hill was a lone rider, tall and menacing in appearance, and much like the creature flying above he moved much too fast for something of his size.

The closer he got, the more Charlotte could distinguish the features of his horse and armor. His horse looked to be a skeleton, much like the armor he wore. A shield was fastened to his left arm with the design of a thorny rose embalmed on it. What stood out the most was his helm; it was a glowering skull-like helm with reddish-purplish eyes that seemed to glow from their sockets adding the only bit of life to his otherwise dead appearance.

He was gaining on them, faster and faster his horse trampled the ground, not showing any signs of slowing. In a few seconds, he was on them, passing them by as he continued to ride. But in the briefest of moments, Charlotte saw that skull-shaped helm tilt to look directly at her and an almost familiar sensation seemed to register in her mind. He never spoke, never made a sound, but his glowing eye sockets conveyed the unspoken message, "stay."

She obeyed the unspoken command, her body stiff as a board while the rider continued on his path straight toward the monolithic whirlwind of madness.

Elsewhere, Rickert was on his own path for the whirlwind. It couldn't be a coincidence that this twister touched down almost exactly where the Hawks planned on meeting up. He believed less and less in coincidence since that night when those two demonic creatures slaughtered all the wounded Hawks. Creatures like that, they had no right to exist in this world.

With no horse to ride, Rickert had managed to stumble upon an acting troupe, who was kind enough to give him a ride to the supposed rendezvous point. It might have been his imagination, But Rickert swore that those performers had an elf flying somewhere around in their wagon. The childish, impish giggle he had heard during the night followed by a faint blue glow only further cemented that belief.

Once they had dropped him off, that wind storm had begun. As Rickert rushed over a grassy hill, he was met with a strange sight just outside of the funnel. A demon, Nosferatu Zodd to be exact, stood ready to face off against a skeleton knight.

What was Zodd doing in a place like this? And that Skull Knight too? "What the hell is going on around us?" Rickert had to wonder. It was madness. The world was becoming madness.

Zodd grunted. "Hmph. So you did come. You, who have been our foe for a millennium, I figured you wouldn't let this chance slip past."

"And you were given the command to guard the gate, Immortal One," Skull Knight addressed.

Zodd almost seemed to smile. "Hardly. I have no interest in their indulgent spree. What I seek are strong. You should know that. Old rival."

They locked gazes. "Void would say that this too falls within causality's current." A tense moment of silence fell. "Very well…I wager myself upon my sword."

Zodd looked overjoyed. His lion-like face broke into a malicious toothy grin. His claws swiped toward the Skull Knight, and the battle began.

But as the two combatants squared off against one another outside, a much different battle was being fought on the inside of the great whirlwind. Perhaps fight was the wrong word; it was more of a slaughter than anything else.

From all sides, the demonic apostles descended upon the already overwhelmed Band of Hawk. Giant, gaping maws swallowed men whole. Talons sharper than any dagger cut through armor, completely eviscerating their victims. Horns impaled others straight through, letting the blood run down their bony extension; they drank the blood of men.

Shouting, everybody was shouting. Men shouted in fear, in sadness, in pure agony; and the demons shouted in excitement. To them, this hell was heaven. It was a chance to helplessly gorge them on human flesh, and revel in every fight, every kill, every minute of this torture.

Casca, the one who many looked to as a sister figure, found herself unable to react at first. An apostil had bitten three men in half right in front of her and all she could do was stare at the giant fist made of faces where Guts and Griffith were. She would have been bitten in half as well, if not for Pippin intervening and knocking the demonic jaws away with his war hammer.

"Run!" Pippin yelled, a contrast to his silent nature.

Casca felt an arm around her waist, and she was pulled up onto a horse was ridden by Judeau. Pippin stood his ground and faced off against the demons who would pursue them. "What are you doing?!" She yelled. "Pippin!"

Pippin elicited a war cry of his own, challenging any demon near him. He stood like a man who had just accepted his fate. "Go back, Judeau! We can't let him die!"

"It's no use!" Judeau yelled. Any trace of his usual laid back and calm demeanor was gone. She was surprised; this was a side to Judeau she had never seen in all the time she had known him. "You have to survive. You're our leader now. As long as our leader's alive, we aren't finished! You have to keep on living! You think I'm going to let it end here, like this?!"

The courage that Judeau felt was lost on Corkus. He and three other Hawks were faced with an apostle that looked to have an upside-down face. Two tusks sprawled from the sides of its maw which it used to gobble up the three men before any of them could even raise a sword to defend themselves.

Corkus' legs trembled, and he felt his breeches become soiled. The sight of his comrades face become twisted and contorted as the apostil chewed them to pieces would do that to just about any man; there was no reason for him to feel embarrassed for his reaction. The apostil used a clawed hand to wipe away the blood from its lips, and it set its sights on him.

"Wahaaaaa!" Corkus wailed as he did the one thing that registered in his head, he ran. He ran as fast and as far as his weak legs would carry him, but the apostle was faster, much faster. Large, curved claws raked against his back, cutting through the metal and underlining flesh. He fell to his knees.

Two other apostles had joined up with the one that had been chasing him. Panicking once again, Corkus let himself fall down the hill of faces, the momentum giving him a chance at the time to pick himself up and continue running.

But everywhere he ran, there were demons on all sides, and they were eating. Gorging themselves on his comrades, biting off heads and limbs, clawing them open to devour their entrails. There was no escaping it. From the sides, from behind, he felt their eyes on him. They were coming, he could feel their hot, putrid breath on the back of his neck, making his hair stand up and ready to fly out of his body.

Tears and mucus ran down his face and he continued to run. There was no way any of this was real. A world made of faces, demonic apostles; it was a nightmare, a fever dream. "That must be it, just a nightmare. My wound doesn't hurt a bit. Hehehe! Hey! Wake up, me! Fun's fun, but enough's enough! But how the hell did I dream all this up? Midland, the Band of the Hawk, it ain't all that farfetched to be a dream. When I think about it, it was all too good to be true. I'll just wake up and it'll be over. I'll…be a nobody again."

And he saw her. Standing there looking every bit an angel as he could dream up, with her shoulder length blonde hair, sultry eyes, and a clear feminine form. Her arms covered her breasts, but even at that Corkus knew she was beautiful.

"Heh. A woman, here in hell…? I knew that this was a dream." She moved her arms away from her chest, allowing him a full view of her naked form. Squaring her shoulder, she made her breasts all the more inviting, and Corkus approached. He laughed nervously. "Dammit." He cupped one her bountiful breasts. "Dammit. Why a guy like me? Dammit." He buried his face between her breasts, sobbing as she wrapped her arms around him.

He felt her soft, smooth skin get harder and much stronger. Her petite arms felt awfully sharp, and her breath a lot hotter, like a predator to prey. "Dammit." And Corkus knew no more.

Casca and Judeau continued to ride. An exit, a way out had to be present. He couldn't be where it ended for all of them, here in some godforsaken hellscape. Why? Casca wondered, feeling the tears ready to break loose at the endless stream of death that surrounded them. The Band of the Hawk was arguably the greatest group of soldiers in Midland, but against a demonic horde, had they even stood a chance?

Had they sinned that much? All the lives that they had taken, all those who had fallen in battle, has it all been leading to this? Or, an even more terrifying thought; Casca looked to the giant hand turned fist, the Godhand faintly outlined by the hellish lighting, was this really the nightmare that he wanted? Would she ever get an answer to that?

Griffith, the person who had saved her at a young age, trained her in the art of the sword, made her his second-in-command, he had been the crux in all of this. What was it they had done? They had rescued him, served him faithfully, so then why? Had Griffith felt that much of a broken shell that he reasoned that he was as good as dead? Whatever it was, could she hate him for it? He had been her hero for so long, his attention was all she had ever wanted, to know that she had helped get him to that once dream of his. And now, she almost felt the brand below her collarbone prickle, maybe she was closer to that than ever before.

Even on horseback, the demons were able to keep pace with the pair of them. To his credit, Judeau would use his sword to cut down any who got too close and would throw a knife at an advancing lizard-like demon who had been tailing them for some time. The knife struck its mark, and the demon lagged behind. But another was fast approaching. "Judeau, right side!" Casca alerted her friend, but it was too late.

A great lion-like demon bit down on Judeau's arm, armor and bone cracked from the strain. Reacting on instinct, Casca drew a dagger of her own and plunged it into the eye of the demon. It might not have killed it, but it was enough to get Judeau's arm free, or what was left of it. Now it looked more like a piece of raw meat than human flesh.

"Judeau, your-,"

"It's fine," he said weakly. "You saved me." He was losing a lot of blood.

"Let's turn around."

"No way…" he sounded woozy.

"It's the same if we do or don't!" Casca yelled. "They're going to keep following us no matter how far we go! We don't even know if there's an exit!" Her eyes felt very wet now. "At least, let's fight beside everyone else to the end."

"Shut up!" Judeau yelled at her, surprising her once again by his tone. "You'll bite your tongue off. Struggle. Keep struggling until the end's the end, and keep struggling some more. There's no fighting just to die. That's what I'd say if I were him." Judeau then smiled. He didn't have to say anything after that. She knew exactly who he meant.

The moment was ruined when a shape began to split between the face pattern that was the ground to this hell. It was the jaws of a demon, and before either of them knew it, their horse was being devoured. They were spared the same fate as they had managed to roll off the saddle before the steed was completely eaten. But the danger wasn't over.

An apostle had caught up to them, dark green in color with a rounded head with two whip-like tendrils and a rather slim build. One of the tendrils shot out and stabbed Judeau through a chink in his armor. He staggered from the blow, but he forced himself in front of her as the demon let forth an onslaught of whipping.

They fell down, with Judeau placing his body on top of hers, taking all of the hits himself. "Move, stupid!" Casca yelled blood was leaking from Judeau's body. "Stop, Judeau! You're killing yourself! At this rate-!"

Both of the tendrils had pierced straight through Judeau, shock evident on his face. Droplets of blood drizzled onto her face, and she reached out to touch his. He couldn't-

One of Judeau's eyes opened. He reached for his last throwing knife and twirled his body around to toss it straight into the demon's eye. While it was blinded, Casca drew her sword and cut it in its slim body. The demon fell.

"Judeau!" She ran back to him.

"D-did it… hit? My last…knife?"

"Y-yeah. It hit. You got it."

He tried to push himself up, only to fall. "Now…go."

She couldn't stop the tears this time. "What did you just say?! Weren't you just the one who said to keep on struggling?! Now, on your feet! No complaining! I'm taking you even if I have to drag you!" She draped his arm over her shoulder and began to carry him, to where even she didn't know.

"Okay. No need to shout. I'll come with you. I'll stay even if I gotta crawl."

"If you got time to shoot your mouth off, you can crawl," she tried to keep his mind focused away from his undeniable pain. She looked to see Judeau smiling up at her.

"You sure do…cry a lot, you know."

His body went limp and fell to the face covered floor. His last smile lay etched upon his face, undisturbed to the hell he was in.

"Judeau…" it was a lost cause, but she didn't want to believe it. No more did she want to believe the sound of the various apostles that were surrounding her, closing in on her. How many? A dozen, maybe more; she couldn't be exactly sure. But she was sure of her anger.

In a blind rage, she swung her sword, blinded by both her tears and rage, she hacked and slashed, cutting any apostles that dared get too close. They could kill her, hell they probably would. But she would be damned if she didn't die fighting like she had for years.

Her last swing was caught in the jaws of a hulking apostle, who crunched the blade to pieces with its powerful strength. Her eyes widened, and she stepped back. They were closing in on her, chanting. "Sacrifice." "Sacrifice." "Sacrifice." "A woman sacrifice." "Eat now?"

"No."

"Before that."

"Before that."

They closed in even more and she could feel their hot breath filling her nostrils, it was enough to make her skin crawl. Many of them opened their mouths, letting their slimy, disgusting tongues hang free. They were so close to her now.

Guts. Casca thought of her lover as they grabbed for her.

I'm falling. Farther from the light. Where…where is this? Where's my body? I'm sinking…deeper. It was like being in an ocean. He could see the light above him, warm and comforting, and below him, where he was falling, that was just a deep endless pit of darkness seemingly as vast as Void's voice.

It should be cold, so why couldn't he feel it? He could see, he could think, so why couldn't he move of feel? But even sight soon failed him as he fell further and further into the abyss.

And then flashes.

He was watching scenes play out before him. There was a mass of people, and they were terrified. Fear was present on each and every one of their faces. Sweat, blood, and tears covered nearly all of these men he was seeing. And then they would die. Some would be decapitated, others split right up down the middle and waved around like a human flag, and others would just have their heads explode, sending bits of bone and brain flying in every direction.

What is this?

Death, death, and more death. Body parts were thrown around like a child would toss their toys during a temper tantrum. Jaws of serrated teeth would crush men into small chunks of meat for other demonic entities to feast off of. Everywhere, there was death, claiming the lives of every man that came across these monstrous beasts.

All their deaths and piercing through me. I wished for this. I killed them. It's strange…I don't feel anything. I'm sinking.

Why didn't he feel? These people dying, those were his men, his people. So why? It was almost like the deeper he went, the less he became. Who he was, what made him, him that was being broken off and scattered into an ever-swirling current that he had no chance of swimming free from. He saw something in the darkness of his submersion.

What is that? That shine?

A voice seemed to answer back. The manifestation of your last tear. When suffering so profound it makes you tear yourself apart, a heart is frozen. A very faint, Bthump could be heard.

Something's here, he realized with a start. And he saw them. They floated past him, up towards the light coming from the darkness. They were all different colors, but not one was crimson red like the one he once had. Behilits.

They are splashes, droplets of ideas that have spilled from the sea of eternity. Summons to the other world.

And he fell deeper. He was so deep in the never-ending abyss, which he could no longer see, not with his eyes. There was nothing around him now. He was alone, he had to be. Was this it? The sacrifice he had made led to this? To nothing? But-no. No, that was wrong. There was something here with him. Something so deep in this abyss, something so ancient that it could not exist anywhere else but here, the crux of darkness. He could hear a sound like a rhythmic beat, and a shape started to become visible to him. It was a shape shared by every living thing, every man, woman, and child.

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

"…God?" It was the last word Griffith ever spoke.

Harry's head felt like it was going to explode. Once that brand had struck the left side of his neck, a terrible, burning agony had befallen him. It felt like a hot iron was being placed against his skin, but not where the brand had struck; instead from the scar on his forehead. It was like two forces clashing and raging a small war inside of him, each side trying their best to get the upper hand to a battle he didn't even know existed beforehand. The pain wasn't going away, but it seemed to lessen at the cost of his own strength.

The pain in his forehead seemed concentrated, rooted firm and not willing to budge an inch. And it seemed to speak to him. Almost like another voice inside of his head talking to him. Fight, kill them, and kill them like they killed your friends.

As the apostles would claw their way towards him, it was as if Harry was seeing double vision, one minute he would see the advancing demon, the other he saw a pale hand clutching a stick pointing it at a woman. A flash of green light and he couldn't tell if that was a memory from someone else, or if it was from the energy flying from his own sword.

Whenever he swung, it was like it was reacting to the apostles. Godo had crafted it from an elf mine, and now Harry was finally seeing why this could be considered a magic sword. When it touched the demons, it seemed to cut them easily, even sending out sparks of what he assumed to be raw magic at the antagonists. He didn't know what he was doing, or if his body was just reacting this way naturally, but it had kept the demons at bay so far, and for that, he had no complaint.

There was a downside, whenever he would wave his sword and send those bouts of magic forth, he would be blinded by another one of those double visions. He saw a forest, and a small form that was curled up in the nook of tree roots to survive before flashing back to this hell and he had to stab at another demon. The small figure in the woods held something up, a small dark egg shape, different from the one Griffith had had but he knew what it was. Harry wanted to shout at this figure to warn them of the danger, but they didn't seem to know what it was.

Another apostle, another bout of wild magic flaring from his elf sword, and he saw a rat faced looking man looking down over him, picking him up like some sort of baby. More magic sprayed from across his sword blade, and that cold voice seemed to take hold in the back of his head. Kill all of them. Avenge all who have fallen! You are weak, you can't keep this up!

"Stop it!" Harry yelled, clutching his head to try and force that voice away. "Stop talking to me!" Something large touched his shoulder. Harry rounded, ready to stab a demon, but much to his surprise, it was Pippin. "Pippin!"

The giant of a man had seen better days. A large cut ran along his head, most of his armor was completely torn off, and his weapon was broken. Another member of the Hawks was with him. With a badly mutilated arm and bloodstained hair, it was guts' second, Gaston of the Raiders.

"Are you two…alright?" Harry asked it felt like he was going to collapse at any second.

"Us?" Gaston asked he didn't look much better. "What about you? You look like you're on your last leg." Harry tried his best to give the most convincing nod he could.

"I'm fine, really."

"No…" Pippin sounded incredibly fatigued but was hiding it much better than either of them.

"I can still go on," Harry said as his vision started to blur. "Where's…everyone else? Corkus? Casca? Judeau? Guts?"

"I haven't seen Corkus," Gaston said. "I haven't seen anyone!"

"Casca and…Judeau, they got on a horse," Pippin heaved. "Don't know about Guts."

"Have you- look out!" Harry's sword sparked with energy as a molted green slug-like apostle came looming up behind Pippin. With a swing, a burst of power discharged itself from his blade and burned the demon's hide. The slug glowered down at him and moved to take a bite out of him, but Pippin stepped in front, forgoing a weapon and just punching the monster.

The slug growled and knocked Pippin aside, into Gaston, who fell backward. Harry himself felt one last cry escape his lips, "Pippin!" His strength left him and he fell down a hill of faces, the last thing he saw before his eyes closed was a flash of green light and hearing that voice in his head.

"Kill."

He fought like a maniac, no-a demon. A demon in human form. Guts' sword was broken, so he had to improvise. When a demon charged him with its spear-like tusks, Guts used the jagged broken blade to crack one of the tusks from the demon and plunged it into the creature's skull. Vaulting off of the dead apostle, Guts was met with dozens more to take its place. His chest armor was long gone; he fought covered in thick blood from slain apostils.

Narrowly avoiding the jaws of a demon that tried to bite his feet off, Guts drove the tusk through this one's eye. He jumped off of that one, rolled under the grotesque arm of another and stabbed it through the chest. A winged harpy swooped down and Guts ducked before her talons could claw his face off. With rage and adrenaline-fueling him, Guts leapt and impaled the harpy through her back as she flew back up.

Pulling the tusk from her back, he then impaled it in the side of the giant fist to slow his fall. It partially worked. He still fell, but much slower than he would have, had he not tried to slow his descent. When he landed, he found himself not on a pile of faces, but in something warm. Something that was warm and red, and left a lingering taste of iron in his mouth.

Blood. He was in a pool of blood. Various body parts lay scattered, floating in the pool like ducks on a pond. Bones, hands, and feet, torsos, even heads. "Uaghhhhhhhhh!" He yelled a mix of horror and anger.

"Is anyone still alive?! Judeau! Pippin! Corkus! Harry!" His face begins to fall. "Cas…ca."

"Captain!" The voice was incredibly weak, but standing there in the pool of blood with him was Gaston. Most of his arm was missing, and he was using his sword as a crutch, but he was here, he was alive.

"Gaston!" Guts rushed over to his second. "You're alive!"

"Heheh," Gaston laughed weakly. "I don't feel it very much." The raider choked a sob. "C-captain, why is this happening? I don't know where anybody else is. I got separated from Pippin and Harry. I just want to go back to the good ol' days."

"Stop talking, save your strength!" Guts ordered. He helped Gaston stand on his feet. "Now c'mon, we can't be the only ones who've made it."

It happened almost in an instant. Gaston's face began to contort, his jaw moved at a weird angle like he had gotten kicked by a mule. His right eye closed whilst his left bulged, looking to break free. Blood freely ran from his eyes, mouth, and nose. Then his whole head exploded.

Gaston's blood splattered over Guts' face, adding to the amount of carnage that coated him. Sliding out from Gaston's body was an impish demon that hopped into the blood pool and laughed a hideous cackle as it slithered away "Kekekekekekekek!"

Guts picked up Gaston's fallen sword and stabbed at the demon as it slithered away. It escaped his blade, but not Harry's as the boy came rolling down a hill of faces to stab the imp demon. "Harry!" Guts grabbed the boy by his arm and helped him stand. He might not be in as bad a state as Gaston had been, but he looked utterly, physically exhausted.

"I…got it…" Harry said, referring to the demon he had just stabbed.

"It's dead," Guts affirmed. "How are you still standing?"

"How're…you?" Harry asked. "Everyone…everyone I don't know…"

A large shape manifested to their left. Standing on the band of the horrid blood pool was Pippin. He stood with his back straight, motionless like a small mountain made man. He didn't greet them, or make any notion that he even acknowledged the both of them, and Guts could tell that something was off. It was like he was already dead on his feet, and the only thing supporting him were the two thick tendrils that seemed to stem from his rigid back like strings on a marionette. Slowly his upper and lower began to separate themselves and were tossed into the pool alongside the pair of them. A giant sluggish apostle had been behind Pippin, working him, moving him like a puppet which had now been disposed of.

Then came the laughing. "Kuhuhuhuhu!" All around them, apostles surrounded them, brandishing various parts of former Hawks. Corkus' head was between the jaws of a succubus, Judeau resembled a human pincushion, and the sight of severed heads impaled upon teeth and claws looked down on them, the fear forever etched onto the faces of the dead.

"They all…" Harry looked ready to pass out.

Guts grinded his teeth and snarled. "Damn you all!" And they both spotted it. Near the base of the towering fist, a group of apostles were gathered. Suspended above them, completely naked, was Casca. Tendrils bound her arms and worked on moving her legs apart, lowering her closer and closer to a long, sharp point of an apostles horn. And they both snapped.

"RRAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHHH!" Guts yelled conveyed all of his frustration, his desperation, and an almighty unyielding rage, his blinding fury taking complete control over all of his senses. He cared not what happened to him, all that mattered was reaching her, reaching Casca.

He brandished Gaston's sword that would make even Zodd proud, as he hacked and slashed, cutting his way through any and all apostles that dared stand in his way. He was completely covered in blood by this point, but he kept pushing through. Miraculously, Harry seemed to find a renewed vigor as well for he was right on Guts' heels the entire time. His elf sword seemed to glow a bright fiery blue, to symbolize a fire burning inside of him. They were close now.

Guts found himself unable to move. He moved his feet, but something had got a hold of him. His left forearm was caught between the mighty jaws of an apostle. Harry noticed this and made a move to come and help him. "Guts-,"

"Get her!" Guts yelled at him, he began to stab his sword repeatedly against the strong steel-like jaws of the monster holding him in place. As long as he could get Casca, that was all that mattered.

Harry quickly picked up his pace, he was just a few feet away. He swung that sword of his, and a light seemed to ripple off the blade, striking the demon that suspended Casca. Getting ready to simply cut the creature down, Harry was stopped short when a winged apostle swooped down and tackled him. It's dagger-like talons sinking into the boy's leg, pinning him down.

Whatever the apostles were going to do next, they stopped short of. It was like a resonating beat could be heard that drew all attention to the giant clenched fist, which now had rivers of blood running up its length to resemble veins. Slowly, the fingers began to open to reveal a dark form crouched in the palm of the hand.

The demons instantly bowed their heads and began to chant as one. "Our prince. Our fifth blessed prince. Void, Slan, Ubik, Conrad, and now, the Wings of Darkness. Femto." Bat-like wings were spread, and it flew down from the palm, straight down to where the three of them were trapped. The wings made no noise as they beat against the air, silent as the dead of night.

Talon feet landed just in front of Guts and Harry and the new figure raised its head. It looked just as Griffith's hawk helm had, but now totally black along with the rest of its body. The leathery wings folded themselves to now act as a cape, but their attention was what lat behind that helmed head. Through the mouth and eyeholes, the pale flesh was visible, even paled than Griffith's had been. But where there should have been striking blue eyes-there was malicious looking red ones with slits for pupils.

Femto regarded the both of them for a moment and he moved his arm out to the side, an unspoken command for the apostle holding Casca to lower her right there. When she was within his reach, he cupped her chin. Then, his hand began to roam her body, trailing up her thigh to squeeze at her breast. His red eyes were focused solely on Guts.

Casca's eyes began to flutter open. "…Gri-ffith?" She got a look at the one touching her, and she seemed to know that this was not the Griffith she had known. His hand moved down, straight to between her legs. "…no."

Harry found the strength to swing his sword at what was transpiring before their eyes, and a jet of light seemed to spring from his blade like instinct. It was on a straight path for Femto, but all the demon prince had to do was turn his head and the light seemed to fizzle out and die. "Stop it!" Harry yelled at him. "Stop it!"

Guts continued to jab the sword against the jaws of the demon holding him in place until it broke, leaving only a bit of rough, jagged metal as his only means of escape. Casca continued to writhe before him, and Guts knew what he had to do. Taking the bit of the jagged sword, Guts stabbed it down onto his own arm, just below the elbow.

The Godhand watched from above. Slan seemed amused by Guts' efforts. Again and again, Guts stabbed into his own flesh, cutting through his skin, muscle, and bone. Intense pain like never before overloaded his senses, but he kept telling himself to block it out. Just block all of the pain out. His body tore away from the ruined remains of his left forearm.

Guts' face contorted, resembling a snarling, rabid dog with a thirst for blood. "GRIFFFFFIITTHHHH!" Guts roared as he rushed the new Godhand with a bleeding stump and a broken, jagged sword.

He didn't get far. Two winged harpies, similar to the one pinning Harry, swooped down and tackled him. A clawed hand grabbed a hold of his head, forcing it into a position where it could witness this event. Casca began to cry. "Don't look!" She pleaded.

Harry continued to struggle as well, the light flying from his sword was becoming less and less. "Stop… you were… our… friend. Stop…"

Guts cried as well, his tears a mixture of the feeling of helplessness, and pure unadulterated hatred for this man that he had once held in such high regard. How could he ever have wanted to be compared to a man-no, a monster like that? He began to see red in his right field of vision and realized that the demon's claw had pierced his eye.

"GHAAAHHHHHHH!" Guts let out one more yell, and the strength began to leave him. Casca's eyes were rolling to the back of her head, and she fell to the face covered ground, just out of his reach.

The apostles laughed at the sight of it all. "Hehekuheku!" And then they stopped. All eyes were now on the blackened sun above them. It was beginning to crack.

From it burst the Skull Knight. His horse jumped from the shattering eclipse and made a beeline straight for Void. Skull Knight stabbed at the Godhand, but a portal materialized in front of Void, and another behind Skull Knight, where his sword point exited. He blocked his own strike with his shield and fixed Void's sewed eyes with his glowing sockets.

Skull Knight made no other move to attack that Godhand member, but his glare conveyed the entire message that needed to be sent. He turned his attention below where the newly born Femto was.

As soon as his horse touched the ground, Femto clenched his fingers and a multitude of demons collided where he had landed. They began to congregate into a single formation, but he cut them all down, his sword practically a blur the way it moved.

Hurriedly, he cut the apostles holding Guts and Harry and picked them up on his horse, along with Casca. The eyes of Femto were on them, and his horse carried them back up, up to the shattered eclipse, and back to the land of the living. The Age of Darkness was about to begin.

Rickert watched as the whirlwind began to die down. Soon it would be gone completely. Zodd stood by, picking up his severed arm and reattaching it with ease. He was a true monster, but to think that the Skull Knight had been able to wound him like that-what did that say about his skills?

Speaking of which, emerging from the whirlwind, was the Skull Knight. Three other bodies were thrown across his saddle, and he handed them down to Rickert. "Their wounds are in need of attending. Hurry!"

Rickert nodded his head. "Y-yes sir!" Zodd approached them.

He snarled down at them. "Don't think that battle settled anything."

"Of course not," Skull Knight replied, "Immortal One. But perhaps consider delaying our next battle."

Zodd, surprisingly nodded. He caught sight of the three that had been rescued. "They survived? And that boy with the scar, I thought him already claimed."

"Perhaps this is a sign that that proves causality wrong then," Skull Knight retorted. And Zodd laughed.

"You should leave. Once this gate vanishes, they'll all be pouring out."

Skull Knight picked up Rickert and the three unconscious bodies and rode off. Zodd's eyes never left their retreating forms. "They survived. How interesting. Now show me; show me how you will all struggle. You are the branded."

The whirlwind had finally vanished, and Charlotte insisted that they ride for where it touched down. Anna, still as hesitant as ever, reluctantly agreed. The danger was past, but a growing sense of unease lingered within both of their senses.

"We're almost there!" Charlotte shouted to Anna, who was lagging behind a bit. "It's just over this hill!" the sight that greeted them was not a pleasant one. It was instead one that would haunt both girls dreams for years to come. It was a lake, a lake of blood.

Charlotte fell from her horse, and Anna loudly retched from the sight of it. The Band of the Hawk, how could this have happened? The result of this was by no twister, something had torn them apart, ripped and clawed to eviscerate them. But what? What had become of that boy Harry, of the sole woman Casca, of the swordsman Guts, of Griffith?

Horses were approaching. "Your Highness!" Anna yelled as the riders came over the hill. They held the banner of a chain design, the banner of the Holy Iron Chain Knights, and their leader looked to be a young teenage girl with golden blonde hair and sapphire eyes. They noticed her and Anna.

"Vice commander Azan, please help the princess back up onto her horse." The girl ordered a squat man with a rather unique facial hair. Charlotte made no protest, her attention, much like the new girl's was focused on the lake of blood.

A young blonde man approached the leader of these knights. "A lake of blood, just as the scriptures from the Holy See predicted."

"We'll inform them of this no doubt," she replied. "For now, we'll see the princess back to safety at Windham. Her father has been most worried."

It was as if the world had come crashing down around her. It was all over. The Band of the Hawk, her freedom, everything.

There was light. It was faint, and he could only see out of his left eye. He opened it with a jolt, sitting upright in the cot that had been constructed for him. He faintly recognized this place, he was in a mine of sorts. "Guts!" A child's voice called his name. He turned his head to see Rickert and Erica, the daughter of Godo the smith. They each held a bucket of water.

He was in Godo's mine.

Rickert heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness you're awake. It's been five days and we didn't know if you-," Guts gripped him by the shoulder.

"Casca. Where is Casca?"

Rickert's face fell. "Harry's watching her."

"He made it too?"

"Yeah, his leg is…you should lie down. Let us tend to you." Guts ignored the advice and headed to the sound of an underground waterfall. Harry was sitting in a chair, his leg in a cast as he looked out at the woman who was letting the water fall over her. She was wearing a shirt, but she would catch a cold if she stayed in there any longer.

"Harry?" Guts asked.

"I'm fine." He didn't sound fine. "You shouldn't go in after her."

"What are you talking about?" Guts asked as he waded his way through the shallow pool towards Casca. She had made it. She was safe. He reached out a hand to touch her. "Casca…"

She saw him, and she recoiled from his touch and retreated further into the pool. "Casca…what're you-?" He reached out again, and she nearly bit his thumb off. There was a feral look in her eyes, one that only a frightened animal could possess.

Casca began eliciting noises that sound like things a baby would make. "Ghaa! Nghh!" Guts stared at her in shock. Erica hopped in and got close to Casca, who seemed to calm in the young girls presence.

"Shame on you, Guts!" Erica lightly scolded. "Scaring poor Casca like that wasn't nice."

"She doesn't remember, Guts," Rickert joined them. "Everything that happened, you, me, Harry; she just doesn't remember. She's been acting like that since she woke up three days ago."

"No." Guts shook his head. "That's wrong." A look at Casca smiling as she splashed around with Erica only drove that nail further into him. "It can't be."

"Bwhaa! Bwhaaa!" Casca laughed like a baby when Erica let her out of the pool to dry her hair off.

He left. He walked up the path to the outside world, threw the door opened and began to sprint. It was over. It was all over. They were all dead, all of them. The only one's remaining were himself, Harry and Rickert, and Casca.

Casca.

Their faces all seemed to flash before his eye. Judeau, smiling that knowing smile off his. Pippin standing tall and strong. Even Corkus, with a sneer plastered on his face.

The farther and farther he ran, the more pain he felt, the more the anger built up inside of him, the more longing festered. He ran and ran; he would run until he could run no more. It had taken him so long, but he finally realized what his dream had been.

Back inside the cave, Harry watched as Casca got finished being dried by Erica. With his leg the way it was now, he could not move on his own without the use of a cane or walking stick. It was the price he had paid for trying to save her, and he would gladly cut his leg off it meant being able to go back in time to stop it all from happening.

Even with his magic acting up like it did back in the Eclipse, it still had not been enough. He had been useless, to Guts, to Casca, to everyone. Erica led Casca over to where he sat. "Do you want to entertain Casca?" She asked. "She's calmed down enough now."

Harry nodded, and the young girl left the two of them alone. "Casca?" Harry asked. She was too busy gnawing on her towel. He snatched it away from her, and she pouted, just like a child. "You really don't remember, so you?" She made no response. He hung his head in disappointment.

And he felt a hand be placed on top of his head, slowly rubbing circles in his hair in a calming sort of gesture. It reminded him of something the old Casca would do. He lifted his head to see her staring at his face, almost like she recognized him. "Casca?"

She smiled, and flicked him on his nose and then began to laugh like a child. "Huhuhuha!"

Harry hung his head once more and felt the tears mark their path down his face. It was all because of him. He had done this to her. A good person can do a bad thing, and still be a good person. As long as they acknowledge what they've done is wrong, and it wasn't easy for them to do, then they're still a good person.

Those words, Judeau had said that to him when they had first met, right after he had killed his first man. Had it been easy for Griffith to sacrifice them like he had done? Maybe not, the Hawks had helped him along the way for so long; it couldn't have been an easy decision to make. But he had made it all the same. And Harry hated him for it.

The moon was full, Guts lay on his back, staring up at it as it cast its light down on him. Even through the rain, the moonlight was bright. "You have run a long way." He recognized that voice. He sat up to see the Skull Knight looking down from his horse at him. He tossed a sword at Guts' feet, Harry's sword. "Tell your friend not to drop that. But for now, you'll need it."

Before Guts could ask what he meant, a prickling in his neck occurred. He brought a finger up to where he had been branded to discover that it was bleeding. From the ground the fallen rain began to take shapes of ghosts, almost transparent because they were made of water, but their glowing eyes let him know that they held malicious intent.

"You have been branded, an offering to the damned. Your body exists in this physical plain, and the astral world. Your brand acts like a beacon for lost souls. They will try and possess you, kill you and take your body. Will you fight them?"

Guts snarled. "Shut the fuck up, you bonehead!" He used Harry's sword to strike a spirit. It cut through like butter. "If I get hit, I will hit back!" He slashed at more and more spirits. "That is my declaration of war!" A spirit burst from his strike. "This is my new dream!"

He readied himself for another one to charge at him, but the spirits froze, their attention was directed somewhere else, and they took off flying through the night. "They sense others with the same brand."

Guts' blood ran cold. "Harry…Casca… Take me back! I've got to go back!"

Skull Knight looked down at him, and with little effort pulled him up onto the saddle. "This is the second time I've carried you, Struggler." They rode off through the night.

A/N: That's the end of this chapter. It seemed fitting to upload this on Halloween, and I know that this sticks mainly to the manga material, but next chapter will start to differ. And if anyone was curious, I did use the name Femto after the birth instead of Griffith, becasue I believe them to be two different characters. Femto just being the incarnation of all the negative emotions of Griffith. Thank you for reading.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

The Skull Knight's steed rode much faster than any horse alive. Its skeletal, but strong legs easily carried both of its occupants with no sign of strain. Guts knew that he had ran a great distance, it had been hours of running, but the horse seemed to leap entire miles as it traversed the terrain he had previously. Before Guts knew it, they were whizzing by Godo's hut and nearing a cliff.

"They are here," Skull Knight informed as he reined his horse to a stop. Guts wasted no time jumping off and running to where the spirits circled two figures, each had a thin trail of blood running from where the Godhand's brand had struck them.

With Guts in possession of Harry's sword, the boy had armed himself with a standard sword that must have been lying around Godo's workshop. He was trying to keep the circling spirits from reaching Casca, but with his leg still in a cast, his movement was severely limited, making his strikes fall short of their targets. But, any that happened to get close to Casca seemed to sense something about her, something that kept them from trying to fully possess her body.

Guts wasted little time in rushing over to them, cutting a few spirits as he went. "Casca!" he yelled as she suddenly fell to her knees, clutching her stomach. The spirits backed off and took to circling the three of them like watery buzzards looking to swoop down any moment to deliver the kill.

"What's wrong with her?" Harry asked, finally able to stop trying to ward off the spirits. "She wasn't like this a few moments ago. She had wandered out of the cave, so I followed." Even with the state his leg was in, he had followed.

"She should not have left that cave." Skull Knight spoke with conviction. "She would have been much safer if she had."

"Meaning?" Guts demanded. Casca had gone through enough, if there was something he could do for her, anything, he would.

Skull Knight pointed a bony finger at the brand of Guts' neck. Those brands, they act as beacons. I have told you as much, as long as you have them, as long as the being who administered the brand exists, you will never know rest, and you will never know peace. Every day when the sun sets, they will come, never to relent. That cave owned by that blacksmith, it was once inhabited by elves. Their presence still lingers, masking the beacon of the brand. It is among one of the few safe havens for you three."

"Then we have to get her back," Guts was determined. "Harry, grab her arm, and let's move her."

"That would be unwise," Skull Knight advised. "Wait until it is over."

"Until what's over?" they both asked. The answer was provided by the sight of blood beginning to drip from between Casca's legs, a look of sheer discomfort on her face. She grabbed at and tore out a few strands of grass, and she began to scream.

"Aaaaghhhhahhhahh!" something fell on the ground from between her legs. It was small and looked to be a mass of circular lumps all melded together. It lacked any real limbs, but there was a bulbous head with a lipless mouth and a single bulging eye. There was no mistaking that it looked to be some sort of underdeveloped fetus.

Harry took a step back, revolted by the sight of what he had just witnessed. Guts stared on in shock at the fetus as its one bulging eye looked him dead in his now single one as well. He turned to the Skull Knight, demanding an answer. "What the hell is this?"

"She was with child during the Eclipse. Her encounter with the Godhand's newest member corrupted it. What you see before you is a hybrid of human and demon." Skull Knight sounded almost empathetic.

"She was with child," Guts repeated. The memory of the night they had shared together came floating back to him, they had consummated the night before they sent out to rescue Griffith. Casca had been carrying his child. Had she known? He didn't know how long it took for women to figure out they were pregnant, and she hadn't said anything to him about it. Maybe she had been waiting to tell him once all the excitement had died down. Guts might never know that answer.

But huddled in the grass right now was all that was left of their child. A grotesque blob that resembled no baby, not a human one at least. "Oouu. Ouhhh."

"What's it doing?" Harry asked, not taking his eyes off of the "child."

"All newborns yearn for their parents," informed Skull Knight. "Even those of demonic nature."

Casca looked down at what she had just birthed, and she smiled. She made a move to pick it up, but Guts was faster. With his one remaining hand, he held it up to his face, examining it. Up close it was even more horrendous to look at. It was soft and slimy at his touch, and the fact that its "skin" looked to be made of blood did nothing to sooth its appearance. Was this really his and Casca's child? It looked nothing like either of them. But the eye; the eye was the same shade of brawn as his-no!

"If you value your life, you will kill it," Skull Knight looked down at him. "It will bring you nothing but misfortune if you do not."

Almost subconsciously, his fingers began to clench around the small form. It would be so easy to just kill it right now. The thing began to squirm and fidget in his grasp. All he had to do was squeeze just a little tighter…

Casca screamed and she bit Guts' thumb. She kept sinking her teeth into his flesh until he finally let go, relinquishing his hold of the thing over to her. She held it not as a monster in the making, but as any mother would hold a child. Cooing like a mother bird to her chick, Casca moved the thing to where the brand had struck her on her collarbone almost to let the thing drink her blood that was trailing from it like milk.

"Guts…I can-I can do it. If you want?" Harry offered. His face was nearly as green as his eyes, but he didn't look like he was comfortable with Guts having to face the prospect of killing what was the closest thing to his and Casca's child. "Just hold her back and I'll…" he left the rest be unspoken.

Guts made no move to subdue Casca, who seemed very content to just hold the thing in her arms like a loving mother. Time passed, and Guts just stared at her. He hated what she held in her arms, but he would not deprive her of the love she was feeling. That unconditional love for the thing-their child was about one of the only things that would remain of the woman she once was. It would be the only one he would leave alive

The sun broke through the cloud layer, and the spirits who had been circling them like hungry vultures suddenly began to disappear, like they had never existed. The same held true for the thing Casca kept a protective holdover. It began to grow transparent as the sun's rays began to shine, and the thing faded from their eyes. Casca, not understanding where the thing had gone, began to wail, crying for it to return to her.

"That was unwise," Skull Knight told him. "That child will be your undoing."

"So you say," Guts said dismissively. "But I don't plan on dying. Not until I kill him." He could be put through the worst kind s of torture, but he would not falter. His declaration of war had been made.

The Skull Knight had vanished as mysteriously as he had shown up after the spirits had faded in the rising sun. Casca, as much as it pained Harry to see, had been constricted to staying in Godo's cave under lock and key. With her mind the way it was now, it would be unsafe if she wandered out after the sun had set. It would be her haven; and her prison.

A few more days had passed since that fateful day, and Godo had done what he could to assist the surviving members of the Hawks. "Take that cast off, lad," Godo ordered Harry once he had led the residents of his home, sans Casca to his storage shed. Doing as he was told, Harry took the wrapping off his mangled right leg. Godo pulled up a chair and stool for him. Lifting his leg into position, Godo came over carrying a brave of some kind.

The blacksmith rolled up Harry's pant leg, strapping the brace into place. "Try moving it." He did, and it elicited a slight creak. "Needs some oil on it." Godo scratched at his scraggly white beard. "But it'll keep you standing; along with this." Godo handed him a walking stick of sorts, the wood was a fresh polish and felt heavier than it looked. "Pull the top up."

It was like a sword unsheathed, Harry now held a two-foot blade, the rest of the walking stick served to conceal the weapon. That wasn't the end of it though; Harry was presented with his sword once more, looking better than it had before. "Thank you."

"Thank your friend," Godo pointed a thumb over to Rickert. "He helped me design the both of 'em."

Rickert looked a bit sheepish. "I didn't imagine you'd let the injury stop you. Guts either."

"Yeah, show him what you have, papa!" Erica eagerly bounded over to a tarp-covered table. Godo patted her head and threw the tarp off. Underneath was an assortment of gear.

"I took your measurements when you were asleep, took some time to make adjustments of a prosthetic arm." Godo strapped the metal arm to the base of his elbow where Guts had severed his in an attempt to save Casca. It ended where his real arm would have. "The palm of that hand is made with a metal that sticks to others so you can grip a sword. I know you fancy a two-handed one." He pulled the wrist of down to show that the arm had a built-in secret barrel and stuffed a fist-sized metal ball inside, closing the wrist back in place. The insides filled with flammable powder, pull the string on the top and brace yourself."

"You've been busy," Guts admired his new arm.

"That isn't all," Rickert and Erica carried over a crossbow and bolts. "This crossbow can be mounted onto your arm, crack its lever and it'll fire as fast as you can turn it."

"This'll come in handy," Guts remarked. "What about a sword?"

Godo spread his arms, gesturing to all the swords lining the walls. "You should know by now." But Guts' attention was drawn to a large shape also covered by a tarp leaning against a wall.

"That one?"

Godo scoffed. "Didn't I tell you the story the day you brought the boy for his sword? That sword is meaningless if you can even call it a sword. No one can even lift it."

Guts went up to it anyway and cast the tarp covering aside. Godo was right about one thing; it was far too big to be called a sword. Too big, too thick, too heavy and too rough. It was more like a large slab of iron.

Erica trotted up to where Guts stood to admire the weapon. "That's Dragonslayer."

"That's a waste of my time, is what it is," Godo scoffed. "You might be strong, but even you can't-," Guts had grabbed the hilt of Dragonslayer, and with a grunt and a heave, lifted the massive blade.

Harry wasn't too surprised. With knowing how Guts had trained, he was always looking for bigger, heavier blades to work with. While some of his previous swords had broken in the past, this one looked like it would last for all eternity. From the way Guts was eyeing the blade, he was thinking something along those lines as well.

"It's perfect for what I need, Godo. What do you want for it?"

Godo still looked a bit perplexed that anyone had been able to lift it. "He's really doing it, papa!" Erica was happy to witness the wielding of the sword.

"That he is, Erica," Godo regained his gruff composure. "Take it with you. Put it to use; you're probably the only one who can. Rickert staying to help me in the forge is more than I could ask in my old age."

Rickert looked to Guts confused. "Wait, you're leaving?"

Guts set Dragonslayer down. "Yeah, Rickert. I'm leaving. There are things that I need to take care of."

The boy looked like he wanted to say something, but just settled with, "You'll be back, right?"

"One day." Was Guts' only response.

"So will I," Harry said. Rickert appeared more shocked by this than Guts'.

"You too?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

Everything Rickert was going to say to Guts, he said instead to Harry. "But what about Casca? What about all of us? We're the last of the Hawks, doesn't it make sense to stay together?"

"Casca has you and Erica," Harry pointed out. She seemed to have taken a liking to Erica, the two had been playing a child's game the other day which Casca had enjoyed. "And I'll be back one day too." Once he learned to control the magic of course.

Rickert didn't seem too convinced. "Guts was prepared to walk out on us once before; you brought him back. I would never have thought that you'd end up leaving too." Harry knew that he meant well, but he had not been there. He had not seen the people he had called friends be torn apart by those savage monstrosities. Neither Harry or Guts told Rickert what had happened during the Eclipse, just that they were the only ones who were left. It had little to do with them believing Rickert couldn't handle it, but more to do with the fact that he had been absent. He would remember the fallen as they had been, preserving their memories in the best way that he could.

"Let it be, Rickert," Godo lightly scolded. "Do you not see the passion in their eyes? I see it. I've seen it. Men always get that look in their eyes when they believe in something greater than themselves. Every time I've seen it, I see that light in the sparks of my forge. They burn as hot as any fire and can only be cooled over time." The way Godo spoke, it sounded almost like guts when he had wanted to leave the Hawks. Was Godo perhaps encouraging them to chase after their goals because he could only see the future that presented itself in the form of his forge? it was a weird thought to think about, and it made Harry see the aged blacksmith in a new light. Even with no grand dream, Godo still managed to live a content life.

Harry looked his friend in the eye. "I'll come back. I promise."

Erica rushed over to him, extending her pinkie finger to him. "Promise?"

He felt a small work its way onto his face and he took her pinkie with his own. "Promise."

The next day Harry said his farewell to Casca in Godo's cave. She had just finished playing a game of peek-a-boo with Erica, laughing and clapping all the while. "We're leaving today. I know that you probably don't understand what I'm saying, but we'll both be back one day. Guts is going to hunt them down, the ones who did this to you, who killed our friends. And me-I'm going to go look for that witch. I'll find a way to help you, I won't stop until I do."

Casca, of course, didn't seem to understand a word of what he just said. She was content to just sit there and ruffle her hair. Harry looked over to where Guts stood, leaning against the door to exit the cave. He hadn't come to say a goodbye, but the look in his eye seemed to convey all the words that he would never speak.

The three residents of the small homestead saw them off as the two set off that day. "Take care!" Erica shouted after them.

"We'll be waiting for you!" Rickert yelled out. "We'll keep Casca safe!"

Godo was little more than a whisper. "Try not to get yourselves killed out there. The world's changing."

They walked in silence for a while, neither saying a word. Before they had left, they had equipped some new clothing for their travels. Harry had settled for a grey cloak, green tunic, and dark breeches. Guts outfit consisted of all black. Black cloak, black armor, black breeches, and boots. His fight lied in the shadows; he would blend in much better this way. Harry did not know if the witch he sought would look anything like how he would perceive them to look, so he wanted to keep a neutral appearance.

"Do you really think you'll find them?" the silence was broken by Guts.

"Maybe," Harry was unsure himself, but he owed it to Casca to try. "They're just rumors, but it's all I have to go on."

He nodded.

"And you?" Harry asked. "How do you plan on finding them?"

"By tracking down their servants. If I find those apostles, they'll tell me how I can find them. How I can find him."

They walked the rest of the path in silence. Stopping only once they reached a fork in the road. Between the forks was a wooden post pointing the directions of each path. To the right would take the road back towards Windham, the left to a local village. Harry looked to the right, and Guts to the left.

"Well, I guess this is where we part ways," Harry said feeling a bit uncomfortable at the prospect of departing for an unknown amount of time, but it had to be done.

"It is," Guts affirmed.

Without thinking about it, Harry extended his hand to Guts. "Good luck on your journey then."

It took a moment, but Guts, at last, reached out and took Harry's hand in his larger one. "You too."

And they both departed down their own path. The young warlock going one way, and the Black Swordsman the other. But even as they walked different paths, the sun still set bringing with it the spirits of the damned who clamored for both of their lives as the brands on their necks bled, acting like the beacons they were. Miles separated the pair of them, but that night was filled with the sounds of steel clashing; a sleepless night for the both of them. It was to be the first of many for the aspiring warlock, and the Black Swordsman both.

A/N: That's it for this chapter. Both Harry and Guts go their separate ways to fulfill their own desires. Thank you for reading.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

He was being followed, that much was certain. The sounds of an extra pair of boots squashing their way through the muddy path were discernible enough, even with the falling rain. This had been going on for about the last five minutes or so. If it was a fight that they were looking for he wasn't going to object. Last night had been a fight for survival against possessed corpses, this would be no different. It was just another enemy to defeat.

He stopped walking, and the one following stopped as well. With his hood covering his head, he craned his neck just enough to get a look at the one who had been tailing him. It was a squat man; bald and wearing only a pair of breeches that were unbefitting of the current weather. The man didn't seem to mind however as he had an ever-present grin on his face.

The man pointed a knobby finger at him. "Put your hood down. I want to see it with my own eyes."

Reaching up, he humored the request and rain now pattered on his black hair. The brand on the side of his neck was trailing a thin line of blood as if it had reacted to this man's presence being near. "Any other requests, stranger?"

The man shook his head. "Only to express regret." His eyes began to shine with a yellowish light and his voice seemed to be getting lower with every spoken syllable. "Regret of having missed the Great Eclipse!"

His appearance began to change. Where once there stood a short man, there was now a hulking behemoth that stood over seven feet in height. The man's grinning face was still present but was now at the top of his head. Sprouting where his face had been was a second pair of jaws with a pair of boar-like tusks, and the lips pulled into a maniacal grin even more unsettling than he had on before. An apostle.

"Ah. This is so much better. My legs are so stumpy in my human form." He now pointed at him with a large meaty finger. "It seems fate is on my side. For me to stumble across someone bearing a brand… my angels are truly smiling down at me!"

"I take it you're planning on eating me?" his voice betrayed no hint of emotion.

"That's the idea. Human flesh is scrumptious after all." The apostle tore up the muddy earth on a beeline straight for where he stood. He didn't move; this was exactly what he wanted. The sight of one of those freaks so soon after the Eclipse, it added fuel to the fire that had been burning in him ever since that fateful day, and that anger pushed him forward as well.

As the two combatants neared one another, the apostle clawed his hands, ready to grab hold of him. But the larger blade in Guts' grasp gave him the advantage. Dragonslayer. The sword had performed exceptionally well last night as it tore through multiple corpses at once. The sheer size, length, and width of the blade were unlike any other of its make. Godo could call it a waste all he wanted, but this sword was made to kill dragons. But there were no dragons in Midland, so demonic apostles would make for a good substitute.

Guts let out a roar to rival the sound of thunder brewing above, his face contorted into a fierce snarl, and his one remaining eye shown with the ferocity of a mad animal. He burrowed Dragonslayer into the shoulder of the apostle, whose arms and hands were unable to reach Guts with his sword keeping it at bay. "Ahhhooooo!" the apostle howled in pain caused by Dragonslayer.

Pulling the blade free, Guts quickly changed his stance and brought Dragonslayer down to sever one of the apostle's arms. Thick, hot, dark red blood spurted out to turn the small puddles of rainwater into something much fouler. "You bastard! Do you know how long that will take to heal?!"

"No." Guts said, uncaringly. "But I know how long it'll take to kill you. Want me to count?"

Dragonslayer was a blur as it cut through the air and the apostle's stomach. A twisted mass of pink intestines fell clumped together with the mud. "One. Two." A horizontal swing saw a leg being lopped off just above the knee. "Three." He jammed Dragonslayer back into the already wounded shoulder, pinning the apostle to the ground. "Four. Five."

The twisted smile the apostle had once worn was now gone, replaced by an expression that he clearly had forgotten about for some time; fear. "Don't-!" Whatever pleas the apostle had been going to utter, had been completely cut off by the massive blade that was Dragonslayer being driven straight through his mouth, splitting his head in half. The apostle lay there, dead. The first of many that would fall victim to the Black Swordsman.

Guts pulled Dragonslayer free and put the blade back on his back. "Six."

The rain had finally relented after a night of heavy downpour. The tree branches still dripped with water down on the corpse-laden ground. It had been a night of exhaustion for Harry once the sun had set. It began with the brand on the left side of his neck prickled and bled. Not long after, several possessed corpses had risen to antagonize him. There must have been a battle site or grave pile nearby for the spirits to have reanimated them from. Whatever the case, he wasn't about to stay in the same place for much longer.

The sky above seemed to mirror what he was feeling, an overall gloomy and cloudy day with a bit of a chill in the fresh morning air. Even the woods in which he found himself seemed less open and inviting than they had been when he and Guts parted ways. In about an hour's time, he would be clear of these woods and back on the path heading towards Windham. His destination lied north of the capital, near a mountainous path.

The metal brace was hidden by his pant leg creaking a bit as he slowly picked himself up. After defeating the reanimated corpses, Harry had tried to get as much sleep as he could, which wasn't a lot, three or four hours at most. It was hard to sleep, for whenever he closed his eyes he just saw giant, benevolent faces sneering down at him; a pool of blood scattered with eviscerated bodies, all under a black sun.

His stomach rumbled, his body tired from last night's fight. Passing by a nearby bush, he picked himself a handful of blueberries to break his fast. It wasn't much, but it would hold him over until he came to the nearest town or village. He could try to get some proper food there before moving on before night fell once more. But until that happened, he continued to pick berries from nearby bushes.

But as he picked from the last bush, little alarms seemed to go off inside of his head. He ducked down, just low enough to see beyond the bush. The smoldering remains of a campfire were stomped out by a slim individual. Through the shrubbery, Harry could discern that the man wore very light clothes that would befit someone who lived in a very hot environment, completely different from the weather in Midland today. Two more pairs of feet became visible to him; these ones were much bulkier.

They took a knee before the slim one. "Master Silat, the search for Rakshas was a failure."

Silat? It hit him. That was the name of the Kushan who had raided their camp before they set out to rescue Griffith. What was he still doing in Midland? Why hadn't he gone back home to the east?

Although Harry couldn't see Silat's face, he could tell by the tone of voice he was less than pleased. "Of course. He's a slippery one, always has been. Emperor Ganiska would have recognized us greatly if we had presented him with Rakshas' head on a platter. Tell me, what of our pursuit of the rest of the Band of Hawk?" Harry tensed.

"We've heard reports, master. They say that Princess Charlotte was abducted by a few of their members and then later found by a lake of blood. By all accounts, they seem to have been wiped out."

Not all of us.

Silat's tone did not seem convinced. "Perhaps; but I doubt it. I had the liberty of exchanging blows with some of them during our brief encounter. They were strong, that one swordsman was strong."

"Master Silat, forgive me, but you often boast of your prowess in battle. Comparing yourself to them is hardly a fitting-," Harry saw Silat's leg move as fast as the wind, coming up and then down on the head of the man who spoke.

"Forgive me," Silat sneered, "but last I checked I was the one in charge of the Bakiraka. And this foolish King of Midland still believes there to be survivors out there. If we were to present that fool with the head of just one of their members, then he might be persuaded o grant us legal doctrine here in this country." They were exiles.

The man who Silat had struck was quick to beg for forgiveness and kiss his masters' feet. "I apologize for my outburst. I will never let it happen again." Silat did not strike him again.

"I know that you won't. There are too few of us left to bicker amongst ourselves."

"Except for Rakshas?"

Silat nodded. "He is the exception. Come. Pack up our gear and continue on along the road." The small pack of Kushans quickly worked to deconstruct their temporary campsite and follow after Silat, and for a minute they passed so close to the bush where Harry observed that he feared that he would be exposed. Thankfully he wasn't, and the Bakiraka continued along their path.

He waited, and waited until the soft footsteps of Silat and his gang became less and less audible before he came out of his hiding spot. He hadn't given Silat much thought after their brief encounter, more so out of everything else that had happened after than anything else. The Kushan mercenary still seemed to carry himself with an aura of superiority, boasting about his skills in battle. Harry had gotten more than adept at swordplay, but if he had been discovered, would he have been a match for the Kushan? He had a hidden blade in his walking stick that could give him the advantage, but that probably wouldn't have been enough.

Wait-what was he doing, thinking about stuff like that? It didn't matter. All that mattered to him right now was getting to his destination. If he got there, he could properly learn magic, and after that-Casca might be able to be saved.

He continued along his way through the forest until it gave way to the open road. The tree line now kept to the side instead of encircling the entire area. If Harry kept to this main road he could reach his destination possibly within a few days. And that was without the supernatural attacks that would undoubtedly happen at night.

Walking, he passed by another sign pointing in Windham's direction. Doing so, Harry couldn't help but think of what became of Princess Charlotte. Odds are that she had been apprehended after the Eclipse and returned back to the castle. He considered making the capital a pit stop to possibly bust her out but then thought better of it. With him being branded, he would have to fight to protect her life as well as his own.

A rolling cloud let loose the last minute rain, and Harry pulled his hood up; his hair was messy enough as it was. But a little rain and bad hair were looking to be the least of his troubles. The road ahead was crowded with knights.

They were in a circular formation, surrounding a few individuals. Keeping his hood up, Harry kept walking to the side of the road; these knights didn't need to be fought. As he walked he was able to see the knights were captained by three men, two of which Harry had encountered before. There was the blonde Sir Owen and the well-trimmed beard of Sir Laban. The third man, however, was a complete unknown. His face was long like a horse or a monkey, with lips too small to cover his large teeth. Instead of armor like many knights wore, he dressed more in tribal furs with a black wolf pelt that covered the top of his head.

Altogether the knights numbered close to thirty. Thirty surrounding three persons who Harry had just observed in the forest. Silat and his two muscle covered henchmen had not gotten far, and they looked none too happy about it. "Is there a problem, Noble Knights of Midland?" Silat asked his voice full of sarcasm.

Sir Laban trotted his horse forward and presented the Kushan with a sealed document. "A warrant for the arrest of any and all Bakiraka clan members."

Silat didn't bother to open it. "And what of our deal with your king to capture all remaining Hawk members?"

"His Majesty was displeased with your first failed attempt. He now has Midland's royal army pursuing that objective." Laban did not sound too enthused by the prospect.

"Then we hunt the same prize," Silat told him. "If you allow me and my subordinates to walk away free we would be most grateful. Our Emperor Ganishka might even extend his regards."

"I don't much care for your insinuations," Laban narrowed. "There doesn't need to be any trouble so long as you comply peacefully."

The man wearing the pelt let loose a chuckle that fully exposed his large animal like teeth. "Where's the fun in that, Laban? The men I brought with me haven't seen a battle in such a long time. Why not slaughter these guys?" Harry saw that the few men that he had compared to the larger formation of knights were eyeing their leader rather nervously.

Laban and Owen turned their attention to their third captain. "And there is a good reason for that, Wyald."

"We've both heard the rumors," Owen said to this Wyald. "What you and your men did to that unfortunate town; to those women."

Wyald seemed to brush their concerns away. "I suspected they were harboring Chuder spies. We were at war, remember?"

"They were still citizens of Midland," Laban's voice was laced with a dangerous undertone. Silat and his two cronies started edging away, but Laban spotted them. "Stay where you are!"

Smirking, Wyald said, "You see? Give them the opportunity and they'll escape causing who knows what sort of danger." The knights looked at him regarding the hypocrisy. "If the king really wants them alive, then he's more senile than I thought."

Laban and Owen unsheathed a bit of steel. "Careful. He is still our king, and your words are sounding treasonous." It was clear they were looking for any excuse to apprehend Wyald as well. Harry quickened his pace past the lot of them. And the brand on his neck began to prickle. Wyald, who had been smirking a second ago, now seemed on high alert; his eyes drifting to Harry's wandering from. Eyes that had slits for pupils.

He hopped down from his horse, brandishing not a sword, but a wooden club. "Hey, you!" Wyald called after him. Harry kept walking. He heard Wyald growl at being blatantly ignored. "Hey! I'm talking to you!"

The scar on his forehead began to prickle in pain as well, and a voice seemed to say, He is one of them. He needs to die. He walked a few more paces.

"Are you deaf and stupid?!" Wyald shouted. "When the leader of the Black Dog Knights talks to you, you stop and listen." Black dog Knights. The name was distantly familiar; he had heard it spoken once in a conversation between two sentries the night he snuck into the Hawk's camp. "Why don't you take off that hood? Let me see where you got branded."

Owen looked at Wyald with disdain. "Wyald, get back on your horse. Let the traveler be-,"

"-Shut up." Wyald snapped. "You and your men want to keep those filthy Kushan alive, fine. But don't you deny me this bit of fun." He finished with a scowl that seemed more animalistic than most animals could make. "Show me it. Show me your brand." His yellow slit eyes seemed to glow like a miniature inferno.

"Enough, Wyald!" Laban commanded. "We have a task before us, and that does not include harassing travelers." The Kushan tried slipping away once more. "Stay where you are!"

"Wyald!" Owen shouted.

"Show me your brand!"

"Men, keep the Kushan from escaping. Wyald! Get back on your horse!"

"Show me the brand!" His teeth were becoming longer, sharper. "I missed the Eclipse, too caught up in my own little fun."

"Wyald!"

"Wahhhhhhaahhhaahhh!"

Before all of their eyes, Wyald had begun to change. His torso was cut off midway, and now a part of a giant apish body. Snowy white fur covered his revealed apostle form, and a giant mouth was present on his apostle form's chest and an eye was situated just above that. On his shoulders, there was an eye each as well. Harry drew his sword, Sirs Laban and Owen nearly fell off their horses like some of their men had as well. Silat and his Kushan looked ready to bolt but were too paralyzed by fear to move. The few men that Wyald had brought with him seemed extremely apprehensive about this like they knew all along he was capable of becoming this.

Now fully transformed, Wyald flexed some of his giant, meaty fingers to get a feel for them. "S'been such a long time since I transformed, feels weird. But who cares? This is bound to be fun."

With little warning, Wyald slammed one of his massive ape fists down onto the ground where Harry had been, who had barely managed to roll out of the way in time. Wyald reached to grab him instead, but Harry was more prepared this time around and landed a cut across the apostles' palm. Thick, dark droplets of blood fell from the cut and instead of sneering or cursing; Wyald brought his hand up to the mouth on his torso to lick at his wound. He smiled on both his human face located where the head would have been and in the torso mouth.

Turning to address his own men, Wyald gave them a command. "You boys do what you want with those knights. I have my own little bit of fun right here. Anyone asks any questions-blame it on the Kushan." With that, the Black Dog Knights charged both Owen and Laban's group of knights; their fear of their leader greater than that of dying in battle.

With the knights otherwise preoccupied, Wyald turned his attention once again to Harry. The apostle brought both his meaty hands together in a clap motion, which would have flattened him like a pancake had he not let his legs fall and roll under the attack. With his position now lower to the ground, Harry managed to stab Wyald in his kneecap. The apostle smiled at him before kicking him back.

It was like being hit by a truck. Harry felt himself bite his own tongue as he was sent rolling back, he dropped his sword but managed to hold onto his walking stick; mud covering his cloak and clothes and by the time he stopped, the sky was a swirling mass above him. What he was able to feel was the large hand of Wyald grab him by his leg and hoist him up to level with the mouth on his torso.

"What? Is that it?" He sounded disappointed. "I thought this was going to so much more fun. Oh well. Better to have a little fun, than no fun at all." Harry saw the mouth draw closer and felt the hot, rancid breath emanate from Wyald's gaping maw. He was without his sword, but not without his walking stick. Pulling it in half, Harry unsheathed the hidden blade and jabbed it into the eye above Wyald's maw. "Yeaoooww!"

Wyald dropped him as both his hands moved to cover his danged eye. Harry took the opportunity to pick up his fallen sword, roll between Wyald's legs and cut the tendon of his left leg. His elven sword glowed a deep blue when Wyald's blood touched the blade. "You slippery little sonuva whore!" Before Wyald could turn around to grab at him once more, a metal disk came flying through the air, cutting across one of the eyes on Wyald's shoulders. The disk flew back to Silat, who caught it around his finger. Wyald scowled at him next. "Fucking Kushan!"

A spear was thrown and stuck in the back of Wald's leg. Both Harry and Wyald turned to see that Sir Laban and Sir Owen's knights had completely overwhelmed Wyald's forces, and now set their sights on the apostle. "Kill it!" Sir Laban ordered. More spears were tossed and crossbow's fired.

The assault only seemed to further enrage Wyald. The apostle picked up a knight and tore him completely in half, letting the entrails fall to the ground. He then grabbed two men and used them to beat the ground like a drummer. Their mangled corpses were tossed aside as he stomped another man underfoot, before biting another in two. At the rate he was going, all the knights would be wiped out completely.

"Hey!" Harry yelled at him. "You wanted to fight me, remember?! Come on! I'll show you the most fun you'll ever have!" He took off for the tree line to the side of the road. Fighting something like Wyald in the open would just get everyone killed.

A dark shadow passed over Harry, who almost didn't duck to the side as the projectile came crashing down. The horse that had been thrown let out a dying neigh before going limp. "Come back here!" Wyald yelled as he tossed another horse at Harry, who continued to run to the woods. With his one tendon cut and the other playing host to a spear, Wyald charged forth on his fists like an angry gorilla. Harry worked to pick up his pace, running as fast as the brace on his leg would allow him.

Spotting a nook between some exposed tree roots, Harry nosed dived for it and took shelter. The color of his cloak and the mud covering it from his fall helped him blend it into the surrounding. Why hide? The voice seemed to speak, and his forehead burned. He is wounded. Fight him. Fight him or he will kill all of them back on the road. It will be like before during the Eclipse.

The sound of wood snapping brought Harry back to reality, and he felt a gush of wind and the feeling of wood rake its way across his back, drawing blood. Wyald had arrived brandishing a tree branch fit for an apostle of his size and was swinging it around; he hadn't discovered Harry yet. "Come out, you little bastard. You promised me fun, are you really going to hide?" Wyald began to patrol the area, his back was to Harry.

How does he beat this guy? His apostle from is huge, not as big as Zodd's but still big. Stabbing at his apostle body had done little lasting damage to Wyald, with the exception of his eyes. The one part of his body that hadn't been damaged was-Harry's eyes traveled to the human torso that was in place of where the head would have been on that body. But how to reach it? Wyald swung his branch around some more, yelling profanities as he did. Watching him gave Harry an idea; a stupid idea that only Guts would follow through with.

Silently, Harry removed himself from his hiding spot and began to climb up the nearest tree. He had to be extra cautious because his metal brace creaked with each movement of his leg. When he reached a high enough branch, he shimmied along until he was above Wyald, who was growing increasingly more frustrated below.

"Come out already! This isn't fun, this is just annoying! Maybe I should go back and finish off those knights; at least they'll have the balls to die on their feet."

"Not fun enough?" Harry asked from above. As expected, Wyald looked up to where he was; and Harry let himself fall down. With his sword held in front of him, and gravity working with him, Harry drove the sword point straight through the human torso of Wyald. The apostles' face began to twitch and he coughed up blood straight into Harry's face. But he wasn't dead yet.

Wyald found the strength to buck around like a bull, trying to shake Harry and the sword free. Harry's legs tried to regain their footing on the apostle body, but with Wyald's wild jerking, that became increasingly more difficult and he was forced to hold on with his hands as tight as possible.

"Get off already!" Wyald bellowed, finally grabbing Harry and tossing him off after giving the boy a squeeze that probably broke one of his ribs. Both of them fell to the ground, injured, but still both alive.

Harry was able to get to his feet first, using his walking stick; he limped over to Wyald, who still struggled to rise. The blow Harry dealt with his exposed human half must have done more damage than he anticipated. Wyald tried to push himself back up as Harry climbed onto his back, moving up to get at his human torso once more.

"Wait. Angel…Ubik, save me…help me…" Wyald pleaded for the Godhand to appear. "There's still so much fun I haven't enjoyed."

"I know who you're talking about," Harry said, sword raised above him. "And they won't help you. That's not what they do." He stabbed his sword through the human head of Wyald, and the giant apostle went limp beneath him. Now, he was dead.

"They went through this way!" one of the knights shouted as Sir Laban and Sir Owen followed after. In all the excitement that had transpired, the knights of Midland had been slow to react to Wyald turning into…whatever monster he had become. He and that traveler had run off somewhere into the woods, and they were following the large tracks Wyald had made through the forest.

All of them had their weapons out and ready; they didn't need that thing to massacre them. "Up ahead!" Sir Owen shouted. What they discovered was not the corpse of the traveler, but the body of an old man, naked and with a sword wound through the back of his head. Upon closer look, the old man shared many of the same facial features Wyald had. Was this what Wyald looked like all along? And what of that traveler?

"Search the area!" Laban ordered. "If you find that traveler, bring him back alive for questioning." The knights affirmed his command and spread out in the search. Sir Owen was kneeling by the corpse of the old man. "What do you make of that, Owen?"

"It looks like Wyald, but far older." So, he sees the resemblance too. "The traveler did this?"

"The only one else it could have been was the Kushan, but they escaped during the chaos. Something about what Silat had said about Emperor Ganishka granting them his favor didn't sit right with him. Perhaps an envoy should be sent to Kushan lands to instill better relations. " It was hard to admit, but it very well could have been that traveler. And something about him made Laban feel he had encountered that individual somewhere before, he just couldn't put a finger on it. "When we return to the capital, we'll have to take any remaining Black Dog Knights into custody for questioning."

Owen nodded. "Yes, the men Wyald brought with him today seemed to know he could turn into that…thing. The king should be alerted at once."

"He should, but with his obsession over the Band of the Hawk, it is unlikely anything will be done about it, and this raises some very serious questions."

"Like how he was able to turn into that monster?" Owen supplied.

"Yes, that. But remember back to the war with Chuder. The Band of the Hawk encountered Nosferatu Zodd and claimed he had transformed into some kind of great demon."

Sir Owen's eyes widened. "You mean-?"

"-There might be others in Midland who can do the same."

They called her The Angel, or at least the bartender had. And with her blonde hair and pale skin, she fit the image. She would frequent the tavern on occasion, arriving by herself but always leaving with a man as an escort. She sat alone at a table, drinking not alcohol, but water. Many men clamored over each other to sit next to her or offering to buy her a drink.

One man made little effort to hide his intentions and resorted to making rather lewd comments to her. She had the decency to look abolished by his remarks, and that was when he found his face being slammed down on the table. The one who had done the smashing looked down at him with a fierce glare in his single brown eye.

"Ow! I dink you broke muh nothse!" he said with a few teeth missing. The woman looked up at her apparent rescuer.

"Thank you." She told him, he nodded.

"This place is getting a bit crowded," he observed. "Want to leave?"

She looked at the man writhing in pain on the floor. "Yes."

They left the tavern behind and walked out to the setting sun. "You know, I don't think a simple thank you can convey my gratitude."

"What did you have in mind?" he kept his voice as even as he could.

"Well… my profession. I'm a-,"

"-Whore." She nodded. "Alright, I get what you're implying."

"It wouldn't cost you," she told him. "You did save me back there. Are you staying at the inn?"

"No. I set up camp in the woods outside the town. We can go there. Is that a problem?"

She smiled. "No, no problem."

He started a fire to warm them, and she began to undress. She had been eying Dragonslayer ever since the bar, so he took that and the rest of his gear off and rested them against a tree. It wouldn't do to frighten her and get her worried. She might take off because of it. "Is that a tattoo on your neck?" she observed. "Where did you get it?"

Wouldn't you like to know? "Doesn't matter," he took off the rest of his clothes, and she spread her legs for him. He initially made no move, so she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

Her smile grew wide and then sharp as she began to change shape before Guts' eye. She had a gaping maw of razor-sharp teeth, long clawed arms which lightly pierced his back, and her legs became longer and covered with hard scales like a lizard.

"Ha! Now you're trapped!" she said in victory. Which was why her smile faltered when Guts smiled back at her, equally as cruel and malevolent.

"You're the one who's trapped, bitch!" he moved his prosthetic hand in front of her gaping mouth. Using his teeth, he pulled on a string attached to the replacement arm, the metal hand folded down and then-KABOOOOM!

Firing with such force, the built-in canon tore through her face, leaving it a more disgusting mess than what she had transformed into when becoming an apostle. It was also great enough to almost knock his shoulder out of the socket, had Guts not prepared himself for it.

With the apostle slain, Guts donned his armor and weapon once more, setting off into the night as the demonic spirits would come for him once again. They would fall just as that apostle had done, more victims for the Black Swordsman.

A/N: So the fight with Wyald happened this chapter instead of before the Eclipse, I just wanted to change the circumstances regarding the fight as opposed to just leaving it out. Thank you for reading.


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

The town's name was Koka. A once reputable town, Koka was not known for any grand history of Midland, nor was it a target during the Midland-Chuder War. To many, Koka was just an above average town with hardly any relevance. That was until one got a look at the town itself. Prison carriages full of women and children came and went on a set schedule like the herding of cattle.

Not only that, gangs of thugs seemed to have taken a residence in and around Koka, with the local guards doing nothing to stop the vagabonds and their deeds. Something odd was at play, that much was obvious to all who lived and feared for their lives inside of Koka, and to the Black Swordsman who came upon the town. He had heard rumors of a man who supposedly led these gangs of men, although no one seemed to know what he looked like. Those who did-they kept quiet.

If such a man did exist, nearly every resident of Koka was content to never see or hear from him in their lives. The Black Swordsman was different. He went to the nearest tavern, not for a drink, but to discern any information on this mysterious leader as he could.

The tavern was a lively enough place this time of the day, many patrons sat at tables along the side of the bar area, giving the group of three men a wide berth as they toyed with looked to be a small creature. It was bluish in color and had a set of bug-like wings on its back. A small rope had been tied around its neck to hold it confined as the three men threw daggers at it.

A closer look and it was clear that this was no bug they were tormenting; it was an elf. A pint-sized impish thing with human characteristics and a childish voice when he tried to sound intimidating to his tormentors.

"Quit yer squirming," one of the thugs said to the elf. "How am I suppose to hit you?" he asked in a slur.

"You're not supposed to!" the elf yelled in its high voice.

One bar patron near the door shook his head at the display. "Not even the mayor can stand against the men of Koka Castle."

The Black Swordsman went over to the bartender and fished out a gold coin, flicking it across the counter. "I'm just going to mess your place up a little." He didn't pay the concerned look any mind as he reached to one of the weapons strapped on his back. His fingers snapped the crossbow into place on his metal arm.

"Bring it on, fathead!" the elf yelled at his tormentor. "Why don't you untie me?! I'll show you I'm a master at Elf-Dimension Style!" a large knife was slammed down right in front of the elf, shutting him up.

"Get ready to eat those words of yours you-," a crossbow bolt flew across the bar, sinking into his temple and pinning his head against a wooden beam. He was dead, but for a second or two, his mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for water.

"Bastard!" one of the men growled. "You have any idea who you're dealing with?" some men drew their swords, but they were met with more bolts, killing them just as quickly as the first. Now there was but one.

Guts towered over the thug, like a wolf staring down its prey. The man tried to make a quick run for it out the door to safety, but a precise bolt to the bridge of his nose stopped him in his tracks. The thug instantly fell, clutching at his face at the torment that he was experiencing. A strong hand grabbed the back of his neck and slammed him against the wooden beam where his comrade was pinned through the head.

"So, you're one of the men from Koka Castle." He didn't bother phrasing it as a question. When the thug didn't answer fast enough, Guts slammed the man's face on the nearest table, breaking the nose even worse and knocking out a few teeth as well. "Hurry up and answer." His eye conveyed all the emotion his voice held as well.

The thug finally nodded. "Yes…"

"Good." The remark shocked the on looking patrons more than they were already. "Then that means that you can deliver a message to your boss for me." One of the thugs who had been hit with his barrage of bolts stood, wounded, but alive and sword in hand. "Tell him the Black Swordsman has come." The wounded thug came up behind him. "That's it."

Before the thug could bring his sword down, Guts had already drawn his. The entire tavern seemed to hold a collective breath when he moved his sword in a wide arc, bypassing the sneak attack completely. The thug didn't even seem to release a cry until it was too late and he was in two halves, each in completely different sides of the bar. Some unlucky patrons even got splotches of blood spilled into their drinks.

Guts lifted the blade with ease and strapped it back onto his back. He cast one last threatening look at the last remaining thug, who, like the rest of the bar looked on in fright. "Don't forget to tell your boss." And with that, he departed into the streets of Koka.

After his brief scuffle in the bar, Guts continued his venture through the town. He had acquired enough gold to maybe rent a room at an inn for the night before the inevitable fight that was to come. He had made an enemy of the thug's boss, and no power-hungry leader would let a slight like that go unpunished. Yes, he suspected a visit from this boss figure soon enough.

A childish voice called at him from above. It was that elf from the tavern, flying down towards him. Guts ignored the creature and kept walking. "Hey, wait!" the elf called. It was floating right next to his ear now. "Listen, if you're going to save me, then you have to stick around to be properly thanked. You have to see it through to the end."

Guts continued to tune the small elf out. "That's quite the sword you're carrying around with you. Or, would you call it a slab of iron? I've never seen a sword like that before!"

Once again, silence on Guts' end. "Oh! I haven't introduced myself. The name's Puck! Nice to meet you, Mister Swordsman!"

He continued walking down the street, noticing the fearful looks he was getting from the women and men as he passed by them in the street and their homes. His single, bestial eye keeping a look out for any other thugs.

Puck didn't seem too put off by him yet. Perhaps he figured that since he saved him, then he was a nice guy or something. "You know, I used to be part of a traveling performing troupe, but one day we got attacked by bandits and I've been locked up in some birdcage ever since. It sure is wonderful that I'm still alive, I'll tell ya!" Puck was starting to look a little put out that he hadn't made to continue the conversation. "This town has been attacked a lot recently, too. The mayor seemed to have made a deal with the head thug. In exchange for a tribute, they leave the town alone. But after your little stunt, I guess they might start attacking again."

Once again, no response from Guts. "You sure are the silent type," Puck sighed. "But if I were you, I'd get out of town. If they catch you, then you'll be cut into ribbons." He went to sit on Guts' shoulder, and as soon as he did receive a grip from Guts' hand and was tossed into the mud.

"Hey, that hurt!" Puck yelled at him, flying forward to stare him in the face. "Why the heck did you do that?! I'm just trying to be friendly!"

Guts stopped to give him the only response so far. "Don't touch me. I might squish you." His voice was low enough to convey the feeling of dread. With that out of the way, he continued on like nothing had happened.

Puck shouted at him once again, sounding angrier this time. "What's your deal?! Somebody shows you a little appreciation and you act all angry and stuck-up?"

Guts stopped in his tracks, not so much because of Puck calling him out, but more the approaching mass of town guards. Each and every one had their weapons drawn and pointed straight at him.

He cursed to himself, "Damn it."

They took him to a dark and dank cellar, confiscated his gear, and chained him by his wrists to the ceiling. There wasn't much he could do, save for listening to the sound of his blood hitting the cold stone floor. Six to eight cuts marred his bare chest.

The torturer cleaned the blood from his whip. "My, you are a stubborn one. Aren't you going to make any noise?"

"Pttew," Guts spat at the torturer's feet.

The torturer raised his whip again. "Fucker!" Before he could crack the whip, the door to the cellar opened.

"Stay your hand," he was a small, old man with a bushy, white mustache. No doubt this was the Mayor of Koka. "Enough for now."

The torturer backed off and the mayor inspected the confiscated weapons. "All these belong to this one man?"

"Indeed," the torturer nodded. "He's trying to look like a one-man-army."

The mayor took in his appearance from the tall, muscular frame, the various battle scars, and metal arm. "You're a mercenary, correct?"

Guts didn't answer.

"You're a stranger to this town," the mayor continued. "Killing those men earlier…do you know what you've done?" he was beginning to tremble. "Because of you, this town might end up destroyed!"

This time, Guts actually remarked. "Are your guards incompetent?"

The mayor shook his head, looking more and more nervous. "You do not know how awful he truly is…the leader of those men. He…It…it's terrifying. No one can comprehend. No human can kill him."

"Ah, so that's why you made a deal with him." He smirked slightly at the mayor's bemused reaction. "I saw a cartful of prisoners when I came here. Those are for him."

"You wouldn't understand; some vagabond like you-,"

"I do understand." The mayor went silent. "I know that he's a monster that eats human flesh. I know all about that."

The mayor began to sweat. "It is my duty to protect this town!"

"The people of this town, or yourself?" he could tell that he had struck a nerve. He chuckled at the gobsmacked reaction.

Nervously backing away to the exit, the mayor addressed the torturer. "Continue. Torture him as much as you like, but don't kill him. We will hand him over to Koka Castle and to the baron, alive. I'd best go to the castle and beg the baron for forgiveness." He left.

The torturer grinned as he grabbed a red, hot poker and pressed it against Guts' abdomen. He was disappointed when the Black Swordsman never made a sound.

"He calls himself, the Black Swordsman?" the Baron of Koka Castle sat alone in his dining room feasting away at the meal the head chef and prepared for him. It looked like diced ham with a nice glass of wine, but everyone in the castle knew better. Ham was more pink, not the splotched red that he ate, and wine was supposed to smell sweet not like a faint trace of iron. For these reasons and another, he was also known as the Snake Baron.

"Yes, Lord Baron." The sole survivor from the tavern reported. "He wielded a sword that was taller than him, swung it like it was nothing. He wore all black, and he had a metal arm."

The baron tucked a lock of black hair behind his ear as he poked at his dinner and took a bite. His extraordinarily sharp teeth chewed at the meat. The Black Swordsman. Could it really be?

The door to his dining room was thrown open and an attendant came with the mayor in tow. "What is it?" the Baron asked, not happy that he was being deprived of properly enjoying his meal.

"I-it has been a while, my lord," the mayor pathetically stuttered before his presence. "I have personally come to offer my apologies for what transpired earlier today. It was the act of a wandering degenerate; he is not connected to our town in any way. To compensate for the loss, I will see that you receive double the amount of gold and prisoners. Please-,"

"So troubled."

"S-sorry?"

The baron took a sip of his drink, the metallic taste just the way he liked it. His yellow, slit-pupil eyes glowed in the darkness of the room. "Gold and prisoners, I don't care about them, I never have." He poked at his dish and plopped an eyeball into his mouth, eating it whole. "All I really wish to see is humanity in its rightful place, trapped in an apocalypse, never to escape. I want to hear the sounds of bones breaking under the hooves of horses." He stood up and crossed the room, leering down at the mayor. "I don't need an excuse to do what I do. I never have."

The mayor was seized by his arms by the attendant who had brought him in. "W-what is the meaning of this? Unhand me." The Snake Baron smiled unnervingly at him. "Lord Baron! Lord Baron, please!" His cries went unheard.

The terrain was as uneven as Harry's breathing in the chill of the morning air. Last night had brought about yet another wave of possessed spirits for him to deal with, and now he was feeling utterly exhausted. For the first couple of nights he had been able to cope with the overwhelming sensation, but night after night of the activity was starting to take its toll on him. He checked his reflection in the water of a clear stream and found his black hair to be messier than ever, and heavy bags under his eyes.

But he was close, or at least he thought that he was. All he had done was follow the signs along the main roads of Midland, leading him up north to where a mountain range and a prominent ravine were situated. Apart from the apostle, Wyald, Harry hadn't come across another of his kind, but that didn't mean the road was without danger.

Bandits and other vagabonds lurked to the side, ready to strike at unsuspecting travelers, and he had almost fell victim to one of their traps, had it not been from a tip from a resident of a town he passed by. The girl who had tipped him off was probably a bit younger than himself, maybe by a year or so, but she had a look in her eyes like she knew what would happen.

"You're going to Enoch, right." She hadn't said as a question. "Then you should take the side road through the woods, bandits stick close to the main road here."

"What makes you think that's where I'm going?" he had asked, she seemed innocent, and the brand on his neck wasn't hurting at all. For all he knew, she could be telling him that to lead him to where the bandits actually were.

"I don't know," she admitted as much. "You just have a look about you, I guess. I can just sort of tell. Like you're wondering if what I told you about the bandits is true." Her smile had been as innocent as she looked. "The only thing that would be stolen from you if you take the way I said would be an extra hour of your time walking. Can I see that stick of yours?"

He responded with an absolute, "No." However, she hadn't seemed that phased.

"Oh, well. Maybe I can see the new one when you get it."

"What new one?"

"No idea, you tell me. It's going to be yours after all."

She had seriously begun to weird him out, but she hadn't made any threatening moves or gestures. A woman's voice then called to the girl. "Sonia!"

She waved over to who Harry assumed to be her mother. "Well, that's my mama. I'll see you sometime. Maybe you can show me a trick or two, I'd love to see it."

He had no idea what to make of that girl except for that she was a bit loony. But, he didn't get the feeling that she had been lying to him either, and the path through the woods proved to be the safer one, but at the cost of time. If anything, he had the distinct impression she knew all about him from just one look.

After walking all the next day, his legs were just about ready to give out, when he found himself outside of a wheat field; a clear signal that a town or farm was close by. If luck was on his side, which he doubted it was, he might be able to get a few hours of sleep now before the sunset and the spirits emerged. A woman's cry sounded from somewhere within the field of crop. Luck must really hate him.

He took off into the field, using his sword and walking stick to push the stalks aside. The woman cried again. Picking up his pace, Harry rushed through the stalks like the wind, finally coming upon the sight. There was a young blonde woman and a brown-haired man who was-,

"Ted!" she yelled. "Stop tickling me! We're not kids anymore."

The young man, Ted, smiled teasingly. "Doesn't mean that we can't act like we are. Or, do you want to have the other kind of fun, Hannah?"

"We're not married yet you know. And if my brother catches us…"

"I thought your brother loved me," Ted defended. "Or are all those fond memories someone else's?"

"He does, but I think he loves his sister more," she lightly poked him in the chest.

"Besides, it's not as if he doesn't know what we do when we're alo-," Ted finally became aware that Harry was present, witnessing their conversation.

"Ted?" Hannah asked. "What's wrong-oh!"

Both quickly became flustered and embarrassed. Ted was the first to regain his ability to speak. "Howdy, stranger." He said, unsure. "What-uh, brings you out this way?"

Harry put his sword away; they looked startled enough as it was. "I was heading to Enoch Village, but I got a little sidetracked when I heard her scream. You wouldn't know the way would you?" they relaxed at his explanation, either they were trusting by nature or just naïve.

"It would be a bit embarrassing if we didn't," Ted said. "We do live there after all."

"Yeah, looks like you're in luck," Hannah added. Harry wouldn't exactly call it luck, but he wasn't going to correct her.

"I guess it is. Would it be too much to ask for a point in the fastest direction?"

Ted nodded. "If you cut through this field, there'll be a wooden bridge, cross that and you're practically there."

"Thank you," Harry said. "I've been meaning to come out here for a while, but never got around to it. I used to hear a lot of stories about the forest around your village." If one of them added anything, it would be a help.

"Do you mean like one of old-man Morgan's stories?" Hannah asked. "He used to tell the best stories from when he ventured out into the woods; remember, Ted?"

"Used to? He still does," Ted corrected. "It happened decades ago, and he still tells that story to anyone who'll listen."

So there was someone named Morgan he could seek out. Good to know. "Thank you, again," Harry waved. "I hope to see you in the village. I'll leave the two of you alone for now." He thought he distinctly heard Hannah say something along the lines of, "So embarrassing almost getting caught."

Accurate down to the description, once Harry crossed the bridge, he found himself standing just outside of the village. While it largely consisted of one long, cobblestone Main Street, several other smaller one's branched off of it running to a blacksmith shop, a watchtower, a graveyard, and a few barns. At the center of the village was a Holy See chapel, the bell on top chimed at the new hour. The graveyard looked to be quite big, and Harry made a mental note to take shelter away from the village when the sunset.

Overall, Enoch was spacious than most villages, but nowhere near as large as a town or city, as it settled for a more comfortable feel. If he could find this Morgan, then that would be a major help in narrowing down his search; assuming that there was anything magical about the forest around the village anyway.

He asked around some of the villagers who either ignored him thinking him some sort of wandering beggar or just didn't take him seriously when he asked for Morgan. Whoever he didn't seem to have too high a reputation. The only actual response was from an inebriated villager exiting the tavern.

"You want Morgan?" he pointed to the tavern he exited. "He's in there, being a freeloader." He sauntered off back to his home.

Inside, the tavern wasn't crowded, but the patrons who were there seemed to have taken it upon themselves to make additional noise. They slammed their mugs together, leaving a mess for the barmaid to clean, and talked so loudly and often at the same time that their words hardly sounded like any known language. Some of the patrons were young men around Guts' age, while others were more toward their middle ages, and the only "old man" was sitting at a table, alone, watching the patrons clustered at the bar with an amused smile on his scruffy face.

"Excuse me," Harry said, approaching the older man.

He smiled kindly at Harry. "Morning. Or, is it evening?"

"Afternoon," Harry informed a bit dryly. If he was drunk he wasn't going to be of much help.

"What can I do you for, youngster?"

"Well, I was looking for a man named Morgan. I'm traveling through the village and I heard he has stories about the forest around here."

"You thinking of going into those woods?" he asked.

"That's why I wanted to find him," Harry explained. "I don't want to go into anything dangerous." But unless it was an apostle or some more spirits, he doubted it was too dangerous aside from bears. "Do you know where I might find him?"

"Of course I know where you can find him-he's me."

"You're Morgan?" Harry asked. When he had heard Ted call him 'old-man' he thought he might be someone older than the man sitting across from him. Morgan was probably in his late fifties to early sixties, old, but his eyes still held a child-like sense of wonder despite his age. "I heard some stories about the forest, but I was wondering if you wouldn't mind telling some of your stories about it."

"Heh. You're about the first to actually ask me to talk about that. Everyone here thinks I'm loopy for still believing in that old legend." He took a drink from his mug. "Truth is, I've really only got one story worth telling, sorry to disappoint."

Harry waved the concern away. "That's alright, anything worth telling I want to hear."

Morgan took a sip from his drink and wiped the corners of his wrinkled mouth. "Well, what exactly do you know about our forest?"

"I know that it's the center for a lot of fairy tales," Harry admitted as much.

"Aye. Especially tales of witches." A child-like look flashed across Morgan's face. "I was a young boy when it all happened, younger than you even. My mother had fallen terribly ill and the village healers feared she wasn't long for this world. So, being the stupid child I was, decided to go out into the woods alone to search for this rumored witch and ask for her help. I lost track of how long I wandered around by myself, hours, days, time just seems to blur in those woods. I was about ready to give up when I saw her; an old woman coming out of a mansion built into a tree. She gave me some type of potion to bring back to my mother, who felt much better after having taken it." He smiled in nostalgia. "I went back almost every day to find and thank her, but I could never find that tree mansion again."

Morgan finished his tale and took another sip of his drink. "You thinking of going looking for witches, kid?"

"No," Harry tried his best poker face. "Like I said, I was just passing through this way and wanted to hear about the forest around here. I met with two people outside of the village who told me you have some good stories to tell."

"And you're traveling by yourself?" he sounded a bit skeptical.

"Not for long," assured Harry. "I'm meeting up with someone soon." And Morgan had helped him out immensely for it.

While the village might have been small and quaint, the forest was another story. It seemed to stretch on forever, unconfined by any means and seeking to envelop the entire world with its roots. After his chat with Morgan, Harry had set off on the forest path, following it as it snaked its way through the trees, which seemed to become more overgrown the deeper he traveled. It was like Morgan said, time seemed to become warped in this forest.

He had set out a little afternoon, but with how long he had been walking, it felt like it was going to be nightfall soon. Hopefully, he was far enough from the village that no spirits would possess the corpses in that graveyard of theirs. His brand wasn't acting up, so it was safe to assume that there was still some time left before the sun would set.

But, as usual, it was never safe to assume anything.

A large, muddy fist came crashing down in front of him. He stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet before regaining his balance. Standing before him was a six-foot-tall rock monster. That probably wasn't the correct name for it, but its body seemed to be made out of boulders, and its head looked to just be a rock with eye design carved into it. The stones on its hands spread apart and reached out toward him.

Quickly, he drew his sword and cut across the palm of the creature. It did not roar, or howl, or make any sort of indication that his attack hurt it. But it was moving slow, and Harry capitalized and thrust his blade through two boulders that made up its torso. The head looked down at where his sword penetrated, and the whole began to fill with mud.

It raised both of its fists above its head, ready to squish him. Before it could do that, Harry ducked between its legs, unsheathed his hidden blade and cut the creature behind both of its knees. The legs began to tremble, and it fell, unable to stand.

Acting fast before the wounds closed with mud, Harry stabbed his sword through where the neck would be, and the stone head went tumbling to the ground. And then much to his surprise, the arms moved to pick up the fallen head and put it back into place above its rocky shoulders. The head turned a full three-sixty to stare at him, and the wounds behind its knees healed as well.

Before its large fist could collide with his face, it managed to stop its attack. Rising to its full height it walked past him to stand behind a new figure; one incredibly short figure. They held a staff in their hand which ended in a full spiral at the top, and they wore dark purple robes with a matching hat that was pointed with a wide brim, hiding their face. And from under that hat, a small, pink bug-like creature emerged and flew right up to his face so he could get a good look at it.

While the wings were like that of a bug, the tiny body was humanoid. Harry pulled his head back so it wouldn't fly right into his face. The creature gave a gasp, sounding like a small child. "Scherike! I think he can see me!" he could tell that it was a girl-whatever it was.

"Of course he can, Ivalera. He wouldn't have been able to cross the border if he couldn't." the short figure sounded like a girl as well. Could she be the-,

"Excuse me; are you the…witch-?"

She lifted her head, and Harry was fully able to see her face. Her hair was an unusual shade of green, and her large eyes a shade of turquoise. And she was young; younger than even him. Morgan said that the witch he met had been an old woman, had she somehow been able to reverse her age with magic?

The little girl stared up at the rock monster without the slightest hint of fear. The creature pointed in a direction. "Yes, it's alright. I'll take him back to the mansion." She had to look up at Harry to meet his gaze. "Follow me please." She began walking back the way she had come. Harry watched as she walked off, she noticed he wasn't following. "Follow me, please." She sounded a bit annoyed this time. She began to walk again.

"Hey-wait!" Harry yelled as he made to catch up with the strange girl.

She led him, with the strange rock creature following not far behind. Harry had so many questions that he wanted answers to, but this girl seemed intent on tuning him out. "How did you know where I was? Did it have something to do with that rock person?"

"Golem," the girl, Scherike corrected. "The proper name is a golem."

"Right, that." She didn't seem amused. No matter which question he asked, she ignored, until they came upon it.

A large tree with a thick trunk' large enough to house the wooden mansion that seemed to grow into the tree itself, almost like the two were one in the same. "Come," Scherike led him to the tree-mansion. "My mistress awaits."

"Your mistress?"

"Yes." She opened the door for him. "The one who sent me to stop that golom from crushing you. This way."

The inside had a much more simple design that the outside would have the viewer believe. Each room looked like it could be found in any old home, so long as it was made of wood. It seemed designed to release an earthy vibe to it. One such room had a stained glass window like a chapel, and the old woman sitting at the spinning wheel helped to complete that feeling.

Harry felt Scherike poke at him with her staff. "Introduce yourself," she instructed, this time not bothering to hide her annoyance.

"Er-," Harry cleared his throat, and the old woman looked up. She surely fit the description Morgan had given him. But that had also been close to fifty years ago. "Hello. My name is-,"

Her bluish-gray eyes locked onto his, and a twinkle seemed to shine in the woman's gaze. "You are Harry Potter."

Did she just-read his mind? She even seemed to know he was thinking that. "It was trick taught to me long ago called legilimency. You might even be a bit familiar with who taught it to me." She smiled a kind, knowing smile. "His name was Merlin."

A/N: It might have been a long set up, but magic is finally being introduced. If anyone remembers, I made mention of Merlin's involvement in the story back in a few earlier chapters to foreshadow this meeting. And without giving any spoilers away, I can say that this won't be the last time Merlin is mentioned in the story.


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Where to go from here? How does he respond to that? Merlin; that was what she had said. The Merlin; the one nearly every child knew of back in Britain. It was mindboggling and added more question to the already impressive list that he had been keeping file inside of his head. And as those questions and others swirled around in his head trying to make sense of it all, the old woman sat there, smiling at him like some long overdue guest at a party.

The younger girl-apprentice-Schierke seemed a bit more cautious around him. Although Harry was facing away from her, he could almost feel her large turquoise eyes boring into the back of his head, and then alternate to look at her mistress almost like she was feeling left out of some silent conversation that wasn't going on. Her clear suspicion towards him was actually far more comforting a thought that the woman's reaction or lack thereof.

"You have heard his name before, no?" she asked, but it was clear that she already knew the answer.

Harry nodded. "I have, yes."

"I apologize for the golem," she said. "It sensed your presence when you came within close proximity of our spirit-tree mansion. You fought it, but did not destroy the source of its magic; it would have kept fighting with you, so I sent Schierke to go and collect you."

"You make it sound like you were suspecting me," Harry said without thinking.

Instead of trying to deny it, she gave a half-shrug and a close-lipped grin. "A contact of mine told me that I might be getting a visitor one of these days."

An acquaintance? Harry pondered. Who? Who could have known that he would come here? Schierke seemed to wonder the same thing; she was clearly out of the loop. "A contact, mistress? But no one ever comes here, you made this place near impossible to locate." And yet Harry had managed to stumble upon it.

"Someone from my past, you've never been introduced yet, Schierke." Her voice sounded a bit teasing, like a mother to a curious young daughter. "And speaking of introductions, I do not believe that I have introduced myself." She gave a curt bow of her head. "I am Flora; the Mistress of the Spirit-Tree."

Flora turned her gaze to her young apprentice. "Care to properly introduce yourself as well, my disciple?"

Schierke looked a bit embarrassed for a quick second, before giving a polite, but also seemingly forced bow of her head. "I am Schierke, the sole disciple of Mistress Flora."

The tiny pink, winged creature flew out from under Schierke's hat, and close to Harry's face. "And I am Ivalera, Schierke's best friend."

Harry didn't want to sound rude, but he asked, "You're a fairy?"

Ivalera tilted her tiny head to the side, almost insulted that he had to ask. "I am an elf. Haven't you ever seen an elf before?"

"Er-no, sorry," Harry said truthfully. Of course, he hadn't. Godo had said that all the elves had gone from Midland and virtually everywhere else. Where would he have possibly come across an elf before now? He kept that to himself though. It wouldn't be wise to insult them.

"Do not be sorry, young Harry," Flora told him, her attention back to him now. "The world has changed, and with it, many of what once was." She looked him over as if examining him. "You have traveled a long way to come here, you look exhausted." If he looked it, he didn't feel it. Anxiety and anticipation were flooding through his systems. "We can discuss your journey and its purpose in the morning; you should take some time to rest. Schierke, can you show our visitor to a vacant quarter?"

"You're inviting me to stay?" it wasn't that Harry wasn't grateful for being offered a place to spend the night, but he had only just arrived. He was an outsider, basically a complete stranger to them. There were so many questions that he wanted answers to.

Schierke, however, seemed to take it upon herself to voice the doubt Harry was feeling. "Mistress, I've never doubted your teachings, but inviting him to stay… I don't know how I feel about that. He doesn't know of our ways of life." She sent a suspicious look in his direction, but Harry didn't back away from it.

With a soft chuckle, Flora responded, "Everyone is an outsider before finding their place, Schierke. When you grow to be as old as I am, you tend to become a very good judge of character; you're growing into an exceptional witch after all." The young girl's cheeks reddened and she seemed to take an interest in a part of the floor.

The elf-Ivalera flew over to the girl's shoulder to talk in her ear. "Don't be embarrassed, Schierke. You've come so far in your practice." the elf assured her companion.

Flora continued. "While you may be an outsider from the land of the Holy See's influence, it goes against my better nature to turn away anyone in need; much like that one boy who found this place nearly fifty years ago." She sent Harry an almost apologetic look. "Any questions you most assuredly have can be saved for the morning. No harm will come to you by accepting our offer for shelter; you have my word on that."

She sounded genuine enough alright, but Harry was still a bit skeptical. Flora was not acting at all like he expected, Schierke was taking to that role much better than she was currently doing, and she was clearly suspicious of him after all. Flora, on the other hand, seemed far too trusting for someone of her age. But that didn't mean that she was lying, either. If she had wanted him dead, then she would have just let him face that golem alone, and she had helped Morgan out with his sick mother all those years ago for seemingly no other motive other than she wanted to.

"…And would you answer some of my questions in the morning?" Harry asked before giving his final answer.

"To the best of my ability," Flora answered.

"Then yes. I'll stay here."

She nodded. "Very well. Schierke, would you please." Flora motioned to the door.

"O-of course, mistress," Schierke bowed in acceptance. "Come along then." Harry knew she was talking to him and followed her.

"Sleep well," Flora called after them. "Tomorrow will be a most interesting day."

Schierke led him through the halls of the tree-mansion, not bothering to pause for Harry to take in the sight of all the ingredients, potions, decorations, and artifacts that lined the walls. The mansion sure beat the idea of a witch's hovel, but still managed to keep a deep sense of nature intact with every aspect of its design. Not only that, but the place practically felt magical; it was almost as if his mind felt clearer, even calmer than he had thought possible.

Stopping at the end of a hallway, Schierke opened a door and stepped aside for him to enter. The room was small, but not cramped. There was space enough for a bed, a wardrobe, an opening in the wood that served as a window of sorts, and desk. Feeling the mattress, he realized that it was stuffed with feathers. Schierke stood on the threshold, watching him examine the room. Ivalera fluttered up to sit on her shoulder, watching as well.

"Well thank you," Harry said to the witch apprentice.

"Of course," Schierke said. "It was my mistress' request after all." The way she worded it let him know that she had only done so because of her teacher, not of her own choosing. "Well… good night then." She closed the door, leaving him alone.

With little left to do, Harry plopped himself down on the bed, and sleep came upon him almost instantly.

And he dreamt of the tree, very similar to the one he found himself in right now. But this one was different-it was shining-it was on fire. The flames seemed to move in the pattern of a serpent, twisting and wriggling as if alive, completely surrounding the tree.

The sun shone down from up above, but that light was starting to fade; a great black shadow was working its way to cover its polar opposite. When the two finally overlapped, two six digit hands moved to seemingly cup the two of them together forever. His sewn eyes betrayed no emotion to what he was thinking with that massive brain of his, but the brand that flickered to life between his hands glowed with malice.

"Sacrifice." The voice seemed to speak, either to him, or another, or in a distant memory, it was unclear.

And then it was like he was never there. Now he saw the back of a chair and a snake slithering along the floor beside it. There was someone sitting down in the chair, and for some reason, Harry did not want to see who it was. There, a fragile hand held a small item, emerald green in color, and with various facial features arranged all over it.

A cold voice drew his attention away from that accursed egg. "Potter…"

Harry awoke in a cold sweat, his dream already becoming a distant memory. He hurriedly put his glasses on and looked out the nook that served as a window in the tree-mansion. It was dark outside, the sun having set some hours ago. "No," Harry said to himself. He grabbed his stick and sword, strapping them to his belt.

The brand, he was branded and it was past sundown. They would be upon him any minute. What was he thinking, agreeing to stay the night? No. that was it, he hadn't been thinking. He had instead been so caught up in the prospect of finding the witch in the forest, that his cursed luck had been forgotten. He would leave and return in the morning. If not then he would have just doomed the tree's two residents.

He rushed from the room provided to him, banging his knee against an end table in the hall as he did. "Ow!" some of the decorations on it nearly fell off had he not grabbed them first. His stick made a "clunk" with every step he took, but it wasn't loud enough to cause any real cause for panic from the two witches who were sure to be asleep by now. Or so he thought.

Before Harry could open the door to exit the tree-mansion, a very tired, and annoyed voice asked, "Where are you going?"

It was Schierke. In place of her purple robes she now wore a blue and white nightgown, minus a cap which left a strand of her green hair free to poke out of place. Her eyes were only half open and she more or less leaned on her staff for support. "Where are you even-ahhhhhh," she yawned, "doing up?"

"Yeah?" Ivalera flew up to sit on Schierke's shoulder. "Some of us were trying to sleep before you started making all that ruckus."

"I need to leave for the night," came Harry's vague reply.

"Huh?" they both said.

"I-I just need to leave for the night, alright?" he cracked the door open, slowly. He half expected there to be the glowing eyes of a possessed corpse or animal waiting for him. Much to his surprise, the coast looked clear, but that did not put him at ease.

"Why?" Schierke asked. "Planning on telling the nearest village where this tree is?" she sounded less tired now than she was.

"That's pretty low, mister." Ivalera scolded. "We take you in, and then you sneak off to rat us out. You were right about him, Schierke."

"No, no that's not it at all," Harry said, trying to diffuse the growing tension. "I-I'm cursed, alright."

"Cursed?" they both asked. Ivalera is sounding more curious and Schierke sounding more skeptical.

How to even explain this to them? "Yes, cursed. I have this mark. Every night it happens. If I don't get away from here soon this place is going to be crawling with possessive spirits."

Ivalera pondered his claim. "Sounds mighty fishy to me. Don't you agree, Schierke?"

He expected her to agree, and run off to report him to Flora, but she instead said, "It isn't impossible. I noticed a scar on his head when I went to collect him. But even if what you say is true, I doubt you're in any real danger."

"Not just me, the both of you too!"

"Shush! Keep your voice down." Schierke ordered. "Follow me, I'll show you what I mean." She pushed the door open all the way and stepped outside. "Coming?"

"You want to go out there?" Harry asked. This girl had no idea what she was getting into if she did.

"That's what you were planning on doing," she retorted. "And like I said, you won't be in any real danger."

Now it was Harry's turn to look unconvinced. "What makes you so certain?"

"I'll show you, that's what." Schierke would probably roll her eyes if she could fully open them. "And I'm pretty efficient in magic too."

Ivalera nodded. "That's right, she is. So don't try and pull a fast one and try to run away. She might turn you into a cat if you do."

The pair of them walked through the dark forest, their only sources of light were the moon which reflected off of Harry's drawn blade, and the luminous natural light produced by Ivalera and the beating of her wings.

Every creak had Harry turning his attention in that direction; ready to defend against the danger. Schierke continued on like nothing was the matter, probably thinking that he was being overly paranoid. At last, they came upon the site where Harry had fought with the golem earlier that day.

She pointed at a tree. "See that?"

Ivalera flew closer so it was lighter. Etched into the bark of the tree was a symbol of some sort. "I see it," Harry admitted.

"This was carved by Mistress Flora herself," Schierke explained. "It's a talisman. They are carved into different trees surrounding the spirit-tree to form a border and- ahhhh-," she yawned again, "and keep trespassers out. That was how the golem found you."

"Yup, the golems have talismans inside of them that let them know about those sort of things." Ivalera elaborated.

Schierke nodded. "As long as you're behind the border, you're safe from any evil spirit."

"Hey, look!" Ivalera pointed past the border where a sinister pair of purplish eyes gleamed in the darkness. It was a wolf, one possessed to be exact. Harry readied himself, but the wolf did not advance. It just stared at him, almost like it knew he was there, but could do nothing about it. It was weird. The only other place that offered sanctuary at night was Godo's cave where Casca was being kept under lock and key for her own safety.

"Convinced now?" Schierke asked him. "Because if it's all the same to you; I'd like to get back to bed." She yawned once more. "C'mon, Ivalera."

Harry took a bit longer. He stared a little longer at the talisman carved into the tree, an idea coming to mind before he too followed Shierke back to the spirit-tree.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, until the silence was-surprisingly-broken by Schierke. "So, what exactly is it you want with Mistress Flora, anyway? Why come all the way out here if you don't plan on telling more outsiders of our existence?"

"Well… I came here to study magic," Harry had no reason to lie to her. He could tell she didn't trust him much and giving her a vague answer wouldn't do much to change that. "I had heard from a friend of mine that the woods around Enoch were rumored to be magic. So when I found out I had magic, I-,"

Schierke interrupted. "What do you mean you "found out" you had magic?"

Now Harry was confused. "What do you mean, "what do I mean?" I found out I could do magical things when I had a conversation with a snake. No one else could do it."

"That's probably because they didn't study how" Schierke argued. "You mean to tell me that you just discovered one day that you had a magical talent?"

"That's kind of what happened," Harry admitted, it sounded much less anti-climatic the way she said it. Casca had nearly had a heart attack when she witnessed it. The memory brought a bitter-sweet feeling of nostalgia. "How did you discover you had magic then?" it was a personal question, but seeing as that he had told her his-it would even them.

"I was just taught," Schierke confessed. "Mistress Flora took me in when I was very young-,"

"Younger than you are already?" Harry interrupted.

She sighed. "Yes, younger than I am right now. But don't go looking all clever; you're not that much older than me, you know." She cleared her throat. "But yes, she took me in and trained me in the art of magic. I just learned from her."

Now that was odd. "So… magic can be learned, by anyone?"

"So long as they have an imaginative and open mind they can. Magic is a school of thought, exploring beyond reason."

"You know, for someone so little, you sure know a lot." Harry complimented, but Schierke seemed to take it a different way.

"What do you mean little?"

Ivalera shook her head. "You're not little, Schierke. You're just-um, vertically challenged!"

From back at the spirit-tree, Flora watched from her window as the two younglings neared the mansion. But she was not alone. A second visitor had shown up for the night, but unlike Harry, she knew this one was not going to stay.

"How long have you been following him?" she asked with a hint of a teasing knowingness.

"Long enough. I have been alternating."

She smiled. "My, have you been developing a caring side in these few long years?"

"It has been longer than a few years."

"Indeed, but time does fly," she felt a twinge of nostalgia. "Do you ever yearn for the old days?" she could feel his glowing eye sockets fix her with a stare.

"Past mistakes cannot be undone."

"They can't. But new ones can be avoided," she pointed out. "I suspect that is why you brought him to this land. Their influence is starting to spread to other realms."

"They will struggle, that much I know."

"You will not remain until he returns? I'm sure he will be surprised to see you here of all places." It was a fickle effort and she already knew the answer. His visits were never long.

"I will not. I will observe the progress of the Struggler next." His large feet made little sound on the wooden floor. "Farewell, for now, Witch."

"Farewell, old friend."

He had been unchained from the ceiling and left to lay on a pile of hay that reeked of aged piss. New lashes and scorch marks marred his torso and back, but he never gave the torturer the satisfaction of eliciting any noise. Right now, the men from Koka Castle were probably on their way right now to either take him into custody themselves or raze the town to the ground. Either way, he would be faced with the Baron soon enough.

The bars of the opening, which served as his primary source of light above him, reflected a faint glowing from the town outside. They were an orange hue, someone probably had torches lit, either the town guard or the men that were sure to be escorting the Baron. It was then put at a complete contrast with the mix of blue light suddenly appearing. Poking his tiny head through the bars, the small blue creature flew down to where he was situated on the floor. It was only a few inches tall, with a set of bug wings sprouting from its back; it was that elf from earlier at the tavern, Puck.

"Hey, I finally found you!" Puck exclaimed like they were some sort of long lost friends, which he had no right to. After guts had been taken into custody, the elf had flown off on his own. "This town sure is big for someone like me."

"What do you want?" Guts asked, annoyed by the mere sight of this elf. "Fly on out of here. Put those wings to good use."

Puck put a finger to his chin in contemplation. "My wings, huh?" he snapped his fingers. "I got it!" he flew over to Guts. "Hold still alright." He looked like he was about to sit down on his person causing Guts to scowl.

"Don't touch me you little-!" Puck fluttered his wings and a glowing dust of sorts sparkled off of them, drifting down on some of Guts' recently acquired wounds. Much to his surprise, the pain began to fade like it had never been there in the first place. A memory came rushing back to him; of himself overlooking many small campfires after having fought a hundred men. She had rubbed "elf dust" on his wounds to help with the healing. This was the exact same sensation now as it had been then.

"There," Puck said, happy with his work. "You should be feeling better real soon." Guts pushed himself to his feet and Puck's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. "Not that soon!"

"That dust trick of yours is handy," Guts gave Puck the closest thing to a compliment as he would allow. "Now buzz off. I'll take care of the rest on my own."

Puck look affronted. "That's it?! I risk my head to come and help you out, and you just tell me to go and get lost?! This is just my way of saying thanks for helping me out earlier. You don't have to be so ungrateful."

"You're right, I don't. But if you really want to help out, then you'll get out of here before I end up squashing you."

Shaking in tiny rage, Puck yelled, "Why do you have to be so mean?!"

Guts fixed him with his sole eye. "I don't have to be. But it sure as hell helps."

Puck was about to retort, but Guts saw him catch sight of the brand on his neck. He turned away from the pint-sized elf. "That mark…" he heard Puck utter.

There were footsteps coming to the cell. The jingling of keys could be heard with each step taken. "Get the prisoner!" one voice ordered. "The Baron's men will burn this town to the ground if we do not surrender him!"

The flickering of the orange light from outside had grown exponentially. The cries of men, women, and children could be heard, they yelled in terror and agony. The Baron had come at last.

Guts heard the sound of the cell door being unlocked and took his stance to the side as the door was swung open and the torturer entered. "Prison-erk!" Guts wrapped his arm around the other man's neck in a chokehold. The other man struggled; clawing at Guts' arm and trying to reach back to hit his face, anything to escape the hold Guts had on him. His legs began to twitch and kick out as the oxygen supply to his brain began to dwindle. "…agh…" he gave one last choked noise before going limp.

Guts let his body go free, before snatching the keys that dangled from around his waist. Puck could only watch wide-eyed in horror. He made a move to exit the cell. "Hey," Puck called. "Where are you going now?"

"To get my gear."

Outside was chaos. Fires burned through the night, consuming the homes of Koka's residents, and spreading quickly to neighboring houses. As the citizens attempted to flee their burning homes, they were quickly trampled by horses and impaled by the spears of the riders. They ran rampant through the streets, anyone lucky enough to make it out alive sought refuge in the surrounding woods.

"Burn it all!" a cold, cruel voice rang out amongst the screams and cries of the citizens. The corpses began to pile up in every street as the Baron's men ran rampant. "It is all ours for the plundering. No one will stop you, do as you please!" his voice was as distinct as the suit of armor that he wore. It was a deep shade of red with a pure white cape strapped to his shoulder plates. His helm was designed like a hissing cobra, and his face was visible through its open mouth. It was easy to see why he was known as the Snake Baron.

A collective cheer rose from the Snake Baron's men, as they relished in the mayhem their leader had graced them with. They had little time to ravish themselves before a quick barrage of crossbow bolts whizzed their way, killing four men.

"Where'd it come from?" "Did you see?" "All the guards should be dead."

"There!"

From under a pile of corpses, he rose. He shrugged off the corpse of a child from his shoulders and took aim once more with his arm-mounted crossbow. Bolts flew as fast as he could crank the handle, cutting down even more of the Snake Baron's men. More bolts struck their targets, and more bodies began to pile up, this time they were not civilians. He kept cranking until his supply of bolts ran out. The Snake Baron's men were quick to notice.

"He's out!"

"Let's take him now!"

Two riders charged forth, spears extended and ready to skewer him. He waited until they neared, before reaching behind him to grasp the hilt of Dragonslayer. Two cuts and six different halves went flying.

"Did you see that?" the Snake Baron's men asked each other nervously. "He cut them in half."

"Even the horses."

The Snake Baron himself trotted to the front of the formation, battle-ax at the ready. "So you're the one who has been causing so much trouble." The fires that crackled around the street reflected a piece of jewelry that hung from the front of the Snake Baron's armor; a teal egg shape. "You are just a mere human, and a foolish one at that!" he spurred his horse forward. "How can you ever hope to challenge those of a greater power?!"

Guts ran at the charging horse as well, his Dragonslayer ready to cut the Snake Baron in half just like the previous two. The Snake Baron predicted his tactic and twisted his body to the side before the strike could land. And while Guts' strike missed, the Snake Baron's did not. The bottom half of his battle-ax struck him on the back, knocking him down, and Dragonslayer fell from his grasp.

The men cheered their leader on as he reared to charge again and cut Guts in half. Grabbing some more bolts and loading them into his mounted crossbow, Guts fired a volley at the unsuspecting Snake Baron, this time yielding greater results. Five arrows embedded themselves in his chest, and the Snake Baron fell from his horse and into a pile of rubble from a burnt down house.

Cries of, "my lord!" was elicited from the men who feared their leader deceased. They were all startled when a serpentine tail came thrashing out from the rubble, striking Guts across the chest, knocking him aside.

"Ohohohoh!" a laugh enveloped from the rubble which began to shift. "Shoot all you like, no human can kill me!" stepping out, was the body of a giant, red cobra with thin, but strong arms and legs. The face of the Snake Baron was still visible in the mouth of the giant snake, but a long, pinkish tongue lolled about when he spoke.

His tail lashed out once more, striking Guts and sending him flying into a pile of rubble. Guts groaned from the impact, and he made a move to push himself to his feet. It surprised the Snake Baron greatly. "My, you can still move. If you were an average human, that would have killed you."

Guts looked to his side; Dragonslayer was there, just beyond his reach. The tail whipped down on his back twice, causing Guts to cough up some blood from the force of each impact. The Snake Baron sneered down at him. "Now do you see just how weak and fragile humans truly are?" he grabbed Guts by his head and lifted him up to his face. "I will take great enjoyment in drinking the blood from your flesh. Humans are meant to be slaughtered."

Instead of a face of fear, Guts smiled. He moved his metal arm up to the Snake Baron's face, the string running to the prosthetic was clenched between his teeth. The hand flipped down. KABOOOM!

A portion of the Snake Baron's face was completely blown away. "Ahooooooww!" he dropped Guts, who used this opportunity to grab the fallen Dragonslayer. With a cry of fury, Guts brought the massive blade up, and then straight down into the Snake Baron's shoulder. The strike carried all the way through and severed the torso from the rest of the apostle's body.

Now it was Guts' turn to leer down at the defeated apostle. "Didn't you say that no human could defeat you?" he loaded some more bolts into his crossbow.

The Snake Baron's eyes widened. "That… brand… ow!" Guts shot a bolt through one of the apostle's eyes.

"You're right. Humans are weak." He fired another bolt. "But our weakness makes us fight to survive." The elf-Puck fluttered to the top of a house, watching the scene unfold. A look of sadistic glee was etched on guts' face. "Now why don't you experience some of that pain yourself? Understand what it's like to be human." With every sentence, a bolt was fired.

"No… don't kill me…"

Guts spat on his near-dead form. "And what did you say when all these people asked you the same thing?" Bolt after bolt was fired, the Baron's men were long gone at this point. There was just the dead apostle and the Black Swordsman.

"That rage," Puck said, watching Guts leave the town to burn. "I-I felt it."

Castle Windham

"The newest report has come in, your majesty," Sirs Laban and Owen kneeled before the King of Midland. "The town of Koka has been destroyed. Only a dozen or so survivors have been reported."

"And where do these refugees seek to go?" Minister Foss asked from the king's side. "Do they seek refuge here, at the capital?"

"The town of St. Albion have extended their hospitality," Sir Owen mentioned. "The Holy See's presence is strong there and will assist where they can for those displaced souls. The Holy See's good grace can be found in the Holy Iron Chain Knights."

The young girl commander of those knights was present as well. She and her companions had received a bountiful reward for the safe return of Princess Charlotte and her handmaiden, and the king offered them full honors for their services and any request that they had would be granted. She was a young girl for certain, younger than even Princess Charlotte, early to mid teens if Laban had to put a finger to her age. For any other branch of knights, she would be turned away, but the Holy Iron Chain Knights had a tradition that their leader must always be a young maid. It also helped that her family was one of the wealthiest in all of the Holy See controlled territory. Farnese de Vandimion was her name, and if rumors were to be believed, she had quite the history when it came to the Holy See's doctrine of witch hunting.

"But the most troubling thing about this report," Laban continued, "was that there were sightings of a giant snake monster." A few other nobles in attendance snorted at the report, but both he and Owen knew that there was some truth to that claim. "I know that this sounds ridiculous to most of you, but considering Wyald-,"

"-You have taken all remaining Black Dog Knights into custody," Foss cut in. "Have any of them confessed to the claim that their leader could turn into some sort of monster?"

"They have been incredibly tight-lipped," Owen shook his head. "And there was that vague insinuation that the Bakiraka leader made. Perhaps a diplomat should be sent to Kushan land. Their empire has extended rapidly in recent years."

"No one questions either of your honors," Foss was quick to reply. "Only the claim of monsters in human form. And the Kushan are known for their strange cultures, I wouldn't think too much about it. Our king cannot be troubled with claims with no evidence of support." It was a hypocritical thing for him to say considering that the only thing the king was actually worried about was the vendetta against the Band of the Hawk. All evidence pointed to them being dead, yet the king was certain Griffith was out there somewhere.

It had become such an obsession to him, that his hair and beard were now stark white; new wrinkles had appeared on his face and hands, looking much older than he actually was. The only thing that had not changed about their king was the way he treated his daughter; not that anyone saw much of her these days. Charlotte had confined herself to her room since her return, not opening the door for anyone, saves for that handmaiden of hers; it was a miracle that the serving girl still had her head. Perhaps she was holding out on the hope that one day Griffith or someone would return for her.

Foss cleared his throat. "Now, is there anything else of significance in the Koka report?"

"Yes," Lord Wolflame asked, "have wizards been sighted as well?" that elicited a dry chuckle from all save the two knights, the king, and the Vandimion girl.

"There was one other thing that was mentioned," Laban recalled. "Survivors say that the beast was slain by a swordsman dressed all in black." That caused the Vandimion girl to perk up.

"The Hawk of Darkness," she uttered.

"Pardon, Lady Farnese?" Foss asked.

"The one scripture from the book of the Holy See," she elaborated. "The Hawk of Darkness, the one who will bring chaos and death to our world."

Foss appeared to be growing tired of hearing what he must consider nonsense. "Now, I am a stout believer of the Holy See's teachings like all of you; but to believe that this swordsman is the Hawk of Darkness-that is a farfetched assumption."

"These are troubled times indeed," the king spoke, seemingly ignoring Foss' previous statement. "Do you believe this swordsman to be connected somehow, Lady Farnese?"

"It is entirely possible, your majesty." Her sapphire eyes shone with an unspoken passion. "Your hospitality has been greatly appreciated, but with all due respect, my men and I must be departing the capital soon."

The king nodded. "Do as you must, my honored guest. If there is anything I can do to further repay my debt to you, please, do not hesitate to ask."

The Vandimion girl bowed her head. "Thank you, your majesty, but it is high time my men do our service to the people of the Holy See Alliance; we will find and bring this Black Swordsman to justice."

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. I hope you all enjoyed reading this chapter, and have a happy holiday.


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

True to her word, Flora reserved their question and answer session until the morning. The elderly witch and her young disciple convened at the crack of dawn in the dining room of the spirit-tree. Miniature versions of the large golem Harry had faced walked about presenting their hosts with a fruit platter variety so the residents could then break their fast.

"Good morning to you," Flora said, spotting Harry peeking in from the entryway of the dining hall. "Please, come and join us. The golems have gathered fresh fruit, do have some."

Taking a seat opposite of the two witches, a short little golem walked over and presented him with a fruit platter as well. "…Thank you?" Harry said to the tiny rock person. The golem made no sign of acknowledgment and walked to stand off to the side of the wall.

"You're wondering how they exist, aren't you?" Harry saw Flora looking at him from the corner of her eye. "No doubt it is one of many of a long list of questions."

"Did you do that mind trick again?" Harry assumed.

"No. That would just be intuition on my end," Flora smiled. "They each contain a talisman within them."

"Like a charm or a necklace," Harry listed.

"More like a small artifact," Schierke said, dabbing the corner of her mouth with a cloth. "Mistress Flora made each Talisman from scratch and charmed them so that they could then take the form of the golems we have now."

"These are different from the one when I first came here," Harry observed how peaceful and content these ones seemed to behave. "So, the more powerful talisman there is, the stronger the golem would be?"

Flora looked impressed. "What an astute observation. Yes, that does tend to be the case for most of the time, but look closely at these golems here." Turning his attention, Harry noted that all the golems looked exactly the same, just much smaller from the goliath he had encountered.

"They all look alike."

"That is because I used the same type of talisman for each one. And because of that, they can join together to create one of the sizes that you encountered before. That branch of magic is known as enchanting."

"So there are different types of magic then?" Harry asked, feeling a jolt of excitement. "Like ones that require a wand, or making potions?" he was really just asking about what people usually associate with witches and wizards.

"You wouldn't be wrong to think so," Flora nodded. "But that is only an outside view on the study of magic as a whole." She saw that she had him hooked, and she continued. "Magic is a school of thought, it is meant to go beyond reasoning. Magi study this aspect of the astral world and can gain a better understanding of the bigger picture that unfolds around us. Think of magic like this tree; there are many branches of it, each stretching out to one plain or the next, but in the end, they are all rooted to one place. Does that help clarify?"

He thought over her words. From the way she phrased it, she made it sound like magic was a living thing, something that could grow in anyone and far more ancient than humanity or just about anything else. If different schools of magic were like branches, and then the tree would be thought it, something that all people and animals were capable of in some regards. He nodded. "I think so, yeah." He thought over his next question. "So, in what other ways does magic branch out?"

Instead of answering, Flora picked an apple from the platter and examined it from every angle. She seemed determined to memorize every aspect that she could, taking a bite out of it she tossed it to the side. "Watch closely." Before Harry's eyes, a form began to take shape in Flora's outstretched hand, slowly at first, but it soon turned into a tangible object. It was the apple she had tossed away previously. Harry knew it to be the same since it had a piece missing from where she had bitten into it.

"A form of astral summoning," Schierke finished her dish.

"I'm glad to see you're keeping up with your studies, Schierke." Flora commended her student. "It might seem like a trivial thing, but that apple represents the first steps in the study of the astral world of magic."

"Astral magic," Harry repeated. "So what about magic with wands? You didn't need one for what you just did." He pointed out.

"Care to explain, Schierke?" Flora asked the girl, who gave a quick glance at Harry before giving a quick nod.

"Many mages have used wands in the past, yes, but a mages true power comes from within. A wand is merely a tool to help focus the flow of od; other times rely more on one's understanding of the astral world."

Harry eyed Schierke's wooden tool from where it was leaning against the table. "Yours looks more a staff than it does a wand. And just what is od anyway?"

"Od is life-force," Flora answered. "Od exists in every nook and cranny of the world, sometimes it is stronger in a more natural environment, but all creatures have an od to them, humans are no exception. By directing the flow of od is what gives a mage their magic, to begin with." She paused for him to absorb this new knowledge. "As for wands and staffs; both are tailored for the wielder. Wands are better suited for quick magic. Sure, you can say an incantation and with a wave produce fire or transfigure one thing into another, but the use is limited. They are too small to accommodate massive feats like the ability to ascend into the astral layers or produce a luminous body. Staffs can do all a wand can do but are more complex and harder to use. They are capable of holding and channeling massive amounts of od, but pose a higher risk to the user if something should ever go wrong when performing a ritual or spell."

Harry eyed Schierke's staff with a greater respect and determination. If someone so young was able to wield a staff, then he could too. "Where did you get that? Did you make it or something?"

Fluttering down from the ceiling was Ivalera, who had been absent from the early morning breakfast. "You bet she did!" the elf praised her friend. "You're looking at the youngest witch in all of Midland."

"Don't go thinking you can use it," Schierke held the staff close to her. "I spent a lot of time and effort into crafting it from the bark of this spirit-tree; if you want to use one then you'll have to make one yourself." She seemed to realize what she had implied as soon as she had finished speaking.

"My, my," Flora raised a brow. "Are you opening up to our visitor so soon?"

The young witch quickly shook her head. Her hat flopped around, looking as if it might fall off at any second. "No, mistress! That's not what I-,"

"Nice to know that I succeeded in making a friend," Harry lightly teased as well. Schierke planted her head down on the table. Her hat covered most of her face, but Harry could see that she was glaring in his direction.

Flora patted her on the back. "But in all seriousness, Schierke has just brought up a very good point. If you truly wish to study and practice the arcane arts, you must be willing to commit yourself." She handed an apple to Harry. "I do not expect you to succeed your first time, but try and do what I had done previously. Study the apple; memorize every detail, its exact shape, and size, how heavy it feels; everything. Once you've done that, discard it, and see what happens.

An apple. Just a regular old apple. It was red in color, but one side had a splash of green added in. the stem was short, and a bit pointy at the end, with a single large leaf stemming out. The bottom was a bit bruised, and one side, the one with the green, seemed smaller than the other.

"Once you are sure that you've memorized its every dimension and detail, set it aside and close your eyes," instructed Flora. "Image it in your hand once more." Letting the apple roll to the end of the table, Harry closed his eyes and held out a hand, imagining that the apple was back in his palm.

He felt nothing drop or materialize; he clenched his eyes tighter, imagining harder. He could see the apple in his mind's eye. He remembered how heavy it had felt and how large it had been, the small patch of green, but had there been a hole in the leaf? How long was the stem exactly? It had a point to it, but…

Harry opened his eyes and was not surprised to see his hand still held nothing. It was hard not to feel a bit disappointed in himself, here he was asking away for all these magical questions and he couldn't actually do the magic himself.

"Mistress did say she didn't expect you to get it on your first try," Schierke said, actually sounding a bit comforting. "It's actually easy, once you understand it." Now Harry frowned in her direction, he knew it was a hidden verbal jab.

"I seem to remember you failing at your first attempt as well, Schierke." Flora reminded the girl who shied away from her teacher's gaze. "And don't pretend like you didn't feel it."

"Felt what?" Harry asked.

"Your od," Flora said. "With a little training and a better understanding, summoning an apple will be child's play."

The cool water was refreshing as he submerged himself into the pond. The fight with the Snake Baron had left its fair share of marks on his body, and the water succeeded in putting his body at ease. After traveling during the night, and fending off more spirits, the early morning sun had, at last, began to rear its blinding head, putting an end to and more attacks that might happen throughout the night. This morning, Guts could relax and take a much-needed breather.

The pond was only about thirty feet in length, and eight in depth; but still large enough to accommodate more people should they join in, not that he would let them, of course. His gear and other necessities were piled up near some reeds, about halfway from where he was now. Sinking into his neck, Guts closed his eye and just allowed the water to lightly lap over him. It had felt like such a long time since he could actually relax. While fighting apostles and spirits, he was always so engaged in the fight itself, that the idea of actually being able to enjoy himself after had started to seem like a foreign concept; one that was fleeting.

He could not stay here forever, eventually, he would have to keep moving out into the world to continue on his quest, and a moment like this would be a diamond in the rough, should he ever fall under ideal circumstances. His chin touched the water level, as he leaned against the rock he was situated against. Maybe moments like this would become a more common occurrence, but that was just wishful thinking on his end, but never the less something to think about.

A place like this, with its shallow but warm water, secluded from everywhere else. It was a comforting thought. Casca might even be by his side, a warm, true genuine smile on her face. He closed his eye. She would be back to the way she was, she would snap at him occasionally, but her smile afterward… his mind began to wander. Casca's smile morphed into an expression of terror and revulsion, either from him or the dark wings that descended from above. The Wings of Darkness. The dark shape raised its head.

Griffith.

He opened his eye and found the world around him to be a turquoise tint, and out of focus. Water flooded his senses, and he raised his head above the surface. Coughing up some water, Guts realized that he had fallen asleep. He had allowed himself to drift off a little too much.

Some rustling occurred from the reeds where his gear was stored, and he waded his way through the water to investigate. Whoever it was hadn't noticed him approaching yet, and he saw why. They were not some skilled bandits or wary animal, but a group of three kids who seemed fascinated with his metal arm, armor, and of course, Dragonslayer. Some ways away by the road a wagon were parked, and a short man, presumably their father waited.

"Didn't you dad ever tell you, kids, not to go snooping around?" his voice disrupted the once innocent scene as the kids finally took notice of his presence. They gave a collective scream as they turned tail and ran back to their awaiting parent, hopping into the wagon and quickly fleeing the pond.

Guts pulled himself out of the water and began to dress himself. After putting his armor back on, he went for his black cloak and heard snoring coming from underneath it. Lifting it up slightly, Guts was greeted with the sleeping form of the elf Puck. The annoying little bug had been following him ever since Koka, and even after all of his attempts to tell the pest to buzz off, the elf continued to stick by his side. Probably because he can't survive on his own.

"Get out from under my stuff," Guts said, yanking the cloak away and jerking the blue elf awake.

"Huh? Wuzzgoinon? Who?" Puck sleepily asked. He looked up at the scowling face of Guts. "Oh, you're back from your bath. I guess I must have dozed off keeping guard of your stuff."

"Some job you did, a couple of kids were snooping around here just now." He was unimpressed with the little elf's ability to safeguard anything.

"Really?" Puck asked. "They must have sensed I was dozing off under your stuff. Kids are more attuned to magical creatures like me." He smiled proudly.

"Well if you like them so much you can probably catch up to their wagon," Guts pointed out. "Travel with them and leave me the hell alone."

"And leave you all to yourself?" Puck tried to play up his importance. "What happens when you get into another fight and need my dust to help heal you? Admit it, you need me around."

"I admit that you're a serious pain in my ass, got any dust that can cure that?"

Puck pouted in indignation. "No need to be so mean. I'm just trying to help you out." Guts began to pack up the rest of his gear. "And all your stuff is exactly how it should be, thank you very much."

"Where's my coin pouch?"

"…What?"

"My coin pouch," Guts repeated. "Where is it?"

"Have you checked your pockets?" Puck asked nervously.

"I'd feel it if it was there. Let me guess, one of those kids probably took it while you were dozing off." Useless bug.

"Don't go blaming me for that!" Puck verbally defended. "Why didn't you stop them as soon as they came over? It's not like you dozed off too." Guts didn't answer. "Wait, did you? Then what right do you have to go blaming me?! Besides, those kids are probably poor and needed a few extra coins."

"So because some farmer went and had a few more kids than he knew what to do with, I end up paying for that?" Guts asked sarcastically. "I oughta track down that wagon and-,"

"Excuse me," a new voice jutted in before Puck could say otherwise. Both turned to look at the young girl who had approached them. Long blonde hair framed her innocent face, wide smile, and large blue eyes.

"What do you want, kid?" Guts asked, feeling a bit aggravated by her sudden appearance and cheery disposition.

She looked not at him, but at Puck. "Do you have an elf with you?"

"He's yours if you want him." He might be able to pawn the little bug off.

The girl shook her head. "I just wanted to see. I've never seen an elf before; except for in my dreams."

Sensing a more suitable audience, Puck fluttered over to her. "Name's Puck!" the elf gave a toothy smile. "Nice ta meetcha!" she reached out a finger and poked Puck in his stomach. "Oof! Watch it with the manhandling. This one tosses me around enough." He pointed an accusing finger in Guts' direction.

She laughed. "My names Sonia, what's yours, stranger?"

"Why? And didn't your parents ever tell you not to talk to strangers?"

"Hm. Nice to meet you too, Why. And you have an elf with you, and they're supposed to be creatures of good so you can't be all bad."

"Look, I'm not really in the mood for this right now," Guts told the girl. "Why don't you run along or something?"

Sonia looked a bit put out, but Puck tried to assure her otherwise. "Don't worry about him. He's just crabby because some kids stole his money."

"Well if you're looking for money, why not come back to my town? The local tavern has a lot of gambling; why not play to win?"

"He doesn't have the best history with taverns," Puck accounted.

"Yeah, the last one I went in I ended up with you following me." Puck pouted once more.

"I think you should try," Sonia advised. "I got a feeling that you might leave with some money."

"You have a feeling?" Guts asked. "Well don't I feel lucky now."

Sonia nodded. "My feelings usually turn out to be true. I had a feeling about this one boy who passed by not too long ago. I get the same feeling l did then when I look at you now."

Puck flew back over to Guts' ear, and he resisted the urge to toss the bug into the pond. "I think this girl might be a medium."

"You mean like psychic stuff? Sorry to break it to you, but I don't put much faith in prophecy or any of that crap."

"It's not prophecy," Puck told him, "it's more like… well, a feeling about something."

Guts looked over to Sonia who was absentmindedly twiddling her thumbs and rolling on the balls of her feet. "Are these 'mediums' usually air-headed?"

Puck didn't answer that.

"Alright, I'll humor you, psychic girl. Which ways your town?"

She showed them the way, humming a tune and tilting her head back and forth all the way to her town which seemed a downscale version of what Koka had been. The tavern was easily identifiable, being located just at the end of the main street. Some faint laughter, as well as some shouting, could be heard coming from inside.

"Here it is!" Sonia happily exclaimed. "They don't allow kids like me inside, so best of luck on our gamble."

Guts lightly scoffed. "Yeah, luck." He went inside. Each table came with a candle, some of which were lit. Beer stains marred the wooden floor, and much more were sure to follow as the patrons cheered as some poor bastard seemed to tell a particularity humorous joke.

However, the general peace and lightheartedness disappeared when an intoxicated patron grabbed one of the waitresses and held her with a knife to her neck. He approached the frightened bartender with his hostage. "That last game was rigged, you old hack!" he yelled at the bartender. "I want the winnings you collected!" he momentarily pointed the knife at a pouch of money behind the counter.

Puck flew onto Guts' shoulder. "C'mon! You're a jinx when you walk into bars! You should do something."

Guts eyed a knife resting on the table nearest him and threw it straight for the disgruntled patron. "Agh!" the man let his hostage go as the knife found its way into his arm. With the man caught off guard, Guts drew Dragonslayer. With a single cut, he severed one of the man's legs from the knee down. "Aaaaaggghhhh!" he fell to the floor clutching at his severed limb.

His action drew all eyes in his direction, but he ignored them, heading straight for the counter. "You saved her," the bartender said as Guts approached. "Thank-, eh?" Guts walked past him behind the counter and retrieved the coin pouch the man had been so distressed over. He jingled it around, hearing the coins collide with one another inside.

"Feels heavy," Guts noted. "I think I'll take it. A little reward for saving her life." He placed a single gold piece on the counter. "Sorry about the mess." He made a move to leave the bar.

"H-hey!" the bartender seemed to find his voice. "You can't just-," Guts cast a gaze over his shoulder; his hand patted the hilt of Dragonslayer.

"There isn't a problem, is there?"

The bartender made the smart move to not say anything.

Outside, Sonia was leaning against a wooden pole, seemingly awaiting their return. "That was quick. Did you win anything?"

Guts didn't answer, but he reached into the pouch and tossed her two gold pieces. "Thanks for the tip." He went to exit the town, his business here all done. Sonia didn't follow, but Puck, unfortunately, did.

"You are just plain mean sometimes," Puck flew along beside him.

"And now that you finally know that, will you leave me alone?" Guts didn't want to sound too hopeful.

Puck seemed to know that his smile would annoy him. "You might be mean, but I can tell you got some good in you too. And I'll stick around until you see that too!"

I really hate this bug.

Everything that was, there was always more to it. That had been the first lesson and the one that was supposed to be the most important. Both flora, and to a lesser extent, Schierke, had tried to explain as best they could about the many branches of magic, and how they all function when properly used. He had already been briefly introduced to summoning and enchanting, but there were others, many others.

Transfiguration, it was a sit sounded, to take one thing and manipulate it into another. It could be as simple as changing the color of a bed sheet or turning a human into an animal. Ivalera had accidentally spilled a drink on Schierke's clothes and the young witch had briefly turned her companion into a ladybug.

One Harry was surprised had a category of its own, defensive-based magic. The entire spirit-tree mansion was protected by it through the talisman carved into the surrounding trees, as Schierke had shown him that one night. But personal shields could be erected as well with the proper symbols drawn and a salt line. The flaw in those was that the charm would only protect against supernatural threats, not physical ones.

Then there was potion brewing, a topic which Flora actually let him practice alongside her and Schierke. The main reason being aside from the fact that he was still a novice, was that potion making did not require any prior magical experience. The potion itself would have magical properties, but the brewer could be anyone who understood what it was they were doing. And with a few helpful tips from Flora, Harry brewed his potion alongside Schierke.

"Add a few crushed mint leaves," Flora instructed him.

Harry read over the list of ingredients. "It doesn't list mint leaves." Schierke took the time away from her own potion brewing to hand him a bowl of leaves.

"Mistress Flora has been doing this for a long time. After a while, you take away a few tips that no list could ever show you; your own experience. You'll never learn to grow if you just go by what's put in front of you."

"Does that mean that you messed up bad at one point?" Harry jokingly asked, accepting the leaves and adding them to the cauldron.

"Everybody makes mistakes," she informed, turning her head to look at him. When she did, Harry couldn't help but stare. "What?" she asked.

"You wear glasses."

They were oval shaped, not as large as his, but still noticeable. He had been so enraptured with his own potion he never saw her put them on. "So." She sounded a tad indignant. "I'm farsighted and I can read the text better with them. Besides, you wear glasses too."

"Yeah," Harry admitted as much. "But you kinda look like an owl with them on."

She had to blink a few times to try and comprehend if he was serious or just teasing. "No, I don't!" Ivalera flew up and studied Schierke as well. "What do you think, Ivalera? Do I look like an owl?"

The elf pondered. "…Owls are cute." Schierke pulled her hat down over her face.

"Both of you potions are looking quite fine," Flora examined their work. "You've taken an important step into understanding that not all magic requires a wand, it can be as physical as we are now."

That had been another thing; the physical. When Flora had first explained it to him, Harry thought his head would actually explode. There was the notion that the world they resided in now, was not the only one to exist, there was other worlds, or layers rather, that intertwined or occasionally overlapped. They were the astral worlds.

For starters, there was the physical world, the world of humans where what you see is what there is; overall nothing exceptional. Not until the astral layers. They were what witches and wizards tapped into to draw their magic, even if they knew it or not. These layers were the birthplace of magical creatures, beings with innate magical abilities, such as elves like Ivalera. They once crossed over to be a part of the physical world, until they either died or were killed in which they returned to the astral plane of existence. Having magic make up a part of which they are, no magic can ever be truly killed.

Then there was the interstice. It was a place where people like Harry, Guts, and Casca now existed. It was like a place between the physical and astral, hence why the spirits came for them at night; it was because of their brand. The brand came from a part of the astral world, and was now a part of them; physical beings.

Lucky us, Harry bitterly thought.

With a deeper understanding of magic, mages could project a "luminous body" or their means of traversing the astral layers without their physical bodies. But it was risky. The most powerful magic that can be pulled to assist from the astral world laid the deepest in, and therefore the most dangerous. The deepest layer was known only as the abyss. It is a swirling torrent of madness and despair that would be impossible to escape from.

Finally, there was what Flora called the "ideal world." It was a world in which both humans of the physical, and creatures of the magical existed. However, a link to that world was near impossible to establish. It would have to take a direct link of sorts to actually be able to travel there.

It was confusing but fascinating. The ultimate contradiction that only made sense to mages; and what led Harry to a question that had been bugging him for quite some time and he had asked as he and Flora walked around the spirit-tree. "All this stuff is fascinating, but why don't more people know about it?" Flora's smile faltered. "If all of that is true, then other people must know at least some things about it. How can anyone cover up the fact that this isn't what's only real?"

The elderly witch seemed to ponder how best to answer. "It was because people knew that the knowledge was lost to most. Tell me, young Harry, how much do you know of the Holy See?"

"It's the main religious organization for all the western countries. I take it they didn't like the idea that something went against their teachings." She nodded.

"Magic had been around for far longer than any religion had," Flora elaborated. "The founder of the Holy See believed magic to go against the divine will of their god and began the first of many witch hunts. Over time people stopped believing in many magical creatures and the magic was less. Believing in a spell, an idea, anything that is what is most important." She pursed her lips. "He was horribly misguided."

"Wait… you knew the founder of the Holy See?" He had gotten the impression Flora was older than she looked, but the Holy See was hundreds of years old, maybe even a thousand.

"I considered him a friend at one point. He had an aptitude for exploring beyond reason, and was quite handsome as well." He didn't need to know that last part. "He thought by taking certain actions that he was saving lives, but he ended up killing a great many."

"Sounds like someone I know," Harry muttered under his breath. "He thought that mages were all focused on using dark magic or something like that?"

"Dark magic?" Flora repeated. "Magic is what you make of it. A simple cutting jinx could cut a man's throat as easily as it could some leaves. A levitation charm could kill someone on impact if the height is high enough. And a spell that could be used to end one's life, imagine if someone was living a life of pain, someone, you cared a great deal about. If the best way to help them was to use a spell to kill them, would you? Magic is what you make of it." Harry was under the impression that Flora had used that last example from personal experience. As they neared the end of their walk around the tree, Harry noticed something he had not previously. A door was built near some of the roots, blending in almost perfectly. Flora followed his gaze.

"An old storage room," she said a bit too quickly. "I keep some of the more, unstable for lack of a better word, items down there. Two of them, in particular, are not to be trifled with." He looked at it with a newfound curiosity. "But Schierke tells me that you have a gift when it comes to snakes." She led him over to a small garden where a few garden snakes slithered around. "The gift of talking to snakes is called parseltongue. But, I am curious about what you know about warging."

A/N: So this chapter was pretty exposition heavy, but I thought it important to explain the concepts of magic this chapter. The next one will have warging and Harry beginning to craft his own staff. Thanks for reading.


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing

She led Harry back to the garden and away from the supposed "storage door." Flora's answer regarding what lay beyond had been far too vague for his liking, as opposed to how she normally gave such lively descriptions. For some reason, his sense of curiosity seemed amplified, his imagination running wild. But, it was also something else; something that seemed to almost call to him, to pull him toward… something.

"Here we are." Flora's voice drew him away from his imagination train of thought. They were back in the garden where Schierke was watering the plants. A bee buzzed around the girl's hat, and she shooed it away with a point of her staff toward some sunflowers. "Hard at work, I see."

Schierke straightened when addressed by her teacher. "I finished with the potion I had been brewing, so I decided to help out here."

"No reason to defend yourself, Schierke," Flora spoke lightly. "I was actually hoping that you'd be out here."

"You were, mistress?" Schierke tilted her head.

"For what I had in mind, yes. Have you been keeping up with your ability to warg?"

Schierke bowed. "Of course, mistress. Do you require a demonstration?"

"Not for my sake, no." She looked over at Harry. "For our learner." Flora bent down near some of the flowers, seemingly looking for something. "Aha!" in her hand was a small green garden snake, which almost seemed content in the witches clutch. "I believe this little fellow would make a fine vassal for your first experience." Flora handed him the snake, which perked up at Harry's touch.

"Warging… you mean I'm going to be able to see what this snake sees?" Harry surmised from what he had been told about the art.

"See what it sees, feel what it feels, move its body around to your will," Flora expanded.

Harry looked down at the small serpent which was curled around itself in the palm of his hand. "If I actually do manage to take control over it, will it feel anything?" Harry wondered. "If something goes wrong, what would end up happening?"

"Usually warging requires a mage to have a luminous body, one that can exist outside of our existence in the astral world." Harry had still to summon the apple; an act which he attempted every night before going to sleep. "But, if you can talk to snakes that would be a great benefit to you."

"You mean if I ask nicely, the snake will allow me to do it," surmised Harry.

"Consent of sorts is needed from the animal," Schierke mentioned. "Animals can form bonds with humans either over time or just from being in tune with one another. If you really can talk to snakes, it could allow you to get past the fact that you haven't achieved an astral form yet."

Harry looked back at the serpent coiled in his palm. Sensing his gaze, the snake perked its head up, eyes unblinking and flickering its forked tongue. But, there was no sign of discontent from the tiny serpent. "Try speaking to it," Flora suggested. "Ask if it would be willing to share its mind and body." Flora gave an encouraging look, and Schierke looked at him with curiosity, trying to pass it off as being nonchalant.

Trying his best to imagine that he would get this right on the first try, Harry spoke. "Hello."

The forked tongue flipped up and down in rapid succession. "A sspeaker. Here? That'sss sssurprissing."

"It's talking to me," Harry spoke to the two witches.

Flora nodded in approval; Schierke, on the other hand, dropped whatever blasé appearance she was going for. If she had wanted to see him fail, her expression of wonder betrayed that completely. "What's it saying?" she excitedly asked.

"It's just surprised that I can speak to it," Harry admitted as much.

"Parseltongue is a rare trait," said Flora. "To have such a unique ability is a great blessing. Please, do not let us distract you. Talk to it some more. If it grants you consent, I'll tell you how to properly warg."

Directing his attention back to the snake, Harry said, "My name'ss Harry Potter. Do you have a name?"

"No name for me, sspeaker. Usss seprentsssss do not name ourselvesss."

"How long have you lived in this garden then?"

"Many yearsss. I wass here before the girl, but not the woman. Ssshe doesss not age, not here. Many of my brothersss and sistersss have found refuge near her tree."

"You like humans then? If you live so close to them."

"I've heard talesss from othersss of my kind. Humansss outssside of this foreesst, they are cruel, viciousss beingsss who would kill without a second thought. But thessse onesss, they are kind to usss creaturesss."

"Have you warged with them then?"

"Once, with the older one. Ssshe hass done sso with almossst every creature who comesss near this tree. Sshe iss in tune with all thessse animalsss."

"Would you be willing to try it again, with me this time?"

"Perhapsss, what'sss in it for me?"

"What is it you'd like?"

"Ratss, sspeaker; ratsss. The woman iss protective of all creaturesss, even the uselessss onesss."

"Well I promise if I find a rat then it's all yours."

"Much oblidged, sspeaker. I will name my firssst hatchling after you asss thanksss."

Harry looked up to see both witches watching him. "He agreed."

"Did he want anything is return?" Schierke asked. "Snakes can be faithful to those they trust, but they are sly to a fault."

"You're not wrong. He wants a rat."

Schierke blanched. "Even predators have to eat, I guess. I'm just glad that's its rats."

"You're glad, Schierke?" Flora asked. "I'm rather fond of the little rodents. The pitter-patter of their little feet always amused me."

Clearing his throat to get back on topic, Harry asked, "What's next? Now that I've gotten the snake's permission, what do I do now?"

"Ah, right." Flora cleared her throat. "First, make eye-contact with the snake." Harry did as instructed. "Now, imagine looking at yourself, but through the eyes of that snake; its eyes are about to become yours. That is a crucial step; magic comes from believing, after all. And finally, recite the following phrase; videm na conspectru tao ostinde maihi."

Videm na conspectru tao ostinde maihi. Harry mentally recited. He looked back at the serpent in his hand, it was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him. "Videm na conspectru tao ostinde maihi." Harry recited.

It was almost instantaneous. One minute he could see himself holding the snake as clear as day, the next it was like he was swimming through milk. Everything was a bit foggy, and Harry feared he had messed up and gone blind. But the white began to clear; shapes and outlines were becoming present to him now. He turned to look, but it felt like his whole boy moved in sync with his head and neck. Moving his arms and legs was impossible, he didn't have any.

The whiteness faded to near nothing and he found himself staring up at himself, at his own body. His human eyes were closed, and his body as still as any statue. Right now he was being held in the palm of his statuesque hand. Flora's image came into focus, and she extended her hand for him to slither onto, which was easier said than done. He was used to walking with two legs, and with only a body and tail at his disposal, it made for a great struggle.

Eventually, Harry managed to grasp the concept of whatever direction he moved his head and neck, the rest of him was sure to follow. He slithered into Flora's palm and was examined by the elderly witch. She looked him over as if to see if he was able to pass inspection. She spoke some words, but his snake hearing did not interpret all of what she had said. He got the general gist of it when she set him down in the grass, eager for him to test his legs, or rather, his tail.

With this new environment as his horizon, he slithered forth. It may have just been his imagination, but he felt faster as a snake. He slipped through the grass as if he were the wind, eventually being stopped by a sparrow landing right in front of him, his excitement quickly replaced by fear. In this body, he might be faster and more in tune with the environment, but he was much weaker. There was no way he could defend himself from being eaten by a-wait, what was wrong with the birds' eyes?

Circling around the pupil of the sparrow was a glowing turquoise ring. The same shade of turquoise of-Schierke? The sparrow bent down towards him, but not to peck him with its beak or to carry him off to a nest. It was examining him as well. A series of chirps came from its beak and it was bobbing its head over to where Flora and their two stiff bodies were waiting. The warg Schierke flew low to the ground and went to perch on her human shoulder. Getting the hint, Harry slithered his way back to his body as well. Flora scooped him up in her hand and held him level with his head. She pointed a wrinkled finger to the center of his forehead, and he extended his body to touch it. He saw white, and then black, and then color once again. He blinked his eyes and flexed his fingers. He was back.

"Well done," praised Flora as she let the snake down on the ground. "You've just achieved your first major step in the world of magic."

"Congratulations," Schierke said, her voice lacking any form of sarcasm or distrust. "I guess I was wrong about you; you do have magical talent. And I'm… sorry for being unpleasant before."

She held out a hand to him, and he took it. "That's pretty mature of you, Schierke. And once you get a bit taller, you'll look the part too."

"That's not funny," she deadpanned. "At least Ivalera wasn't here to hear-,"

"-Schierke!" the elf flew out from behind a sunflower. "Did you actually apologize?! You never apologize to anyone besides Mistress Flora. Are you feeling alright? Do you have a fever?"

"Oh no." Schierke shied away from Ivalera's hounding interrogation.

"The two of them have been friends since as long as Schierke has lived here with me," Flora informed Harry while the two bickered. "But all joking aside, you did splendidly."

"Thank you," Harry replied. "I had a good teacher I suppose."

"I simply taught you the incantation. The rest was all you. Speaking of which, may I now ask you a question?"

"With all I've asked you, it seems fair."

"You see, Parseltongue is a rare trait, as I've said. Usually, it is passed down by blood, what do you remember of your parents?"

"I never knew them. They died when I was just a baby."

Flora's smile wavered and turned to a frown. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend to bring back any bad memories. I was only curious."

Harry shook his head. "It's fine. Like I said, I never actually knew them." It was a cold thing to admit, that he was fine with not knowing his parents, had things been different, he would feel a pang of guilt. But he never even knew what they looked like, let alone what kind of people they were. The Dursley's never talked about them and they were Harry's relatives. Relatives, but not his family.

"Why not get some rest?" suggested Flora. "To achieve warging on your first attempt, and without a luminous body is quite the feat." Deciding to take her advice, Harry went back to the spirit-tree, passing by the storage door as he did so. He waited to see if he would get the same ominous feeling as he had done before; he didn't.

If warging had been an easy task, then what came after it was cause for infuriation; crafting his own staff. According to Flora, staffs were unique to each person and more "loyal" than wands. Staffs were all handcrafted by the future user issuing a strong magical bond between the caster and instrument. If for example, Harry were to try using Schierke's staff, he would find the power to be far weaker than his own; the exception being if Schierke willingly lent and gave him permission to wield it. He asked her if he could, she laughed at him.

"It'll be better if it's your own," was what she told him after her laughing fit ceased. And that was where the loyalty factor came into place.

Having the ability and understanding to perform magic was one thing, but it would be useless if there was no way to focus it. By handcrafting a staff, it made the bond all the stronger. The only exception to a handcrafted staff would be if a preexisting one recognized a person as worthy enough to wield it. When Flora told him that, it made Harry think that they were somehow alive in a way.

The materials required to properly craft included wood from a tree with deep spiritual connections, the essence of an animal, and a specialized core. The wood was easy to come by, Flora gave him permission to use some bark from the spirit-tree mansion. For the animal, after collecting a few rats to pay his end of the bargain, Harry was rewarded shed snakeskin. As for the core-well things went sour before he could get to that. The incomplete staff shattered in his hands, leaving them covered with splinters.

Ivalera, with her natural elf dust, was able to heal his wounds in a jiff, and thus Harry began the process all over again. She soon found herself overworked as staff after staff kept exploding in his hands. "Schierke, help me." The elf pleaded. "This boy is going to work me to the bone."

"Get some rest, Ivalera," Schierke told her elf friend. "I'll sort this out." Harry heard her approach from behind.

"Before you say anything, I know what it is I've been messing up on." Harry examined the wood he had just carved. "It's the grip. I'm not allowing any room for everything to fit on the inside. If I make it wider-,"

"-It still wouldn't work," Schierke cut him off.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, sounding more than a little frustrated.

"Any one of those ruined staffs would have been ready the first time, and if you keep up at this rate we won't have a spirit-tree anymore."

"Oh, you're right. The staffs that explode would have worked. What do I know?" his voice heavy with sarcasm.

"You're frustrated."

"Really? I had no idea."

"What are you thinking about right now?" she asked out of the blue.

"I'm thinking of how best to make this staff," Harry answered, trying to sound like he wasn't close to exploding like so many of the past attempts.

"Exactly, you're thinking about making it, not what you plan to do with it. Magic reacts best when it has a goal in mind. So what's yours?" the image of a face came to his mind almost instantly. Instead of mindless babble, a kind, yet also relieved look was on her face; like she was ready to reprimand someone in an older sibling kind of way. He set back to work once more, this time he had a feeling things would turn out very differently.

Wood from the spirit-tree, the skin of a snake, and lastly, "Ivalera," Harry said to the elf, "I know you've spent a lot of dust healing my hands; but do you think you can spare a little more?" much to his relief, this time it did not explode in his hands. He had sanded down the wood to make the grip smooth, and he had gotten enough splinters in his life. It stood a few inches shorter than him, and the top was carved to resemble a lightning bolt, similar to the scar on his head. With this new item, the walking stick he had gotten from Godo's seemed a bit obsolete, with the exception of one thing.

Harry unsheathed the hidden blade from the walking stick. "Godo, forgive me." He concentrated and brought the top of his staff down to where the blade attached to the hilt. It fell off as expected, and taking the blade, Harry tied it around the bottom of the staff like a type of makeshift spear.

"You've done well," Flora told him when he presented her with the finished version of his staff. "When you feel you're ready, I will teach you how to enter the astral world via a luminous body. Now that you have a staff, it will be all the easier."

She bid both him and Schierke a good night and they retired for the night. It was a night that would prove to be an unpleasant one.

At first, Harry had thought he had warged by accident. He was in a snake's body, that much was certain; he knew what the sensation was like having done it before. But this was different. Instead of being in control of the serpent, it was more like he was the one who was along for the ride. This snake was clearly in charge of its own actions. It slithered through the night silent as a ghost, fitting seeing as it was in a graveyard.

Some ways away, a house was visible on a hill overlooking the graveyard, no lights were on, but the snake made a beeline for the house all the same. The house was old but far too nice for any peasant, some lordling maybe. A hole was present in the back door which was more than enough space for the snake to slither on through.

It turned right and ascended a flight of stairs to where a voice was calling a name. "…Nag…ni…" it was weak; whoever was speaking seemed to be on the verge of death. The snake picked up on the voice and picked up the pace, perhaps to go in for the kill. The head prodded a half-closed door open to a room where an armchair rested. Faint breathing could be heard from the other side.

The snake slithered round and-a door appeared in his line of sight, a round door that apparently led to storage. He seemed to phase right through the solid wood and enter inside to the awaiting darkness.

Harry opened his eyes and made a mad grab for his glasses and staff. His bad leg ached a bit at his sudden awakening, but the metal brace helped to relieve some of that tension. He had to know. He had to know what was behind that door.

He tried to keep his steps as light as possible, but every now and again, his metal brace would creak. But he made it to the outside alright. He stuck close to the base of the tree, feeling along the bark for the sanded perfection of the door he sought. And he found it. He pointed his staff at the handle, trying to think if he had read the spell that would open locked doors.

"It isn't locked, you know?"

He whipped around to see Schierke standing behind him, Ivalera on her shoulder. Both looked tired, and not amused. "Is sneaking out going to become a habit of yours? Because this is the second time I've caught you."

"Look, I had this… dream, alright?"

"A dream about the storage room?" Schierke said before yawning.

"…Yeah," Harry kept the first part a secret. Even he couldn't make heads or tails of that one. "Are you going to try and stop me from going in?"

Ivalera seemed to relish the thought of it. "Do it, Schierke!"

"What is it you hope to find in there anyway?" she asked, annoyed. "Don't make me regret having put a little faith in you."

"Less talking, more magic fighting!" Ivalera egged them on.

Harry could only shrug. "I have no idea myself. I don't know what's behind that door, do you?"

"I've only been down there a few times when I was younger, and I don't remember too much about it."

"And you're telling me that you're not the least bit curious?" Harry tried persuading her.

"It doesn't matter if I am or not," Schierke told him. "If Mistress Flora does not want us to enter, then we should respect her wishes."

"It is not a sin to be curious." It wasn't Harry who spoke, but Flora. The elderly witch calmly walked toward the two of them.

"M-mistress Flora!" Schierke's tiredness vanished in a flash.

"How did you know we were-?" Harry began before she pointed to an open window on the mansion above the storage door.

"My window was open, and you were speaking quite loud." She smiled cheekily.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you, mistress," Schierke apologized. "I know that you don't want anyone going into the storage room, and-,"

"-And I believe an exception to the rules is overdue." Her statement stunned all three of them as she went to open the door, and a faint light appeared from within the lower base of the tree. "Curiosity can be quelled easily, especially when I know that it won't be the only instance of this midnight sneaking occurring."

The room was a bit packed; tables mainly occupied the space lined with different ingredients and glass containers. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, save for the suit of armor resting in the corner. It was ebony black, and without a dent or scratch on it. The design of the plates was so intricately crafted that no human could have made it. And the helm, it looked like it resembled a skull.

Wait… "Is this-,"

"-Made by dwarves," Flora said. "They were the finest crafters in any part of the physical world. A subspecies of goblins tried to replicate their craft, but they never succeeded."

"Has that always been here?" Schierke asked her teacher.

"For quite some time, yes. The last user died while wearing it; bled out completely while fighting. It is one of the two dangerous items that is kept down here."

"Where's the other one?" Harry asked, his eyes roaming to spot any other abnormal artifact.

"Do you recall when I said a sorcerer named Merlin had discovered this place long ago?" at Harry's nod, she continued. "He left something behind before he departed as well."

He was running. His bare feet were probably cut up all to hell from the cobblestone road, but he felt no pain; just an overwhelming sense of fear and anxiety. Something was chasing after him down these narrow streets. Something that was a jumbled mess of what a human body should look like. Skinless and blotchy, small and grotesque with an open, toothless mouth, and a singular eye that was unblinking.

His feet carried him far, but the creature did not have to run to catch up to him, it was always there, right behind him. At last, he came upon a gap in the road, one that led straight down into a black abyss. If he looked behind him now, it was going to be right there, right in front of his face. He had to-,

Guts' metal fist came back to squish the succubus that had been feeding off of his nightmare. It was the same one as the night before, the demon child plagued his dreams as of late, preventing him from ever enjoying a moment of rest.

"Good, you're awake!" Puck flew into his face. "Because we have some company, and I don't think they want to have an idle chat." The light from the campfire Guts had started reflected off of the steel weapons the corpse soldiers held. Bony hands shot up from the ground, and the undead warriors rose to fight as they had done in life.

"Brilliant," Guts mumbled strapping the crossbow onto his arm and firing a volley at the first wave. As he neared the end of his ammunition, he busted out Dragonslayer. The huge blade cut three skeletons in half easily sending their bones flying in all directions over the forest.

More gathered in a cluster, but a shot from his canon decimated their bones, burning them beyond recognition. "Is this all you guys have got?" Guts taunted the undead. "No wonder you all died in real life." Dragonslayer became a blur as bones went flying.

Puck watched in fear and awe as Guts fought another battle. He almost missed the shape that had manifested within the embers of the dying fire. It looked like a misshapen fetus. And its sole eye was trained solely one Guts as he fought. Puck tried to get close, but an aura of unadulterated power kept him back. The fetus made no move, it just watched Guts, watched him until the sun came up.

A/N: Sorry if this chapter was a bit short, I had a ton of papers and presentations due this week, and I tried to get as much of this done as I could. Anyways, thank you for reading.


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

His journey resumed once again come the break of day. Bones cracked as his boots came stomping down on them. So many began to crack that anyone listening might have thought that a thunderstorm was brewing in the distance. At least he had been able to get a few good hours of sleep before having to continue on. A blue blur flew up to his good eye holding a stick.

"Hey," Puck began, "you look like you had a rough night, so I went and found some berries for you to eat." The elf presented Guts with the freshly picked fruit. He looked at them with skepticism.

"What are you trying to do, kill me?" Guts nearly spat.

Puck tilted his tiny head in confusion. "Huh? What's wrong with them? Are you allergic or something?"

Guts snatched the berry branch away from the small creature. He plucked a single berry and began to squeeze it between his thumb and forefinger to the point where a line of juice began to appear. "Take a sniff with that useless nose of yours. Tell me if you stiff think that's edible."

He tossed the berry to Puck, who caught it. "Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the-," he sniffed the juice and his bluish skin lost a bit of color. Puck looked up at Guts nervously. "Eh… yeah, I guess its best if you don't eat that; you know, it being poison and everything." He laughed nervously before discarding the rest of the branch. Guts didn't break pace, forcing the elf to beat his tiny wings faster to catch up. "So, where are we going today?"

"I am heading to the nearest town. You can fly off whenever you feel like it, which better be soon."

With an almost indignant shake of his head, Puck said, "Not that easy, mister. I'm useful for when you get into a tight situation, and you know it. You just don't want to admit it." Puck grinned cheekily at him. Guts blew in his face, causing the elf to become disorientated. His smile turned into a frown. "Can't you take a joke?"

Guts spent the next hour or so walking until the forest finally gave way back to a dirt-paved road. If he stuck to that, then he was bound to run into the nearest town or village. Carriage tracks were freshly pressed into the dirt road, and from the direction of the horses' hoof prints, left seemed the way to go.

"Hey, this road looks kind of familiar to me," Puck remarked as the two of them stuck to the side of the road, least a rider or carriage should come up suddenly from behind.

"Let me guess, this is where you were captured by those thugs I had to save you from?"

Puck put a finger to his chin. "No, that road was a lot nicer than this one. And it was a cloudy day too." He snapped his fingers. "Oh! Now I remember! The acting troupe I used to be a part of traveled this way once. They went to go put on a show for a town not too far from here."

"Terrific," Guts said sardonically.

Puck didn't seem to pick up on it and began to swell a little in pride as he recounted what must have been his glory days. "Oh, you should have seen us back then. We had this one guy right; he was super skilled with knives and all sorts of tricks."

"…" Guts didn't respond. Puck's description sounded a lot like someone he had known.

"That was a few years ago though," Puck continued following Guts' silence. "He moved on to bigger and better places, you know how it goes, right?"

"…Yeah, I know how that goes."

Puck seemed to catch onto the fact that Guts was becoming more distant, or at the very least more so than before and he dropped the subject, much to Guts' relief. They continued on in silence for the rest of the journey until the stone walls of the town came into view. They stood at least thirty feet high with sentries patrolling the battlements. Two stood guard by the lowered drawbridge and they chatted idly until they spotted Guts approaching. They readied their spears at his approach.

"What's your business here, traveler?" one asked suspiciously.

"Just passing through," Guts replied.

"The Count isn't allowing visitors in his town at this time," the other added. "We can't risk any heretics of the Holy See coming in."

Guts observed them. "Is that why the drawbridge is down and the portcullis raised?"

The two shared a look before reading their spears. "An outsider has no right to question the rulings of our Lord Count!"

"Maybe," Guts reached behind him. The guards readied to skewer him but stopped short when he tossed a few gold coins to the pair of them. "But are you going to turn away a paying individual? But if a count is running your town, I can imagine that you're pretty well off."

Another uneasy look was exchanged between them. "One night, traveler. You're gone after that."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Guts brushed past them, not caring if he was a bit too forceful doing so. Puck flew out from under Guts' cloak, wiping away a few beads of sweat on his forehead.

"Whew! For a minute there I thought that you were going to kill those guys. Guess nobody has to die today."

Guts didn't respond right away, he brought two fingers up to the brand on his neck. A thin trail of blood had begun to run down from the accursed mark. Puck noticed as well, his blue eyes widening in surprise. "No." a fierce look was now plastered onto Guts' face. "Somebody is going to die."

The curtains had been drawn to a close, but the thin material allowed only the faintest sliver of light from the setting sun to invade the isolated room of the spirit-tree. With a bag of salt in hand, Harry began to pout the contents out in a perfect circular formation, large enough to fit a person inside of it. Next, he poured the salt inside of the circle to form a triangle shape. Using the blade he had attached to the end of his staff, Harry worked on smoothing the salt out so that it was as flat as it could possibly be.

"You are finished making the ritual rune?" Flora asked from the corner of the darkened room. She and Schierke sat at a table illuminated by candlelight. Flora it some incense, while Schierke studied over a text.

Harry gave an affirmative nod. "I am." Flora came over with the incense and placed them along the outside circumference of the salt circle. It was to "put his mind at ease," or so Flora had claimed. Harry had smelled some of the incense before, and all he felt was an overwhelming headache. But, a clear head was vital in taking what would be the most important step into the world of magic; achieving an astral form. Since magic was so deeply rooted in the world of the astral layers, being able to have direct access to that was essential to any mage who was looking to further their magical abilities.

Even with his recently made staff, Harry was still a first timer when it came to journeying beyond into the astral world. His physical body would remain in place in the center of the salt circle, while his luminous body would be able to venture forth, unseen by any physical eye. It was getting a literal out-of-body experience. It was getting in touch with magic like never before. Harry carefully stepped inside of the circle and triangle combination and kneeled down.

"Relax your body and your mind," Flora instructed as she continued to light more incense, the smoke quickly filled his nostrils. "Breathe. Get in tune with your senses, allow yourself to feel weightless. You will soon leave your physical body to one that has yet to be experienced." Harry held his arms in front of him, his staff lying across his palms. It would serve as an anchor of sorts so that he would be able to find his way back.

Flora finished lighting the incense. "By taking these steps, you are only a skip away from traversing into your astral form." Even though his eyes were closed, Harry felt them grow heavy. If it was due to the smell of incense or the heat of the setting sun, he had no idea. "Your luminous body." He exhaled; his breath seemed much less faint. "It is the very essence of your soul." And Harry felt a floating sensation.

It seemed like the entire town had been gathered in the square. They stood, huddled in a great mass in front of a wooden podium where a few key figures looked to be assembled. Whispers broke out amongst the crowd, some of which he was able to overhear. "Did you know she was a heretic?" "She was just in my shop the other day; I hope they don't come after me now." "You're paranoid; you know how the Count is with this type of business."

Whether it was curiosity or fear, all talk was centered around a woman who was kneeling on the podium, a masked headsman stood at her side. Two other individuals were present as well, the first being an elderly priest, and the other sitting on a cushioned chair beneath a raised tent. The seated individual was quite large as he looked to almost be spilling from his expensive looking clothes. His head was as bald as an egg, and with a double chin, he looked to resemble a dumpling of some kind. The large noble gave a wave of his hand and the old priest began speaking.

"We are gathered here today to witness the execution of this heretic woman who turned her back on the teachings of the Holy See and committed a terrible act of heresy!"

The redheaded woman shook her head in denial, tears streamed down her face. "No! Please, I never committed any heresy! I would never betray the teachings of the Holy See! Please, Lord Count, take mercy on me!" the headsman raised his ax. "I'm not a heretic! I'm-!"

Thunk!

Her head came off in one clean swing, rolling off the podium and down to the assembled masses. The stone tiles of the square were now as red as the woman's hair. "She was the fifth one this month." The whispering continued. "How long until the High Pontiff comes here to investigate?" "It could be the Inquisitor that comes, he deals with these situations." The chatter had more to do with any attention that might be drawn to their town and less about the woman who had just been executed.

Parting his way through the crowd, he picked her head up by her red locks and nestled it in the crook of his left arm. His right hand reached up to the brand on his neck that was still bleeding. With two fingers, he began to draw an outline of the brand on the woman's forehead. A guard noticed his actions and maneuvered his way over to where he was. "Hey! What do you think you're-!?"

Guts suddenly tossed the severed head toward the podium, more specifically, to the Count. Much to the crowd's surprise, the Count managed to catch the head with ease, unexpected given his out of shape appearance. It took only a second for the Count's heavy brows to lift to reveal beady eyes as he took in the sight of what had been drawn in blood on the head. He looked down at Guts in surprise and… amusement.

Guts smirked back in mock humor before turning and leaving the crowded square. "After him!" one of the guards yelled.

Puck flew out from under Guts' cloak. "Why'd you have to go and do that?! They're after us now!" Guts took a glance over his shoulder; the guards were still pushing their way through the crowd so he had a bit of a head start ahead of them. He quickly made his way away from the town square and down a shady alleyway. He attached the repeating crossbow onto his prosthetic arm, ready to mow the guards down one by one once they entered his field of vision. What he didn't expect was for a door to a shabby looking house to open. A small, hunched figure stood on the other side, staring up at him in anticipation.

"You… have an elf with you?" the voice sounded a bit hoarse like the speaker was severely lacking in resources.

"What's it to you?" Guts spoke harshly. "There's about to be trouble coming this way, so unless you want to get used as a human shield I recommend you go back inside."

Surprisingly, the speaker didn't shy away. "Your words are harsh, but you oppose the Count, the ruler of this town, yes? I caught a glimpse of what you did back there."

Puck's curiosity was peaked. "You don't like that gross looking guy?"

The speaker gave a sarcastic chuckle. "Of course not. He was the one who did this to me!" he opened the door fully to show himself. He was an extremely short man, but that was due to his legs being stubby planks of wood. A dirty hooded cloak covered his disfigured face, and most of his right side was wrapped in gauze. Most of his teeth were missing as well, either from old age or from a far worse tragedy. "The name's Vargas. And if you're an enemy of the Count, come in quickly!"

"Search down this way!" the sound of the guards approaching drew closer. While it would be a mundane task to simple slaughter all of them, this Vargas clearly had some history with the Count, and if he could be persuaded into sharing what it was, then killing the monster could be all the easier. Guts entered and Vargas slammed the door shut, barring it with a large wooden plank.

"You won't regret it, swordsman." Vargas tried and failed to give a reassuring smile. He quickly realized his failure, and composed himself, wobbling slightly on his two peg legs. "No telling if they know you're here or not, we can hide in the cellar, I have a secret room down there that only I know about." His wooden legs clunked with each step he took down the wooden staircase and down to his cellar.

"This is a nice place you got here, Vargas." Puck flew around the small cellar. It wasn't, but the elf was just trying to be polite.

"Heh-heh," Vargas laughed to himself. "And I thought elves weren't supposed to be liars. We have enough of that with people as is. He hobbled on over to an apothecary bookcase. "It's right through here." He struggled to push the bookcase out of the way but was moving at a snail's pace.

Guts stepped, roughly pushing the crippled Vargas aside. "Taking forever." Guts muttered as he moved the furniture aside with ease.

Past the bookcase was an additional room, one filled with jars of sickly green fluid and texts of herbal medicine. At the very end was a small table with a locked box sitting on it. Vargas hobbled along inside with Puck flying in shortly after him. "I used to be a physician for the Lord Count, until the last seven years or so."

"What happened?" Guts asked. "Did he realize he couldn't stand to look at your face anymore?"

"That's rude!" Puck chided him. "Sorry about him, Mister Vargas. He's not good when it comes to meeting new people."

Instead of lashing back, Vargas pulled up a stool and sat himself down on it. "No offense taken. I know how I look." He took a pause. "And its all because of the Count that I'm like this. You probably saw at the execution, but he's obsessed with killing anyone who might be a heretic. I began to see how mad he truly was, so I tried to escape his service with my family." He choked up a bit. "But we were caught. We were all tortured; my family was killed and eaten in front of me. I only escaped by faking my own death and being tossed down a sewer drain."

"He ate them in front of you?!" Puck asked with a disgusted look on his face. "That's just sick!"

"Of course he is," Guts said. "He's one of them. An apostle, a demon."

Vargas' single eye widened. "You know of what he is?! Then why-why make such a scene. The Count won't take that slight lightly."

"I hope that he doesn't." Guts informed. "I want him to know that I'm coming for him. I want his last moments to be of fear, to be afraid of what might be lurking in the shadows. Let him experience what it's like to be the one who gets hunted." He finished with a maniacal grin that seemed to unsettle Puck, but intrigue Vargas, who gave a bow of his stout head.

"Then God has granted my prayers at long last. I thought that you were just a citizen standing up against a cruel ruler, but if you truly have the means to kill that monster, I shall assist you to the best of my knowledge." Vargas reached for the box on the table. "Before escaping, I managed to snatch this from the Count's chambers. He was rarely seen without it." He opened the box to reveal a green egg-shaped object with various facial features scattered around it.

Guts reacted on instinct, kicking the stool out from under Vargas, sending him to the floor. "Hey!" Puck yelled, but Guts ignored him, grabbing Vargas by his throat and pinning him against the wall. The man's stubby peg legs moved about in tiny circles.

"Do you have any idea what that is?" Guts' voice was low to the point that it sounded more like the growl of a wolf.

"Ack…no," Vargas choked out. "I saw him-agh, with it many times…ahhhh. I… thought it was precious to him… I don't-don't know…" Managing to calm his rage when he saw that Vargas was telling the truth, he dropped him back to the floor. "Ahhhhhh. Haaaaaaah." Vargas took deep breaths as oxygen filled his lungs.

"That was really uncalled for, you know." Puck said crossly.

Vargas picked himself back up, managing not to stumble on his wooden pegs. "I can see that whatever this egg is, holds some sort of importance. I may not know what it is, but I know how to get you to the Count."

"And that is?" Guts asked some anger still present in his tone.

Vargas gave a near toothless smile. "The same way I got out; the sewer."

He was looking down on his body; his physical body anyways. It-or, he seemed to be as stiff as a board; unmoving, undisturbed, almost dreamlike. But something grew from the back of his head, a tether of sorts. Indeed it was like a bright beam of light that extended from the back of his head and snaked around until connecting with a point on the back of his new head; his luminous one. But that was not the only thing that Harry noticed right away. His hands; when he raised them to his face, he thought that he was looking at a ghost.

They were nearly transparent but seemed to be wreathed in some sort of white flame or a very thick mist that seemed to radiate off of his new body in small, controlled waves. So this is a luminous body, huh? Harry pondered his newfound ability. He tilted back, and it was like an ocean current seemed to carry him, seeing as his legs were incapable of walking on thin air. Not only was he looking down on his physical body, but he was hovering in the air.

Using his shoulders, Harry leaned into an invisible flow, letting the current of his energy carry him in whatever direction he felt like. He started to get the hang of it-moving without a physical body. In a way, it was just like flying. He tilted his chin up, and he spiraled upward, stopping just short of hitting the ceiling of the spirit-tree mansion; not that it could actually hurt him. The tree and ceiling were just wood, a physical embodiment. Harry's physical body was down below, sitting perfectly still in the middle of the salt circle.

To test it, Harry reached out his hand, which sure enough, passed right through the ceiling as if it weren't there at all. He really was just like a ghost right now. Lifting his head, Harry continued upward, venturing out from the confines of the spirit-tree and above to view the expanse of forest that lay beyond.

He could almost imagine the wind that would be whipping through his hair if his body was physical, but he was unperturbed in his luminous body. And with it, came a sight that had before been unseen. They were ripples. All across the forest and as far as he could see, they looked almost like doors, or shimmering flickers of light leading to a hidden secret of a sort.

Having read about od, the life force that went side-by-side with magic, Harry knew that those flickers were in some way connected to a deeper part of the astral world. If he stared long enough at one, he could almost feel what was behind each one. Most of them seemed either light or neutral, but one-no, two seemed to have a much different od than the rest, and they came from beneath the spirit-tree. Right where the door in the roots led to. They had such a unique feeling to them, that almost seemed familiar to Harry, but strangely alien at the same time. The first was a very dark presence, one full of anger and spite; probably the armor that Flora had kept tucked away. The other was much less dark but seemed unstable. But one thing was for sure; both seemed to radiate pure power.

'What you are seeing is the flow of od,' the unexpected voice of Flora spoke from behind him. Her luminous body floated next to him, but she looked nothing like how Harry knew her. She did not appear as an elderly woman; instead, she looked young and full of life, not a wrinkle to be seen on her youthful face. Her hair was not in a bun, but flowed freely and seemed to radiate a fire-like heat. 'You are beginning to discover-?' the healthy smile on Flora's face vanished quickly, leaving one of concern.

She reached out her hand to his arm and was able to touch him. He could feel the heat radiate from her luminous being to his, but her focus was not on his arm, she was looking straight at his head. Flora stuck out a finger and moved it to his forehead. Harry did not feel her touch that time.

Hurriedly, she led him back into the spirit-tree and guided him back so that his luminous body returned back to his physical one. Harry's eyes jolted open at once, looking over to Flora who opened hers as well. "Did you manage to do it?" Schierke asked, looking over from her text.

"That was odd," Flora said walking over to Harry, her eyes full of concern.

"The life-force or strange?" Harry asked, not really looking forward to her answer.

"Both."

Dammit! Harry mentally cursed. He was sure he had done everything right.

"What happened?" Schierke approached. "Did he botch it up that badly?"

"Not funny," Harry shot her a weak glare.

Flora shook her head. "You achieved your luminous body alright. But, I was a fool for not seeing it earlier."

"What?" Harry almost demanded.

"You did not feel it? Our luminous bodies are manifestations of our souls, and yours-yours had a hole in its forehead. It was in the shape of your scar."

Harry ran his hand up to rub it. It didn't hurt; in fact, he hadn't felt much of anything from it of late. "What does my scar have to do with anything?"

Flora looked him dead in the eye. "I had my suspicions, but I didn't have confirmation until now; that scar is magical in nature. It's a wound to your astral form itself."

Schierke's eyes widened. "How is that possible? If it is a wound to his astral being, then shouldn't it have festered by now?" she eyed his scar warily.

"But I was told I got this scar from when my parents died in an accident." He felt stupid as soon as he said it out loud. When have the Dursley's ever given him reason to believe them? "Can it be treated at least?"

Flora cast a downtrodden look. "That is hard to say. I am familiar with almost every form of magic, but soul magic is always tricky. The best I can offer now is the means to ensure that the magic from the wound does not fester anymore."

Guts and Puck managed to slip out of Vargas' hideout, with the former taking off in the direction of the sewer that would lead right into the Count's castle. Their escape proved to be a risky endeavor as town guards were seen storming the hideout soon after they had left. Vargas had said he would try to stall for time, but one crippled man against a squad of armed guards, they both knew that it was a losing battle.

"There's still time to try and save him," Puck argued. "Compared to the monsters you usually fight, a couple of guards would be no problem."

"Why help the weak?" Guts rhetorically asked. "He's lived his life, no need to risk mine for the sake that he can fumble around on fake legs for a few more years."

Puck clenched his tiny fists. "How can you say that?! He didn't have to help us out, but he did. He knew that the best chance of taking that Count guy out was through you. How does helping someone make you weak? He even let you take that egg thing before we left." Guts knew exactly how dangerous it was to leave that behelit behind. It wasn't a crimson one like Griffith had had, but that didn't mean that someone wouldn't be able to use it at one point down the line. No, better to keep something like that close at hand. "Besides," Puck continued, "I think the real reason you're acting this way is because you see some of yourself in Vargas."

"You're delusional," Guts denied as they walked past the town square, keeping to the outskirts to avoid detection.

"It's true," insisted Puck. "You both have some sort of resentment toward those-apostles, or whatever they're called. He just lacks the means to do anything about it, so he has to rely on others, something you'll never admit."

Guts scoffed. "Like I said, you're delusional."

"Hey, I'm not the one that's always-, hey! What's going on over there?" Puck's attention was drawn back to the town square. A smaller crowd had gathered, and the Count was present as well. There was no woman on the chopping block this time, but a horribly disfigured man. "Is that Vargas?!"

It was indeed. His peg legs were hogtied and a basket was placed under his head. The Count motioned for the headsman to step forward. "You have been accused of aiding and abetting a degenerate, how do you plead?"

"Guilty as charged," Vargas made no attempt to deny. "I have a clear conscience, my only regret is not being able to witness the fate that awaits you." The headsman's ax raised high into the air.

"C'mon!" Puck pleaded with Guts. "Whip out your crossbow and put a stop to this!" Guts regarded the scene, then turned and continued to walk to the sewers entrance. "Fine! If you won't do anything, I will!"

Puck zoomed toward the execution like a small blue bullet, but before his body could collide with the headsman, a pair of fat, meaty hands clamped around his body preventing any form of escape. "Hey! Let go!" Puck found himself staring up into the fat face of the Count, his eyes barely visible from beneath his heavy brow.

"My, my; an elf?" the Count leered down at him. "Fetch a birdcage," he ordered one of his attendants. "This will make an excellent gift." The next thing Puck knew, he was stuffed inside a cage, and the headsman's ax came down with a resounding Thunk! Vargas' head rolled from his body. "Come now. I have a gift to deliver."

The cage rattled as the Count carried it up to the top of one of the towers of his castle. All the while Puck continued to shout to be released, or he would evoke the wrath of the elf-dimension style. The Count paid no mind to his ramblings but made sure to shake the cage a little harder should Puck not cease his banter. Despite putting on a brave face, on the inside Puck was panicking. What's this guy gonna do with me? I can tell he's not fully human. Is he going to… he's gonna eat me, isn't he?! Oh man, I'm a few steps away from being a chestnut roasting on an open fire! Oh, I hope I taste bad! Forget it, who am I trying to fool? I'll probably taste like a blueberry.

They arrived outside of a door, which instead of just marching in like a high lord demanding service, the Count politely knocked. "Theresa? May I come in?"

A muffled, "O-of course, father," was heard from the other side. The Count opened the door, not to a kitchen or butchery, but the bedroom of a young preteen girl. Long black hair framed her youthful face, and eyes full of recognition and fear. She sat up from her bed and shifted over to where the Count stood in the threshold. "What is it, father?"

"I've got a gift for you." The Count presented Theresa with the cage containing Puck. "I came across this little elf not too long ago. I thought you would like a companion to keep you company; you always spent too much time in your room."

Theresa lifted the cage to her face, Puck stared back at her as her eyes widened. This must be her first time seeing an elf. "I-is this really an elf, father?"

The Count smiled. "Indeed it is. I know that you will keep it in good health." He extended a hand to pat her on the head, but she recoiled, seemingly fearful of his touch. His eyes actually managed to widen and his outstretched hand curled into a meaty fist. "Are you, displeased?"

Theresa shook her head. "Not at all. I was… overwhelmed. This is a bit too much to take in as a gift."

"You need not worry about such things as that, Theresa. Now, why not come and join me for dinner? The chef can prepare your favorite."

She shook her head. "I'll… take my meal in my room, father."

His eyes lowered in disappointment. "Very well. Just know that there is a space at the table should you wish to join me." He exited the bedroom leaving the two alone.

Theresa carried the cage over to her nightstand by her window, opening it just a crack so that some cool night air could infiltrate her chambers. "Do you like the window open?" Theresa asked him kindly. "I've never, er-had an elf before."

"I'd like to say that I've never been locked up before, but… that wouldn't be true. The name's Puck."

"Hello, Puck." She gave a wry smile.

"Soooo," he trailed, "is that Count really your father?"

Her smile faded. "He is."

"If you hadn't called him father, I never would have guessed," Puck told her. "I mean, you look nothing like him. He's bald, you have hair, he's mean, you look like you're nice, he's um, kinda fat, you're not."

To his relief, she seemed to take it in good humor. "He tells me that I take after my mother." Once again, her happy demeanor quickly changed. "She's a bit of a sensitive topic for him."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that." He was, he couldn't help it. It was elf nature to feel connected to children. "Was it recent?"

"No." she shook her head. "It was seven years ago. It was around then that father began to… change."

"Huh?" he tilted his head in curiosity.

"He used to be a highly regarded member of the Holy See religious order," Theresa explained. "It was his job to punish heretics, he never enjoyed it, it was just his job. That changed when a group of heretics broke into our castle and murdered my mother. Since then, father was never the same. He enjoyed killing them after, people of this town started to fear him, he saw possible heretics everywhere, even some who weren't…"

"Like the woman and Vargas," Puck sadly realized. "So you know what he is then?" from what she had told him, it sounded like she suspected her father was not as human as she appeared.

"I know of some of the rumors that circulate about him. Some of them say that he-," she looked sick, "that he eats the flesh of the supposed heretics."

"Eek!" Puck retched. "And he keeps you locked up too?"

Surprisingly, she shook her head. "No. The doors unlocked, I can leave whenever I want."

"Then why stay?" Puck asked. "I'm locked up now, and I would want to go and find my friend. If you know about the bad things that he does, why stay?"

"Because… he's still my father, I guess." She surprised him again by opening his cage door. "I have a choice, so do you. You said you had a friend to find." Puck fluttered out, giving her a toothy smile.

"You know, you're not too bad, kid! I won't forget this. Maybe I'll see you again."

She smiled. "I'd like that."

He flew out the open window, descending down to the town below. Guts was still here, Puck knew that for sure. The Black Swordsman wasn't going to leave until the Count had been dealt with.

A/N: That's it for this chapter. Thank you for reading.


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

As it turned out, Puck did not have to fly far to find where Guts was. He fluttered above the courtyard as he watched a fresh battalion of guards come rushing into the castle. "Intruder!" one of them yelled, no doubt referring to Guts. The Black Swordsman had probably already snuck in but made no attempt to hide his presence once inside. Making sure to take more precaution than Guts, Puck stealthily followed after them.

Following the guards took him through the front entrance of the castle, this time entering it as a helper as opposed to being a caged pet. "Agh!" a cry of pain sounded from further inside. Puck flew up to the ceiling as a severed limb flew through the air, landing just in front of the group of guards that he had been tailing.

"He's made it further in the castle!"

"He must be trying to get to the Lord Count! We must hurry!" they ascended a flight of stairs to where a door had been all but blown right off the hinges. Before they could even draw steel, a massive blade cut through the four of them with such mastery that their steel plate armor could do nothing more but to fold like paper. There wasn't a shadow of a doubt in Puck's mind who that could be. He quickly flew into the next room to discover that it had already become a bloodbath.

Corpses laid strewn about like ragdolls in a child's bedroom, some of them not even fully intact. Heads, arms, legs, there were enough lying around to build an entire person. And in the middle of the chaos and gore stood the Black Swordsman; his expression like an immovable mountain and lone eye fixated on a door that lay beyond another squad of castle guards. The brand on his neck seemed to bleed more the longer he stared at the door that lied beyond.

"Crossbowmen, ready!" a line of guards kneeled and took aim at Guts. "Fire!" as the volley neared, Guts raised Dragonslayer in front of him, the blunt side poised in position. The arrows shattered helplessly against the steel blade. The captain of the guard began to panic. "Reload! Spearmen, skewer him!"

As the crossbowmen loaded a fresh batch of arrows, another group of soldiers charged forth towards Guts. With the spears closing in, Guts waited before ducking underneath the attack. Dragonslayer moved, cutting off six pairs of legs before coming up and cutting the men across their chests. More blood was spilled.

"Hurry! Kill that man!" the captain yelled. A large guard with a mace and heavy shield approached. He swung the mace, missing just short of Guts' face. Before the guard could swing again, Guts had already brought Dragonslayer down to split the shield in two, even going so far as to shatter a few bones in the man's arm in the process. Guts brought Dragonslayer up again, this time splitting steel metal in half as opposed to a wooden shield. The guard was cut in half from shoulder to hip, dropping dead and adding, even more, blood to the stained stone tiles.

Guts then charged the line of crossbowmen, which dropped their ranged weapons in favor of close quarter's swords. They made no difference anyway, not up against a blade like Dragonslayer. Their swords could have been made from balsa wood compared to the slab of iron crafted by Godo. Their corpses only added to the twisted entanglement of bodies lay strewn across the castle floor.

The captain of the guard was all that remained, but the stonewall look on Guts' face told the story that there was no escape. Dragonslayer impaled the captain straight through, even shattering the wooden door which he had been standing guard over. And through the shattered remains of the door laid a chamber of immense size. It was as long as a training yard and lined with stone pillars running the length to where a throne was set atop a few carved steps. That was where the Count sat, looking un-amused and uncaring at the devastation Guts had wrecked on his property and soldiers. "So you have come for me, Black Swordsman."

Guts flicked some off the blood that stained Dragonslayer. "You're a hard man to reach, Count." He more or less spat out the last part.

The Count gave a coy smile and spread his heavyset arms. "Well, I would hate to have kept you waiting. Come, do the deed that you set out to accomplish." Guts stared him down as he took a step toward the Count, who made no move to try and escape or call for more help. He took another step, and then another, eventually, he was nearly within spitting distance of the throne. The Count had a content smile spread along his pudgy face. Not liking the sight of it, Guts readied Dragonslayer and thrust it down to the tiled floor, splitting some of the stone and striking a tendril mass of slimy flesh.

"Hmm," the Count grinned. "You sensed where part of my form was concealed. I'll admit, I wanted to see how honed your skills were in such a field. You'll be pleased to know that they are quite exceptional." The Count tossed aside his lavished robes to reveal a putrid mass of molted green and brown flesh that extended through his throne and into the floor where Guts had stabbed. Standing from the throne, the Count began to change. All of his skin began to turn the same sickly shade of green and brown, with an additional layer of slime. Two stalks protruded from the side of the Count's head which opened to reveal a second pair of eyes. From under his second chin, a large lipless and toothy maw came into being, with the Count's actual face resting just above it. He wormed his way free of the confines of the stone floor to reveal the rest of his true apostle form; something akin to a large slug.

Two large paws of sorts un-tucked themselves from the side of his slug-like body and helped the Count to move more freely. "It feels like it's been so long since I've been able to move around like this. But you, Black Swordsman, you are one who merits my true might be unleashed." With his fleshy paws moving him along, the Count made a straightforward charge towards Guts.

He leveled the point of Dragonslayer with the floor, waiting until the Count approached before taking his swing. The strike was on point, slicing through one of the Count's fleshy paws as if it were cheese. But the Count had picked up enough momentum that he did not come to a halt until he neared the door Guts had entered in. Thick, dark blood oozed from the open wound Guts had dealt. The face above the gaping maw formed into a grin.

"You handle your sword well – not that I'm surprised. But, did you know that your one hit means nothing to me?" from his wound, slime began to secrete seeming to cauterize it. Soon enough, the paw had grown back in place. The apostle Count gave a deep chuckle. "My powers of regeneration are second only to that of Nosferatu Zodd!" a fleshy flap opened on the Count's back, and two tendrils came wriggling into existence. "Now allow me to take the offensive."

The tendrils scraped their way across the ceiling, raining debris and dust down on the two combatants. Guts rolled out of the way of the first and cut the second off at the head before turning his body around to cut the other. Both fell, writhing to the floor, looking to reattach themselves to their host body – a body which was barreling straight towards Guts. The Count had planned to distract him with the tendrils while he made the advance.

Poising Dragonslayer at his side, Guts narrowly made the jump to avoid the charge, and just barely succeeded in slicing the Count in what must be considered to be his stomach area. Much like the first time, an oozing layer of slime secreted from the apostle body to seal off the wound Guts had dealt. "Fufufu! Have you learned nothing?" the Count twisted his body to mimic the slithering of a snake, striking a blow to Guts and knocking him to the side. Two fresh tendrils sprouted from the back of the apostle. One wrapped around Guts' leg and tossed him into one of the pillars lining the chamber. Needing to take time to improve his strategy, Guts quickly ducked behind one of the pillars before the other tendril could come whipping down on him. "Running away to hide?" the Count tauntingly asked. "I expected so much more from you."

Guts did reemerge, with Dragonslayer on his back and crossbow mounted on his arm. Bolts fired as fast as he could crank the lever, some of which the Count was able to swat out of the air like flies, and some managed to hit their mark like the one that struck one of the eyestalks growing from the side of his head. The Count gave a cry of agony, his tendrils wildly whipping about. Seeing a moment of opportunity, Guts charged the Count. He had been paying attention how long it took for the Count to regenerate – he was fast, but not as fast as he liked to think he was. With the time allotted to him, Guts jumped onto the back of the giant slug and drove Dragonslayer into the apostle's back.

"Raaaaggghhhh! You vermin!" the Count yelled. "Get off of me!" Guts withdrew Dragonslayer, ready to impale the Count through the back of his head, but he was stopped short when one of the tendrils wrapped around his leg once more. Guts was torn off of the Count and slammed into the floor repeatedly. The constant tossing around caused the behelit Guts had stored on his person to come flying free. "You truly thought that you could defeat me?! I feed on the flesh of degenerates like you, what chance does a mere man have against the powers granted by the forces of destiny?!" a second tendril came whipping down on Guts as he attempted to rise to his feet. "You're just like a heretic. No matter how much you are beaten, you still find a way to get under my skin!" before the tendril could whip down, a blue blur flew at incredible speeds – straight into one of the Count's eye stalks. "Yeow! Now what?"

Hovering in front of the Count was a very cross looking Puck. "Just what's the big idea, huh?! At the rate you're going, the both of you are going to wind up destroying this whole castle! You have a daughter living in one of the towers; have you thought what might be going on with her?"

"She let you out, I assume? A shame. I hoped for you to be her companion, she is much too lonely. But she has nothing to fear from me. Once I rid the world of this Black Swordsman all will be right again. No one will ever again threaten the safety of my land."

"Good luck with that," Puck scoffed. "This one's much too stubborn to just die. And you're wrong. Whatever it is you hope to go back to, it isn't going to happen. Your daughter is terrified of you because of what you've done. Killing more people is only going to make things worse in your case."

The Count gave a condescending smile. "Silly little elf with your honey words. What does an insignificant creature like you know about the act of killing?"

Puck shrugged. "Not much. But I do know people. And I know with all the noise and ruckus you two have been causing is enough to attract the attention of a curious child."

A shriek of terror sounded from the threshold of the chamber. Standing there terrified out of her mind at the monstrous form before her was the Count's daughter – Theresa. The Count's demeanor changed almost instantly. "Theresa, sweetheart. I-I understand that this is your first time seeing me like this, but it is still I, your father." His apostle form lumbered toward her causing the girl to squeal in terror once more. He stopped, seeing that shock had taken hold of her. In her eyes, he was as much a monster as he looked; and that hurt more than any damage Guts could have dealt with his sword.

"F-father…?" she looked at him as if to see him once again as she had always known him, not the monstrous form that towered above. Her presence could have been a hindrance, but Guts recognized an area of opportunity when one was presented to him. His left arm was poised upward, and with a pull of the string, the hidden canon fired its hidden shot.

Babooom!

"Neagghh!" the Count screamed as a portion of his neck and face was blown off by the force of the canon. Hefting Dragonslayer once more, Guts swung down right where his canon shot had struck the Count. No amount of regeneration could heal the apostle in time before the massive blade sliced through the slimy remains of his neck. A large portion of his head fell to the floor – eyes still blinking; alive, but barely.

"Ooohh…" Theresa looked like she was about to faint. Puck looked at her with concern, knowing full well why she appeared so distressed. It was as she had said to him, her father may be a horrible person, but he was still her father. And what daughter would want to see their father suffer at the hands of a strange man. They all knew that the Count was little in deserving of mercy, but based on what Puck had seen the apostle truly did care for his daughter – perhaps that was his one redeemable quality.

"That was a bit excessive, don't you think?" Puck tried to sway Guts' attention from the sentient part of the Count's head. "I could have tried to take her out of here so she wouldn't have had to see that."

The Black Swordsman spat out some blood. "You could have tried all you wanted, that doesn't mean that she was going to listen." A tendril sprouted from the back of the Count's head, pulling what remained of his head along the floor. "All that bravado you were sprouting a minute ago about your regeneration seems to have gone." Guts mocked. "So much for the mighty Count." He raised Dragonslayer. "Unless you want to-?" the Count had reached his destination – the behelit that had fallen from Guts during the fight.

The tendril wrapped around the egg-shaped object and pulled it close to the Count's mouth. "I… summon…"

All around the four, the walls seemed to crumble – only to be replaced with a disarray of white staircases that covered the ceiling and three walls. The floor on which they stood remained, but where the fourth wall should have been seemed to have vanished entirely, the edge of the floor stopping before dropping into darkness. Puck and Theresa were the two most uncomfortable with the shift of scenery.

"W-what's all this about?" the elf nervously asked. "A second ago we were in some castle chambers, now we're in some kind of abstract world!"

"Father!" Theresa cried out. "What is this place?! What have you done?!"

A new voice answered her. "Your father has summoned us in a desperate hour, child." Standing on one of the staircases was the only female member of the Godhand, Slan. "We are simply answering his summons." Four more beings began to come into existence; two of them were more round and impish – Conrad and Ubik. The tallest had a leathery cloak covering his body, and a brain that was largely exposed and a face that looked like it had been tortured – Void. And the last one, the sight of his former friend standing at the top of a few stairs sent him into a blind bout of rage.

"Grifffiiiiithh!" he yelled, charging up the steps to the newest of the Godhand. The pale flesh behind the raven black helm seemed entirely indifferent to this development. Guts let his anger drive home his attack at the man whom he at one point admired, who had sacrificed all of their lives to be reborn, who corrupted his and Casca's child leading it to be that grotesque creature that would torment his dreams at night.

The distance between the Godhand and Dragonslayer was decreasing, and before the blade could strike a swipe of his hand, and it was sent off its intended path. Griffith lowered his hand and it was like an invisible force was pressing down on Guts, forcing him to take a knee on the stairs. "You're still thinking with your sword first. How incredibly shortsighted." Griffith's taunt only added fuel to the fire.

Despite the pressure he was feeling pushing down on him, Guts used Dragonslayer as a crutch, using it to stand himself back up. He saw Slan look on in admiration. "I truly love watching this boy. His naivety added to his passion makes for the perfect struggle. Don't you all agree?"

"The ability to struggle to survive has always been a part of this one." The sewed gaze of Void shifted to him now. "I have seen that spark in another once before, it will kill him sure enough."

"The lot of you can shut up already," Guts seethed. He readied Dragonslayer once more, but before he could lift the blade into the air, Griffith opened the palm of his hand and Guts was knocked back by another invisible force, knocking him down the stairs and back to the floor.

"Attitude expected from a struggler, but a distraction of why we are here," Conrad spoke next. "Our apostle has summoned us in a moment of extreme need."

With nobody to nod with, the Count had to blink in recognition. "Indeed I have, my angels. The apostle form that you have granted me has been devastated by this man." His eye stalk pointed at Guts, who attempted to rise once more. "In exchange for a new body, I offer you this man as a sacrifice."

Any hope the Count had vanished with Void's response. "That cannot be done. That man is already a branded sacrifice to Femto. His body, his blood, his soul has been claimed by one of our own."

"What you sacrifice must be close to your heart." Griffith/Femto informed. "Otherwise a deal cannot be made."

"Shut it, you bastard!" Guts rose, but when he tried to walk it was like his legs were filled with lead.

Ubik came floating down to where the Count's head was. "All is not lost yet, however. You still have something to sacrifice." He floated over to Theresa, who ducked under the impish Godhand. A look of horror was plaster over the Count's face at the thought.

"She is my daughter… I cannot pay a price like that."

"Of course you can," Ubik insisted. "You did so before with your wife." Theresa's eyes widened in horror and disbelief.

"No…," she said. "No, my mother was killed by heretics. They kidnapped her and killed her. My father would never-,"

"And how do you suppose he gained the form you saw moments before, child?" Slan questioned. "All power comes with a price, the first time it was your mother's life."

"Kidnapped by heretics, she joined with them," Ubik continued. "She held an orgy in your own castle and was unfortunate enough to be discovered by your father. He killed them all and sacrificed your mother. If you do not believe me, ask him yourself."

Her pleading eyes turned to look at the Count. "Is it true, father?"

His downcast expression told the whole story. "I am sorry, Theresa." From where the missing wall was, a source of light could now be seen, green and black flames began to rise from the darkness below, swirling around in a vortex that seemed to have a pull of its own.

Void pointed one of his six fingers toward the unnatural flames. "You have been granted the gift of rebirth once before, you know the price of what it entails. Refuse and that will be your fate, that hell which every apostle dreads. Choose."

Guts wanted to ignore what the Godhand was telling what remained of the Count. What mattered was Griffith, or Femto, or whatever the fuck he was calling himself now. He was here now. He stopped trying to walk and loaded the crossbow onto his arm. Cranking the level, Guts fired a barrage of bolts at his former friend. Void cast his sewed gaze to this new development and a portal opened in front of Griffith to engulf the bolts. Another portal opened above Guts to deposit the bolts and forced him to raise Dragonslayer above his head to act as a shield.

All the while the Count gained a solemn look on his face. He began to speak. "I… cannot. I cannot sacrifice my daughter."

"…Father…" Theresa said weakly before the flames grew in size. From the fire an entanglement of corpses began to take shape, crawling towards the Count. Each body that was aflame seemed bound together by melted flesh, and at the end of the line of bodies was one with a distinct deformity that Puck recognized it to be Vargas. Their twisted hands grabbed the Count's head and the spiral of flame and bodies began to draw back into the fiery inferno where they had emerged.

Ubik gained a thoughtful expression. "It would seem that some human weakness remained inside of him. Perhaps he had learned nothing after accepting apostlehood; you leave your humanity behind you."

"The deed has been done," Void announced to his fellow Godhand members. "Our presence is no longer needed. I bit you all a farewell." His twisted form began to fade into shadow along with the other members of the Godhand.

"Hey!" Guts yelled. "Where are you going?! I'm not finished with you!"

Griffith addressed him one last time before fading like the others. "Maybe not, but we are finished with you. This dream of killing us is futile. After all, you of all people should know just how dangerous dreams can be." He faded back into shadow. The walls made of staircases began to disappear as well. It came to a point where Guts, Puck, and Theresa were standing alone back in the castle chambers as if they had never even left.

They weren't the only ones. Lying on the floor looking as if it had never been activated was the behelit. "Fuck," Guts cursed under his breath, and picking up the egg-shaped nuisance. So close, he had been so close. But Griffith's power had proven to be stronger, he had the backing of supernatural powers on his side, and as much as Guts was loathed to admit it; he was still a long ways before he actually accomplished his goal of killing Griffith. But when the time did come, he knew how to get a hold of the Godhand; Guts put the behelit in his satchel.

"Good riddance," he said in disgust, referring to the Count. Puck flew after him in his wake.

"What were those things?! They weren't like anything we've encountered so far, and what's your connection to that raven-looking one?"

"Drop it," Guts all but ordered. "Point is I'm done here, no need to waste my time any more than necessary." He made to head out, but the girl – Theresa called out.

"Wait!"

Guts turned around, disinterested in what the girl had to say. "What is it?"

"My father is he actually…?"

"Dead?" Guts filled in. "Yeah, I thought that was pretty apparent. Don't feel too bad about it though."

She wiped away a tear. "Huh?"

"You saw what he was, that monster. No use crying over that."

Puck shook his head disapprovingly. "Why'd you have to go and say that? It's still her dad, y'know?"

Theresa began to shake in indignation. "And so are you! You killed so many people too! You, my father, you're no different! You're just the same on the inside."

Guts brushed her accusation aside. "Maybe. But do you know the difference between your father and me? I'm still alive." He turned and made his exit, listening to Theresa curse his existence. Puck flew in front of him, ready to tell Guts off, but stopped short when he that Guts actually looked a bit sad.

Harry held still whilst Flora dipped her finger into a dish of oily black substance. She began to trace a symbol around his scar, "This will help for now," she told him. "The symbol is designed to keep any negative magic from spreading. But keep in mind, this is just regular ink, it can be washed off as easily as it was drawn on, so the need to reapply it is necessary."

"Thank you," said Harry. "But, do you at least have any idea what kind of magic it is that makes my scar so dangerous?" he had a right to know after all. If something happened and he somehow ended up possessed, Harry didn't want to be responsible for any evil acts he might commit. It would remind him too much of Griff – no, Femto.

Flora pursed her wrinkled lips. "As much as I know about magic, even I do not understand everything. I have very rarely delved into the realm of soul-based magic; normally it is not a very pleasant affair."

"That's a comforting thought," Harry mumbled.

"But," she continued, "it is still magic; anything is possible – the bad and the good both. Has there been any instance you can think of that comes to mind if this could take a turn for the worst?"

"Er…" Was there? For as long as Harry could remember there was none, but then the Eclipse happened, the brand had struck his neck – but it had gone for his forehead before. All through the Eclipse Harry had felt like his head was going to be split in half, almost like the evil that came with the brand was clashing with something that had been inside of him, unnoticed until that point. Then it was like hearing a voice talking to him, telling him to kill as many apostles as he could. He had heard it when he had fought Wyald as well; two evils acting with one another.

"Are you going to answer the question?" Schierke came over. While she had been initially suspicious of Harry when he first arrived, she gradually began to drop her guard once she was sure he wasn't going to run off and tell outsiders where their spirit-tree was located. Now, with the revelation of his scar being a source of evil, she seemed to be reverting back to her initial skepticism.

"Uh, well… there were a few times when I thought… I thought that I heard a second voice in my head," confessed Harry. "I didn't think it was anything doing with magic though, both times I was feeling really strong emotions."

Flora contemplated his words. "I see." She took a moment of silence, seemingly mulling over any and all possibilities that could be associated with what he had described. "It seems I have some reading up to do, I might even have to get in contact with an old acquaintance of mine."

"The same one who told you that Harry would be coming before, mistress?" Schierke asked, her curiosity peaked about the identity of Flora's mysterious contact – a contact that Harry had a strong suspicion as to who it is.

"The very same," Flora confirmed. "But if you'll excuse me," she made for the exit, "I believe it's time that we all turned in. A good night's sleep can do wonders for the mind. Don't stay up too late." She lightly shut the door behind her, leaving just Harry, Schierke, and Ivalera.

Harry made to get up to go as well. "She's probably right, as always. Goodnight then." Before he could get to the door, the spiraled end of Schierke's staff tapped him on his shoulder. Ivalera flew up to his line of sight wearing a demanding look on her tiny pink face.

"Going somewhere?" the elf tried to ask as intimidating as possible. Harry looked at the elf and then to Schierke, who kept a rather neutral expression.

"Well, I was. And then you saw fit to try and stop me," Harry said to ease whatever tension had been brought on. "Is there a reason why? It's not like you to go and defy Flora's wishes."

"Not when it's a matter of precaution," Schierke said, lowering her staff. "You were incredibly vague with your answer back there."

Harry could see where this was going. "And you want to know more."

"I want to know everything."

"Everything?" Harry deadpanned.

"Everything," Schierke repeated herself. "What you remember about getting your scar, what you were feeling when you heard that voice, why you decided to come here – all of it."

"You're asking a bit much," Harry shook his head.

"With all the questions you've asked since you got here, I think this evens it out." Schierke cocked a brow as if daring him to deny it.

Harry scratched at his already messy raven hair. "Everything, huh?" he watched Schierke slowly nods her head. "…You really want to know?"

Ivalera was getting impatient. "Quit beating around the bush already! If you're going to spill, just do it already."

"You're not exactly helping out by raising your voice, Ivalera." Schierke tried to get her elf friend under control. "But his stalling isn't exactly a show of confidence."

Harry just nodded, a plan coming together in his mind. "I'll tell you what you want to know, but just the essentials, got it?" Schierke nodded her head, accepting the offer. As mature as she was for her age, and however gifted at magic, Harry knew that the answer to some of her questions would not hold a pleasant answer; but he understood her curious nature. He had asked questions since he had gotten here, he had been curious about the Band of the Hawk, and Schierke was just trying to make sure that his being here did not pose a danger to her or Flora, a feeling he could relate to. Which was why he would spare her details of what happened during the Eclipse – if he would even tell her about that.

"You asked what I remember about getting my scar first, right?" once again, Schierke nodded. "I really don't remember it happening."

Ivalera rolled her eyes. "Well, that sure is convenient."

"What I mean is I was only a baby when it happened."

"Oh," Ivalera had the decency to look ashamed.

"The night I got it was the night my parents died, or so I was told by my mother's sister and her husband. They told me they died in a freak accident – which looking back on it, I was stupid enough to believe them." He kept detail about the Durlsey's very brief, and Schierke thankfully didn't ask more about them. "I later met a mercenary band that I ended up staying with for some time."

"You were a mercenary?" Schierke asked unbelievingly.

"For a time, yes. Then… the King of Midland turned on us because of an action our leader did. We were hunted and lost a lot of our numbers. Shortly after that we… encountered apostles. Do you know what those-?"

"Mistress Flora briefly taught me about them," Schierke cut him off before he could finish asking his question. "She told me that they were all human at one point before making a sacrifice to greater beings. I believe the one she told me about was a ferocious warrior named Zodd." It seemed like Zodd's prowess earned him infamy even among witches.

"Yeah… that's about right. We encountered some of them, and that was pretty much it for all but four of us. Fighting them was when I first started hearing that voice in my head. And, no, I haven't heard it since I got here." He saw that she was about to ask. "It only ever acted up when I was around those things."

"And you actually fought them – the apostles?" Schierke asked. "How did you escape?"

"I had to kill a few," he said without remorse. The young witch looked shocked as if she didn't believe he was capable of such an act.

"You actually killed some? And you don't feel regret?"

"No," Harry said. "You said it yourself, they used to be human – they aren't anymore. There isn't any use feeling bad about them; they made their choice."

"Now that sounds like something a mercenary would say," Ivalera noted.

"As for why I came here, it's like I once said, I wanted to learn more about magic once I learned I could talk to snakes. And to maybe help a good friend of mine." He looked Schierke in her eyes. "Does that about answer your questions?" He allowed her a moment to mull it all over.

"Yes," she answered. "I believe so."

"Really? You haven't even asked about the acquaintance Flora has." Harry waited for her to react to his implication. He was met with skepticism but intrigued as well.

"And you do?"

"I have a strong inkling." It was more than just a strong inkling, he was just missing a few pieces of information was more like it. "What do you know about Emperor Gaiseric?"

Schierke blinked a few times in confusion. "Gaiseric? I know the basic history about him, same as just about everyone."

"Well, during a rescue mission a few good friends and I went with the Princess of Midland who gave us some more insight. Her family is supposedly descended from him, and he used to wear a skull helm into battle."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Think about the set of armor Flora has stored at the base of this tree," Harry urged. "What did that helm look like to you?" recognition began to take hold of her.

"Alright, suppose that it is Gaiseric's old armor; the only known owner died whilst bleeding out inside of it. Gaiseric would still be dead."

"He should be, yes," Harry continued explaining his train of thought. "But Flora just said that she does have some knowledge in dealing with soul magic. When my friends and I encountered those apostles, we were only able to escape because of a knight wearing a skeletal suit of armor. Just one look at him is enough to let you know that he isn't human – nor is he dead, not fully anyway."

Schierke was shaking her head, but some sign of resonation was filling her eyes. "But Gaiseric lived nearly a thousand years ago."

Now it was time to hammer in the final nail. "Flora said that she knew the founder of the Holy See. That was founded nearly the same time as Gaiseric." She had gone silent; her hands held tightly to her staff, and her eyes seemed to be staring off into space as his words set in. "Believe me now?"

"I… if that's true… then why would she even consider him an acquaintance?"

"Well if she knew him when he was alive-,"

"-No, what I mean is that the founder of the Holy See was against magic and any teaching that went against their god. He was responsible for the start of witch hunting and the extermination of many magical beasts that are no longer around in this layer of the astral world today. If Gaiseric was the founder, why would he help you, and why would Mistress Flora consider him to be trustworthy?"

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but soon shut it when he realized he did not have an answer to her question. Either he was wrong, or there were more pieces to the puzzle that was the Skull Knight that was missing. If it was the latter, the history of Gaiseric was just like learning about magic; there was more to it than what appeared on the surface.

A/N: So it's the first official day of winter, and I got this chapter done early. The next one should be up by Christmas. Thank you for reading.


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

It has been two years since the horrifying events of the Eclipse. Two years since he and Harry had begun their own separate quests – a quest that he was currently busy with at the moment. The object of his hunt had been another figure of authority within Midland, another count to be precise. Like many apostles before, this one relished in feasting on the flesh of humans, and with the wealth and authority held by them, they took to indulging.

This count – Count Tepes, Guts believed had taken to taking young children from his village and feasting on them. Their remains were impaled by spears and left to fester in a portion of his dwelling. His apostle form, which resembled a giant leathery, black bat proved to be fast in nature, but weaker physically. That didn't mean that the fight was an easy task. Because of the enhanced speed, it made the need to keep his defense up all the greater. This need was solidified when the apostle grabbed a hold of one of the spears he used for impaling his victims and managed to land a hit on Gut's side.

Like many apostles that Guts had encountered, Count Tepes suffered from overconfidence. They assumed that if they got a good hit in it was over, that just because they had superhuman abilities that they would always be victorious. Confidence was a human trait, but apostles were supposed to be above humanity. As such, they failed to understand the full concept of the will of man.

While the bat apostle was mid-flight, Guts reverted to using his crossbow to shot holes in the leathery wings. Tepes hissed as he was brought down to the ground, trying in vain to flap his wings hard enough to lift his form up off the ground and to take flight once more.

"Would you look at that," Guts snarled, pulling the spear free from his side. "Your wings have been clipped. I don't want you flying away on me."

Panicking, Tepes used the talon on his wing to try and pull himself to freedom. Guts was not amused. He stalked over to where the apostle crawled – all but defeated. He made it an effort to drag the tip of Dragonslayer across the tiled floor, scratching the once pristine tile with his massive blade making sure that Tepes could see it from the corner of his eyes. Guts stepped onto the back of Tepes, digging the soles of his heavy boots into his spine. "Where are you going?" Guts mockingly asked. "This is your mansion, isn't it? Why leave? I'm sure your subjects would be devastated if you were to go."

The apostle had to crane his neck to stare up at Guts. His large ears, short nose, and long, sharp fangs truly did give him the appearance of a bat out of hell. "Don't pretend you are doing this for the betterment of my people. I know about you… Black Swordsman." He spat the name with venom. "You hunt our kind, you do so without mercy."

"Mercy?" Guts parroted. "You caught me off guard; I didn't know a creature like you knew what that was." He raised Dragonslayer. "Not that it matters much anyways."

"You are just as much a monster as I!"

Guts showed a minimal reaction. "Of course." He stabbed Dragonslayer down through one of the wings of the apostle, tearing off nearly all the webbing. "It takes one to kill one."

"Yeeeeeggghhhh!" the apostle hissed in pain. "Damn you! Damn you to hell!"

Dragonslayer was a twirling metal arc as the sword was driven down through the back of the apostle's neck. Guts looked down at the now corpse in disgust; he kicked the head away causing it to tumble down a few short steps. "You could consider that mercy; I barely made you suffer before you died." Moving his hand up to his side, Guts noted that his getting impaled by a spear was much deeper than he initially thought. He opened his satchel where Puck had taken to riding around in like a carriage of some sorts. "Hey, bug! Get out here."

The blue elf lazily flew out from his new place of residence. "Huh? Did I miss something?"

"Are you trying to tell me that you actually slept through the entire thing?" Guts' frustration began to grow once again.

Puck shook his head indignantly. "Of course not! I was just keeping Beechi company." Becchi – the annoying little nickname Puck had taken to calling the behelit that he had taken from the one count some time ago. "You can't wake him; he's the one who's asleep."

"I don't want your freaky little egg," Guts told the elf. "What I want is for you to use your dust on my wound."

Puck examined where the spear had impaled him. "I can heal that as best I can, but I'll probably be a little-drained after-,"

"Then just do it," Guts stopped him short before he could say something that would serve to annoy him further. "This is the only thing your good for anyway."

"Hey!" Puck yelled, insulted. "That's not true at all! I can also – huh."

"What?"

"I think that's the closest thing to a compliment you've given me since we've met." Puck flashed that oh-so-annoying smile. "I told you that you'd start to warm up to me – even if it has been two years." The blue elf fluttered his wings to produce the dust. "I knew that I'd get there eventually."

"You have an awfully high opinion of yourself," Guts told his elf companion, he could already feel the dust starting to work its own magic on his wound.

"And you just keep repeating yourself," Puck said cheekily, flying back into Guts' satchel. "So where to next?"

Guts moved his hand to feel at the brand on his neck. It had stopped itching since he had dealt with this apostle, but he knew that it was a fleeting moment of relief; soon it would be sunset and with it another battle that needed to be fought. "There's a forested area to the north of here. I might actually be able to get a few hours sleep before they come."

Poking his head out of the satchel, Puck gave a tiny salute. "Gotcha. You catch up on your sleep, and I'll remain on the watch like a loyal dog. You can count on me." There wasn't a doubt in Guts' mind that the elf would drift off to sleep as soon as the sunset. Regardless, he exited the front of the mansion, the bodies of two dead spearmen – he had killed them before entering. A wind blew from the west, letting his black cloak billow it its breeze; once more Guts set off leaving death in his wake.

"Once more, you've almost got it." The voice of Flora instructed the now fourteen-year-old Harry. The exercise he was currently conducting required him to make the journey to the astral world – but instead of just testing out his luminous body as he had done the first time it was taught to him, Harry was making the next step in that field; bringing something for him to use back with him. As he had seen during his first excursion with his luminous body the forest around the spirit-tree was littered with – ripples, each holding a deeper connection to magic.

Unlike the first time, Harry would not be using a salt circle; he had grown proficient enough to make the journey without the added aid provided by a salt drawn rune. Much like every other time, Harry felt a floating feeling build up behind his navel and it felt like a cord had attached itself to the back of his head. And then he was as light as a feather – or rather, he was even lighter than that. But the physical wind had no effect on him now; his physical body was standing right where he left it. With his luminous body, Harry could move beyond what was right in front of him, now there were the ripples.

When he journeyed into one it was like going back in time or something along the lines of experiencing someone else's dream. The world seemed to suddenly grow much larger, the landscape was dark and hazy; it seemed that there was more to discover in the vast darkness and that it would hold some type of reward if he did. There's so much to this, Harry realized the deeper he went into this new realm of magic. The scenery began to get clearer, and to Harry's astonishment, it looked like a much older rendition of the forest surrounding the spirit-tree. And then he felt the wind. Harry looked at his hands to make sure that they were still the pulsating fire-like substance and not regular flesh. No, he was definitely still in his luminous body; but how was he able to feel that wind? It shouldn't have been possible, but this was magic, after all, he doubted he would ever know everything there was to know about it.

A shimmering beacon of light seemed so tangible to him now, if he were to reach out, Harry was sure that he would be able to touch it. I can bring this back. That is what I came here to do. Harry reached a hand out; he was close to touching it. This is it. As soon as contact was made, the wind seemed to become stronger, the beacon of light was not just an abstract entity – it was a giant figure with a glowing aura. Its face seemed to be cloaked, but the fabric moved like it was made of the wind.

Harry felt a hand on his luminous shoulder – it was Flora in her luminous body as well. "You have made contact. Would you like to come and see what you have unleashed in the physical world?"

"It's there already?" Harry asked, thinking there was more to be done on his end.

"I would imagine so," Flora said with a knowing smile. "It would explain what is going on with the weather." The pair of them floated through the depth of the astral layer they had traversed and back to the physical. However, while still in his luminous body, Harry took in a rather curious sight; the same glowing figure that he had seen before now appeared in the physical world – right behind where his physical body was. "Do you see the fruit of your labor?" Flora rhetorically asked.

"What's it doing?" Harry asked. The being made no move to harm his physical body; it just hovered behind him with its arms spread as if to welcome someone into its waiting embrace.

Flora gestured with her arm to their open surroundings. "Look at the trees. The wind appears awfully strong for a normal fall breeze." She was right. The fall season was always a windy one in Midland, but the way it was now was unreal. It was as if an invisible twister had dropped down, and that luminous being was the epicenter for its cause. While it still made no move, the trees shook violently and the changing leaves fell off the branches in droves.

"That thing is causing all of this?" Harry asked. He had done so little to summon such a powerful entity, and this was what it could do, and it wasn't even moving.

"And you as well," Flora added. "Do not sell your own efforts short. An entity as powerful as this was easy to call forth because of its raw power. Without a specific narrow channel for power, it goes wild. Best return to your physical body and put a stop to it."

"How do I call it off?" was Harry's first thought.

"Tap your staff four times and point to the east," Flora instructed. "But you must do so with commitment; destructive power is easy to use, but harder to control." Harry sent her a nod of confirmation. He had to do so with commitment. The whole idea of summoning a greater power and being unable to control it… for some reason, he felt it acted almost like a behelit – like the one Griffith had once held. And Harry knew after that comparison that he would have no trouble calling off this entity.

His luminous body joined once more with his physical, and following Flora's instructions, Harry performed them with as much confidence he could muster. The entity behind him seemed to give a nod of its cloaked head and the wind began to finally die down. The trees stopped shaking and the leave stopped falling. As quickly as it as it had been channeled, the being began to disappear scattering with one final breeze of wind.

A polite clap brought Harry's attention to his teacher who had also joined with her physical body. "You traversed into that depth quite nicely, and you managed to bring something back with you for a time. Excellent performance, Harry."

Harry lightly bowed his head. "Thank you, but, what exactly did I bring back with me?" he had to know. If ever there came a time where he had to do so again, he'd like to be better prepared to handle the power that he helped channel.

"That was Ate," Flora answered. "One of the four spirits that help governs the elements. As you probably already guessed, Ate is the spirit of wind. He, along with his brother and sisters have largely been forgotten by the outside world, but their presence is still strong here in this forest. It would have been harder to summon them if that village – Enoch, was not so close by."

"Didn't you just say that they were largely forgotten?" Harry asked. It wasn't like Flora to contradict herself.

She nodded all the same. "True, but their history, like so many others has become a bit skewed over time. Now, the people who worship the Holy See know them as the Four Cardinal Kings. In that sense, their legend lives on."

"The Holy See, huh?" Harry mulled that over. It seemed that the Holy See had a much greater effect than just dealing with religion and witch hunting; they were rewriting history as well. This new piece of information only served to add to the growing mystery behind the religious order. Harry had asked Flora before what exactly happened when the Holy See had been founded and found that she was unusually tight-lipped about it. It was a tell-tale sign that either she didn't know (which was unlikely), or she was uncomfortable talking about it. All she had to say was that she didn't know all the details herself and that she was respecting the wishes of another by doing so. That led Harry to ask a follow-up question, this one pertaining to a certain contact that Flora had. She was surprisingly not shy about confirming that it was the mysterious Skull Knight. When asked if he was or had any relation to Emperor Gaiseric, she neither denied, nor confirmed it – rather, she let it hang in the air.

"How did the spell go?" the form of Schierke soon joined the two of them outside of the spirit-tree. In the two years since his arrival, Schierke had become more trusting towards Harry and rarely looked at him with suspicion as she once did. Once she realized that Harry was not going to rat out their location to any outsiders, she had become considerably friendlier. If Harry was having trouble with a spell or potion, she would offer her assistance even if she doubted herself. That was one thing that Harry noted about her after some time had passed; she wanted to help but doubted if she could. He suspected that it had to do with spending so much of her life isolated from the outside world. That was not to say that he disagreed of how Flora had raised the young witch, just that she lacked the confidence of a girl her age would from outside the forest. When he had figured that out, he couldn't help but compare it to how he used to be when he first met the Hawks; back then he was a timid little boy who was intimidated by nearly everything.

Harry had tried his best to assure her that her help was not going to waste; she had been studying magic longer than he had after all. It wasn't much, but it was a start on her own growth. The only thing she hadn't really grown in was height, only sprouting a few inches. Because of it, she often had to ask him to grab potions ingredients that were too high on the shelf for her vertically challenged being, much to her embarrassment.

"He has progressed far," Flora told her first pupil. "I trust the both of you have been practicing during your downtime."

"Yes," they both answered.

"I'm glad to hear it," Flora smiled. "You both have grown so much more proficient in your studies." That was another thing Harry noticed; while he and Schierke both grew in height and age, Flora remained the same as the day Harry had met her. It was yet another secret to add to the witch – along with whatever items she kept stored below the spirit-tree.

"I apologize for having missed it; I was busy with some of the golems." Schierke apologized. "And Ivalera got into some trouble with a few bees as well."

"My, that does sound like something that would keep you preoccupied," Flora admitted, although she said so playfully. "You weren't stealing any of the honey, were you?"

Schierke suddenly looked very pale. "O-of course not, mistress! I would never…" Harry knew that she was not being entirely truthful. He had caught her once in the middle of the night as she walked back to her room with a pot of fresh honey. The excuse that she was "sleepwalking" didn't fly.

"I believe her, Flora," Harry said vouching for the witch. "Since you moved it to the top shelf she hasn't been able to reach it." The look of gratitude she had given him was replaced by a deadpan expression. She wouldn't say anything because she knew he was right.

"Then my method has succeeded," Flora said, almost triumphant. "Although she could always use a levitation charm to lower it." Schierke took a sudden interest in her feet. The three soon retired for the night, the days had been growing shorter since summer's end. Entering his room, Harry filled a bowl with fresh water and used it to check his reflection so he could apply the rune over his scar. It had become a nightly routine for him. Getting onto the feather mattress, Harry was ready for sleep to take him.

He just wasn't ready for where it would take him.

In his dream, he saw death. It was everywhere, corpses were bloated and sickly looking – it was like they had been afflicted by some sort of plague. Rats and flies swarmed over the dead bodies, nibbling on noses and eyeballs, even crawling in the skulls of some to make a sick looking nest. The people who had not been afflicted ran from the infected corpses. There were thousands of them in total, and they were all heading for one place.

A large tower loomed in the distance, and the people seemed to rejoice as they saw it. As they ran, a burning inferno followed them every step of the way – they were trapped outside of the wall that ran along the length of the ominous tower. The fire was closing in on them. And then a shining form swooped down from the heavens, the beating of its wings was enough to stamp out the all-consuming flames. It was a white hawk, one that glowed with all the promise in the world.

It can't be…

But one section of flame had yet to burn out, and he soon saw why. It was a pyre. A mob of angry men and women have gathered around as they tossed torches on the pile of dry wood, cheering as it began to catch flame. And tied to a pole in the center of the pyre was a young woman. Her skin a soft mocha, her black hair had grown longer and messier since Harry had last seen it, but there was no mistaking who that was.

Casca…

No! No, he had to stop this. The crowd continued to cheer as the flames grew higher. Casca's dark eye reflected the fear she must be feeling at that moment – that and the deathly glow of the flames that licked at the dull rags that covered her.

The scene began to change, and Harry heard the hissing of a snake. His eyes scanned his new environment, and it was instead inside a very dusty old house. The person whose eyes he was seeing this through sat in an armchair close to the hearth of a fire. A very terrified rat-like man bowed before him – nervously eying the snake that circled the armchair. The rat-man presented the one sitting with a paper – and a feeling of pure unadulterated joy exploded over the man, and Harry felt it. His scar was burning from this man's happiness.

His emerald eyes shot open in a panic. His forehead was covered in sweat – probably from the first half of his dream. The perspiration had faded the ink he had drawn over his scar, leaving it vulnerable to influence. He wiped the smeared ink from his brow and quickly began to reapply it all over again. Once that was all set, Harry bolted from his door, intent on telling Flora as soon as possible.

Doing so brought him crashing into Schierke as she too was making her way to where Flora slept. "You're awake?" they both exclaimed.

"I had a dream," Harry began. "I saw plague and this tower-,"

"-Surrounded by fire," Schierke finished. She wasn't guessing, she knew exactly what he was going to say.

"How did you know?" Harry asked, almost unbelieving.

"I… dreamt something similar. Tell me, did you also see a great hawk of light?"

Harry slowly nodded. "Yeah, that I saw. And Cas-, a woman. Did you see a woman getting burned at the stake?" Harry knew he probably sounded desperate, but he had to know, was this happening now, or was it yet to happen. "And the man with a snake in an armchair, did you also see that?"

"I… no. No, I only saw the plague and the tower." Schierke shook her head.

"Well, what do we do?" Harry asked, sounding more frantic by the second. "If this is happening now-,"

"-Then what can we do?" Schierke asked him. "We have no idea where this could be taking place, and even if we did, there's no way that we could get there in time to stop any of it."

Harry couldn't believe it – he just couldn't. Casca was in the care of Rickert, Godo, and Erica. That tower was not near Godo's workshop. "There-,"

"-Having premonitions?" dressed in a nightgown of her own, Flora made her way over. "It would appear that I was not the only one to have such a strange dream."

"Please, Flora," Harry asked, "I need to know if what we saw was happening now, or not."

"To have been shared by this many people, it had to have been a vision," Flora determined, calmly. "These events have yet to transpire. As for when they will… I cannot say. However, some truths are known to us; I recognize that tower – the Tower of Conviction. The second – the Hawk of Light will bring nothing but darkness."

Castle Windham

It was early in the morning when all the reports started to come in. Only a handful of nobles were awake, including Sirs Laban and Owen. The first was troubling enough with the use of one word – plague. A deadly plague had broken out in some of the northern and central regions of the kingdom leaving hundreds dead or sick, and thousands seeking relocation. However, due to the deadly nature of the plague, the refugees were being denied entry to the city of Windham. It was for precaution of course, but that did not mean it was easy to have to turn away so many citizens. One place that offered them refuge was the town of St. Albion – the resting ground for the Tower of Conviction, an important structure for the Holy See organization.

Next, there was the increasingly pressing issue of the Kushan Empire. Scouts had reported that Kushan troops were spotted heading westward, already passing through some of the countries under Holy See jurisdiction. War would likely be upon them once again. And to further add to that, the King passed away only hours before. When the country found out they were without a leader, the Kushan would push forward without mercy.

"These are troubled times, my friend," Laban breathed a heavy sigh. "This is just one mess after the next."

Owen handed him another report. "I hate to see you so stressed out, my friend, but I'm afraid that this won't serve to ease that burden." Laban took the report and began to read its contents.

"Nosferatu Zodd?"

"He was sighted somewhere off to the West," Owen recited from the parchment. "From what we know he also possesses the ability to become one of those… monsters." The image of what Wyald actually was would forever stick with the two Midland Nobles. "I doubt it would be of any use to send a party to subdue him."

Laban nodded. "Indeed. He is beyond the measure of any regular human."

"Well, perhaps not one."

"You refer to the Black Swordsman? We have quite a few previous reports on that man."

"Yes," Owen recalled one regarding the daughter of a wealthy count and how she had been orphaned. "From the reports we have gained, he seems to have a habit of encountering these things." Strange how the witnesses under some of these monsters only came forth after they had been slain. Fear must have kept them from speaking out before. "He could be a great help to the kingdom."

Laban ran his hand over his beard. "Perhaps, but do the Holy Iron Chain Knights still hunt him? I doubt any influence we have would be of use to the Holy See."

"You're right," Owen relented. "But we are getting ahead of ourselves. The princess should be informed of her father's passing." Laban set the paper aside and walked with his comrade to the princess' chambers. Charlotte had been quite reclusive since the incident two years ago. She rarely left her room, and the only regular visitor was her handmaiden. As they neared the outside of the princess' chambers, they saw the aforementioned handmaiden run past with an embroidery kit in hand. They looked to one another in confusion.

The door was slightly ajar, and Laban gave a gentle knock. "Princess Charlotte, may we come in?"

"… Just for a moment," her voice sounded from inside. As they pushed the door open, they spotted the princess sitting up in her bed, the embroidery kit in hand as she began to thread a needle. Laban cleared his throat. How would he go about this? How does he tell the princess her father had died from heart failure?

"Princess Charlotte, this visit isn't under the most ideal of circumstances, but-," he saw that her attention was not on him or Owen, but on what she began to sew. "Princess?"

"I saw him," she said. "I saw his face… even if it was just in a dream; I saw him." He couldn't see much of what she was working on, but from what he could, it was the insignia of the Band of the Hawk.

By the time the sun had risen, Harry had made his decision – after two years, he was finally heading out. Flora, unsurprisingly understood where he was coming from in his choice. He had come to learn more about magic, and now he was proficient enough to practice it with ease. He packed up his staff, sword, and a few trinkets Flora allowed him to take with him, like a talisman for growing golems to aid him.

"You have learned much since your arrival," Flora praised. "I'm glad that I got the opportunity to teach you."

"I'm thankful for you teaching me in the first place," Harry said modestly. "I wouldn't know what I do if I hadn't sought you out." Saying his goodbye to her, he moved on to Ivalera and Schierke.

"So you're actually leaving?" Ivalera asked. "I'm not surprised. This was an all girls tree until you showed up, the environment must not agree with you." He had to work on suppressing an eye-roll.

"You're spot on, Ivalera." He thought he saw a tiny smile, but the elf was quick to fly back into the spirit-tree.

Schierke shifted on her feet before offering her hand for a handshake. "Give me your hand for a minute."

"I'm pretty sure a handshake doesn't last that long."

"It's not for that," she chided. "Just give me your hand, please." He did, and both of her hands held it steady as she began to tie something around one of his fingers. "There, done." He examined her handiwork. Tied around his finger were a few strands of green fabric.

"Uh… thank you for the gift." Was this her way of saying goodbye?

"It isn't just a gift," Schierke told him. "They're my hairs. You can use them for thought transference."

"For communication," Harry realized. Schierke nodded.

"Things are going to start changing drastically, and if you run into trouble along the way, I'll be able to help you out by means of telepathy. And also… I'd be able to see what the world is like from your perspective – and don't go and make a height joke out of that."

Harry examined it with a newfound perspective. "Thanks, I'll make sure that it gets put to good use." He patted the witches' hat on her head.

She looked away in embarrassment, but muttering a quick, "Your welcome."

With the goodbyes out of the way, Harry set out on the same path he had traveled before, this time a new journey awaiting him.

A/N: Happy Holidays! The Guts and Harry reunion will happen next chapter, and that should be up by the new year. Thank you for reading.


	28. Chapter 28

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Three days had passed since Harry departed from the witches of the Spirit-Tree. The first night came with the addition of possessed animal corpses – a direct result of Harry no longer being under the protection of the charms that encompassed the spirit-tree. The spirits were relatively weak and Harry had made quick work of them with the sword gifted to him by Godo. Perhaps it was all in his head, but Harry felt a twinge of pain in his braced leg when fighting the spirits. Ivalera had helped to heal some of his injuries after he had occasionally messed up with a potion, but this was a different pain. Apostles had done this to him during the Eclipse, and their claws cut deep. The damage had been done by the time he had first arrived at the witches' home.

After the fight was over, Harry had heard the voice of Schierke speaking in his head. 'Your brand. Drawn the rune over the brand on your neck – like you did with the scar on your head.'

It helped. The rune was specifically designed to ward off evil presences, and any protection Harry could get to ward off possessive spirits he would take. With some ink he had taken before leaving, Harry drew the rune on over his brand. It wasn't permanent by any means – probably only lasting three to five at the most, but it was better than fighting for his life any night. Oh god! Harry suddenly realized. Guts was probably experiencing the same thing. The Swordsman had purposefully set off in search of fights, but everyone needed rest, and as strong as Guts was, he was still bound to feel the effect of deprived sleep. Who knows what kind of a mental state he would be in because of it; he had always been a bit of a grump before, but now… it wasn't a pleasant thought. If he ever met up with the swordsman, Harry would make sure to put the rune on him as well; whatever god there was knows he deserves a break.

Continuing along on his journey, Harry experienced frequent observations and mental conversations with Schierke. Apart from just being able to share thoughts with one another, the second part of thought transference allowed Schierke to see what Harry perceived in real time. She was unable to access memories (something Harry was extremely grateful for), but it was comforting to know that he wasn't fully alone on his travel. If he would pass by a farmstead or town, he could always count on Schierke to remark on what he was seeing.

'This is what others homes look like? Most of them are made of stone, is that how they are normally constructed?'

Most of the time, yeah. Harry had answered back. You'd be very culture-shocked if you ever saw a city like Windham. Although he couldn't see her face, Harry could basically picture the look of curiosity she must have adopted.

'Have you visited the city often then?'

The mercenary band I was in used to have a barrack hall set aside for us. She couldn't see it, but Harry recalled the memory of the day he had asked Guts for tips on swordplay. Corkus had been showing off about shooting arrows, and Judeau and Rickert had humored him. Nothing like how the spirit-tree mansion is.

'Hmm. I could try warging into a bird and see it that way. Mistress Flora and I have been doing that frequently of late.'

Because of that dream we all had? Harry inferred.

'Yes. She says that the world is in the process of changing; and based on what we all saw, it's safe to say it isn't going to be for the better.'

Further along the way, Harry encountered a herd of people all looking extremely tired and worn from their travel. Their eyes held a look of defeat that was different than that of those who experienced war but not unlike those who have seen death countless times. None of them looked to be in too good a state of health, so Harry hung back and allowed them to gain a bit of distance. When one of the elderly travelers began coughing in a more than sickly demeanor, women pulled their children away and two brutish men wearing the closest they had to armor seized the old man. A noose was made and they left the man hanging from the branch of a tree; they didn't even bother to cut him down after he had died.

'Oh my…' Schierke sounded close to being sick. It didn't come as a surprise to Harry; this was her first time seeing death outside of what nature offered. It served as a reminder that while Midland might host some kind-hearted people and wonders like the spirit-tree, it was not an ideal place to live. 'They killed him.'

He must have been sick with the plague, Harry assumed. Remember from the dream? A bunch of sick people were seeking refuge because of it.

'That means if you follow them, they might lead you straight to the Tower of Conviction.'

Yeah, they just might.

Harry made sure to keep his distance from the traveling band of refugees. If one of them suddenly became ill from the plague, he didn't want to be around when it happened. Instead, he took to following their tracks they left on the dirt road. He made a few pit stops along the way to rest up and try to catch a few fish in the nearby stream but always kept his eye open for any new development happening on the road ahead of him. The sun began to climb low into the sky, and a low rumble of thunder in the distance gave a clear indication that it was going to rain later tonight. It wasn't long before Harry felt the first rain drop hit the top of his head. And then the next one, and the next one – soon enough it was nearly an all-out downpour.

Throwing the hood of his cloak up, Harry strayed from the road and into the woods that lined the left side. The thick canopy of leaves and branches provided a better coverage than the already soaked fabric of his cloak's hood. Only a few drops of rain now fell down past the coverage of leaves, nowhere near the amount that it would be uncomfortable for him to try and catch up on a bit of sleep.

'Are you planning on retiring for the night?' Schierke's voice asked from within his head.

Just about. I might try for just a few hours of sleep, I want to be up and moving as soon as possible in the morning, maybe even get a bit of a head start.

'Alright, it's getting pretty late here too, Ivalera's already asleep.'

That sounds about right. Once I'm on my way again, I'll be sure to-, "Can't escape us…" the voice seemed to be spoken from above in the canopy of trees. Hurriedly, Harry felt at his neck where his brand was. Much to his dismay, he felt a thin trail of blood seeping out. The rainwater must have smudged the rune he had drawn over it – canceling out the protective enchantment. "You can't. You can't escape."

Harry drew his sword and readied his staff in his other hand, ready for the danger to come. "No escape. None at all." The voice sounded distant now, it had seemed closer at first, but it seemed to be moving a bit further into the forest. And Harry noticed the fire. The soft orange glow made a startling contrast to the dark, wet wood that expanded for as far as the eye could see. More concerning was that Harry heard laughing coming from where the fire was.

'What are people doing all the way out here?' Schierke wondered. 'Do many people live out in the woods who aren't mages?'

Not usually, no. They might be a group of hunters or travelers. They probably have no idea what's about to happen.

'You don't need me to tell you what to do,' Schierke said, and Harry quickly made his way towards the small fire, his feet making little to no sound over the rough forest grounds. As he neared the fire, Harry saw that a group of four men was sitting down, sharing a wineskin and jesting with each other.

"That did not happen," one said, disbelievingly. "How was it that none of us saw it?"

"It did," the biggest of the group said. "You were just too drunk to remember it."

"No we weren't," another denied. "You're always making up stories, trying to pull the wool over our eyes. We're not stupid you know."

"Never said that you were," the big one said. "All I'm saying is that you all have a problem with drinking that makes you forget what happens. How is that calling you all stupid?"

"It's the way you said it."

The big guy scoffed. "Now you sound like a woman saying that."

"It just doesn't make much sense," the first one further argued. "Someone with the plague does not just get cured of the plague. It can't be done. Either the person you saw was faking, or you're just pulling our legs."

"What reason would I have to do that?" the big one asked.

"Same reason you took more than your fair share from our last trade; because you can, and there's not a damn thing we can say to get you not to."

The fourth man, a small, hunched, and a scraggily looking man spat into the fire. "You better not try taking my share away this time, boss. I was the one who nabbed this one." His and Harry's attention was drawn to a dying tree where a young girl, perhaps Schierke's age, was tied up and gagged. "Any noble would pay a handsome reward for this one." Harry's blood ran cold when he realized what trade business these men were a part of.

The scraggily man pulled a knife from his belt and approached the bound girl. Her eyes widened in fear as the man put the tip of the knife on a level with her collarbone. He moved the knife downward, cutting the fabric that was her blouse and undergarment. Much to Harry's – and the man's surprise, the girl found some strength of resistance enough to rear back one of her feet and kick the man in his shin. "Yeaoww! The little twat kicked me!"

"That's what you get for not tying up her feet," the big leader chastised his subordinate. "Leave the girl be, she'll fetch a higher price if she remains unspoiled."

The scraggily man spat again. "Like hell, I can let a slight like that slide. Just one cut, that's all. Trees like this… they've seen all sorts of nasty stuff. People get hung from trees, maybe their memories stay after they pass. One girl with a few cuts – that's nothing! A lot worse has been done for a lot less." The knife crept ever closer to the girl.

Harry moved faster than the man's knife, he pointed his staff at the tree where the girl was tied and muttered an incantation. "Floaras tripedidas." One of the branches began to bend to his will, and struck the would-be assailant hard across the chest, sending him tumbling along the ground towards his buddies. The girl gave a muffled cry when she saw the branch move of its own accord.

The scraggily man coughed up a bit of blood and shook from the force of impact that had been delivered to him. "Shit!" the leader cursed. "Why did you have to go and spread that tree nonsense around for? Now you've gone and jinxed us!"

"D-didn't… mean to. Just… tried to scare her a bit…" he began to fade in and out of a conscious state of mind. The others tensed and drew their weapons. The fear of superstition had begun to take a hold of them.

Sensing an opportunity, Harry directed his attention to the fire that they had going and uttered his next enchantment. "Incendia engrogia." The fire sprang to life, shooting close to twenty feet into the air. The already startled bandits cowed ever further in their fright.

'They're terrified,' Schierke noted as well. 'Just one more spell should send them on their way.' That was Harry's initial plan until the rainwater began to take shape as it trickled down from the trees above. They looked distinctively like skeletons, but more malicious and with a pair of glowing eyes. The bandits were too startled to do anything, and the spirits quickly threw themselves over the men like a second layer of watery skin. Their eyes now glowed with the same possessive desire.

"Branded." They spoke as one unified voice. "There is no escape, branded." Their heads turned instinctively to where he was hidden in the shrubbery. They charged his position like dogs on a hunt. Acting fast, Harry stabbed one of the men through the foot with the blade at the blade at the bottom of his staff before stabbing him through the chest with his sword. The three others closed the gap between them and struck in tandem with one another.

Harry blocked the first blade with his own and had to duck as the two others narrowly passed over his head. Breaking the lock he had with the first blade, Harry cut the assailant across the midsection. The sickly smell of intestines flickered past Harry's nose. He was able to push the wounded possessed down, leaving his attention focused on the other two. The spirits possessing the men must have been relatively weak as Harry was able to knock aside their attacks with surprising ease. However, as weak as they were in combat, they proved to be strong when it came to taking hits. Being possessed, their physical bodies did not feel the pain they had been dealt.

Knowing that his attacks would only get him so far, Harry once again pointed his staff toward the dead tree, ready to utilize it through magic, but something seemed to be happening to it already. The branches were curling like fingers on a hand, the roots were pulling up, and spreading themselves to resemble feet, and the bark seemed to rearrange itself to look like the snarling face of a rabid beast. Through its movements, the girl that had been tied to it was able to escape from her bindings, but the rope restraining her hands behind her back and the gag in her mouth still remained. The now possessed tree reared back one of its branches to attack, and Harry had to hurry to pull the girl to the ground as the swipe passed over them.

I didn't know that they could possess trees, Harry angrily thought.

'They can possess any living thing,' Schierke informed. 'People are easy because they tend to be weak-willed, but for objects like trees, they need to be in a decaying state.'

The fire still burned through the night, and Harry focused his magic on it once again. Muttering the same incantation as before, the fire shot up, but this time arced its way to strike the trees wood. Harry was not blind to the fact that the girl next to him was looking on in wide-eyed wonder and fear at what she had just witnessed. The spell had the desired effect – the tree was now ablaze. The downside to it was the fact that the tree was not burning fast enough. With one of its blazing limbs, the tree looked to strike at them once again. Harry grabbed the girl by her arm and dragged her out of the way from the fiery attack. They had little time to relax as the two remaining possessed men began to approach.

Harry readied his sword to attack once more, but he felt the od of another presence, one that was coming from behind. It was dark, but not like the presence of the possessed; instead it was more of anger than anything else. "Get down!" Harry yelled to the girl as a giant sword passed over both of their heads. No; it was far too big to be called a sword, it was more a heap of raw iron. It got the job done however as both possessed men were cut in half with ease, their blood staining the thick, massive blade. And the man wielding the weapon was just as intimidating. From head to toe he was dressed in black, his left arm up to his elbow was a prosthetic, similar to the brace over Harry's leg. His right eye was closed, and his left eye open, giving the impression that he might have been winking. The light from the fire cast an almost sinister glow across his face, and the scar running horizontal over the bridge of his nose didn't help the image.

As the severed halves of the bandits hit the ground, he turned his gaze down to look at both Harry and the girl. His singular brown eye locked gazes with Harry's emerald green. And then he spoke, "You've gotten taller."

Harry was so caught off guard by surprise that he almost didn't even hear Schierke's voice talking to him in his head. 'You know this man?!'

In spite of having just fought for his and this girl's life, Harry couldn't help but smile just a bit. Yeah. I know him.

To further add to Harry's surprise, something small and blue flew out of Guts' satchel and fluttered in front of him and the girl. "Hi there!" the elf gave a friendly smile. "The name's Puck, nice to meetcha!"

'He's got an elf?' Schierke questioned. 'Just who is he?'

"Uh… hello yourself," Harry greeted back. The girl, however, seemed to stare at the tiny elf more in fear than amazement.

Noticing her distress, Puck went and pulled the gag from her mouth. "There! Now you're free to-,"

"Aaahhh!" she suddenly screamed. "Elf!" Puck blinked in confusion, clearly not used to this type of reaction. "Don't take me!" She tried to run off, but the sight of Guts chopping up the burning tree into sawdust stopped her in her tracks. The brutality in which he butchered the wood could almost be considered a work of art in its own right. She swallowed a notable lump in her throat when Guts turned his attention back to where they were.

"What are you doing, bug?" Guts asked Puck. He began to walk over to them, Dragonslayer still held firmly in his hand. She closed her eyes, probably fearing that she was next. She was visibly surprised when Guts continued past her.

"I didn't do anything but try and help!" the elf indignantly said. "She must be in shock, I wouldn't hurt a fly – well, you know, in a figure of speech." Puck pointed at Harry. "Ask him. He'll tell you."

Guts sheathed Dragonslayer behind his back, and he stood looking down at Harry – who looked up at him in return. Two years, that was how long it had been since they each set off in pursuit of their own goals. Harry had progressed far from just being able to talk to snakes, and Guts seemed to have gained a mastery over the Dragonslayer if his decimation of that tree was anything to go by. But Harry had felt the flow of od that had come from Guts, and it was dark. Granted, Guts had always been a brooding individual, this was something else. What does Harry even begin to say to him?

"You're still swinging that sword?" Harry finally settled on asking. It was lame, he knew that. But there was no point in asking if Guts was doing okay; the man had been going around hunting apostles, there would be no rest in that.

Guts didn't seem to think of the question in a negative light. "You got a new staff, I see." His tone was civil enough and his expression rather unreadable, but Harry could detect that he seemed unsure of what to say as well. "You did that with the fire?" Harry nodded his head. "You got better with it, with magic."

'He knows?' Schierke's voice asked from in his head.

He was one of the first to know.

'Wait… was he a member of that mercenary band of yours? He certainly looks the part.'

"It took some time," Harry admitted. "I can't complain about the payoff, though." His attempt at a light joke failed to even crack a smile or even a smirk from Guts. The swordsman seemed much more distant than Harry had ever remembered him being. Harry had to wonder how dark a path Guts had walked since they departed, how many apostles lay dead, just how much had time worked its way to fester the bitterness Guts had built inside himself.

As Harry exchanged a few more words with Guts, Puck had taken it upon himself to try and put the frightened girl at ease. "Look, I'm not going to hurt you, okay? I'm just an elf. Just a friendly, little elf." He tilted his head to the side to mimic a curious child and even made a few faces to show how un-threatening he was. "See? Could a face like mine really be bad?" much to his relief, the girl made no attempt to escape and didn't yell when he flew a bit closer to her face. "I'll even let you poke me in the belly. Go on! I'm a magical creature and you'll get good luck if you do." Slowly, her finger extended outward and poked Puck on his stomach. "Oof! Wow, a bit forceful, aren't ya?"

"S-sorry," she apologized. "Y-you're not going to eat me, are you?"

Puck's face morphed into one of disgust. "Eew! No! Look at my mouth, does it look like I have fangs?" he used his fingers to pull his cheeks apart and stuck his tongue out for comedic effect. She seemed to visibly relax when she knew that Puck was far from dangerous. Harry also watched the exchange between the pair. It seemed so strange how someone like Guts could have been traveling around with a fun-loving elf like that.

"Are you alright then?" Harry asked; his attention now on the girl they had saved. "I know that must sound like a pretty dumb question, but it has to be asked." She looked at him shyly before averting her eyes to the ground. She was embarrassed, and Harry could see why. The front of her dress was cut open from what the first bandit did with his knife, she was nearly exposed.

He made a move to give her his cloak to cover herself, but Guts had already tossed her his black cloak. "Cover yourself," Guts instructed her, his tone wasn't exactly the most warming, but the gesture seemed to go a long way for the girl as she draped it over her shoulders. It was much too big for someone her size and with her head poking out of the top it gave the distinct impression she was swimming in an ocean of darkness.

"Thank you… Mister Swordsman. And you too, Mister… er, are you too young to be called a mister?" She was talking, but the shock still seemed to be with her.

"Just Harry is fine," he told her. "What about you? Are you okay sharing your name?"

Her eyes darted between both Harry and Guts as if trying to determine their worth. "Jill."

Puck clapped his hands together in a joyous manner. "That's a neat name you got there! I don't think I've ever met a Jill before." The elf flew over to Guts. "Why not give your name? you don't want her calling you Mister Swordsman, do you?"

"She can call me whatever she wants," Guts said, rather uncaringly. "But if she wants to go by name, it's Guts."

'Is that actually his name?' Schierke wondered. 'That's rather odd. Why would his parents name him-?'

Schierke, Harry cut off her thought. I don't think it's best to wonder about Guts' past, alright? That was a topic that Harry actually knew very little himself. Guts rarely, if at all, talked about his life before the Band of the Hawk. The only things he would mention were that he had been a mercenary previously, occasionally he would say the name Gambino, but that was about it. If Gambino had been his father or a relative, Guts was always close-lipped about that. Whatever the case, Harry doubted the story was a pretty one.

Jill nodded her head in understanding . "Well, thank you, Mister Guts. And you too, Harry. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but I'd rather preferred that we hadn't met under these conditions."

Puck brushed her concern aside. "Don't you worry about all that. Those guys were bad news. But what were you even doing out here to begin with? Did they kidnap you?"

"At Puck's question, Jill became visibly anxious. "There was just… some trouble back in my village. I didn't want to be caught in the middle of it, so I took off into the woods. It probably wasn't the soundest logic, but I panicked. I didn't know anyone would be out in these woods on account of the Elves of the Misty Valley."

"Misty Valley?" Puck was confused, but interested. "You mean there's more of my kind around here?"

"I hope not," Guts quietly said.

Jill shook her head. "No. Not like you. If you were one of the Misty Valley Elves, I probably would have been taken to the valley. The same with all the other children."

Now Puck just looked plain offended. "What?! Elves kidnapping people?! I don't buy it for a second! Us elves are some of the nicest you'll ever meet!" he finished with an indignant pout.

"Yeah, you're real nice until you become annoying," Guts sarcastically joked.

"Puck does have a point," Harry stuck up for the elf. "Elves aren't really violent creatures."

"Oh, and you've met them?" Guts asked.

"Well, I met one." Harry specified. "She was a bit stuck-up, but not malicious."

'I don't think Ivalera would appreciate that remark.'

She's not listening in, is she?

'She's already asleep. Count yourself lucky.'

"Whoa! You met another elf like me?" Puck became curious at the aspect of another elf living in Midland. "And I thought I was all by my lonesome in this strange new world. Who would have thought that I'd have competition?" he looked at Guts with contemplation. "You don't think it could be one of those apostles, do you?"

"Not unless you want to believe that some of your kind of capable of doing harm," Guts told the elf. "But I'm not about to deal with that now. I'm too tired, that fight woke me up from my nap."

"Um," Jill began, clutching the hem of Guts' cloak tighter around her. "If you were all agreeable to it, I could offer you a place to stay in my village. There's this old watchtower just outside the wall, no one ever uses it anymore because it's too worn down, and you could stay there for the rest of the night."

"See, Guts," Puck smiled at his companion, "things just might be turning around for us. We met someone new, you met someone you already knew, and you'll get to sleep with a roof over your head."

"Well… the roof is mostly caved in," Jill shyly admitted.

"Sounds better than what he's used to," Puck seemed unperturbed. "What do you fellas say?"

"I'd be fine with it," Harry said. "Guts?" the swordsman's singular eye passed over each of them.

"Fine." Guts decided.

The four of them traveled out of the forest and back to the main road Harry had been on previous. Instead of traveling the way he had been going, Jill led them down a side path which led to a new road. This one would end up taking them up a rocky hill where Jill's village resided on the top. Even from a distance, the village did not appear impressive by any means. The stonework lining the outer wall was in near rubble, and only a few pillars of smoke drifted up from some of the rooftops within. Even the sign with the name of the village had broken off leaving the name as an unknown.

Jill pointed to the one structure that was located outside of the near ruined wall. "There it is – the watchtower."

"Not to sound offensive, but this place has seen better days." Harry might have been too blunt, but coming up with a complement seemed a task in of itself.

Luckily, Jill didn't seem offended. "You're not wrong. Before I was born, a group of bandits attacked and raided. We never got the funds make the repairs. The nobles and king decided the war with Chuder took priority over fixing one old village."

Guts pushed open the door to the tower for their group to enter. She had been right; a large portion of the roof had caved in, leaving the floor covered in the rubble. Some of the wall had fallen away as well making it look like an additional window was going to be constructed at a later point. A few furnishings like a broken mirror had been pushed against the far side. Puck was the first to comment.

"Yeah, you can definitely make yourself comfortable in a place like this."

The swordsman shrugged in nonchalance. "It'll do."

"Thanks for showing us," Harry thanked Jill, who nodded. She still kept Guts' cloak wrapped around her.

"So, you will be staying here for the night?" she asked them both.

Guts slumped against the wall and slid down so he was resting in a sitting position; Dragonslayer was propped next to his side. "Does that answer your question?"

Puck lightly chastised him. "She didn't have to show us this place. At least try to play nice."

"I see." Jill put a finger to her lower lip. "If it isn't too much to ask, could I perhaps spent the night here as well?"

Harry looked at her with uncertainty. "You don't want to go back to your home? I'm sure your parents will be worried about you." Really, after just having been saved from bandits, Harry assumed she would want to return home as soon as possible.

"My mother would be… but I can explain it to her in the morning." She tried to hide it, but Harry heard the unspoken plea. Something didn't sit right with him, and he had a sinking suspicion as to what. Having been raised by people like the Dursley's, he knew when something was off.

'She didn't mention her father,' Schierke observed.

Yeah, I noticed.

Jill continued as she had before. "I know that it might sound a bit… inappropriate to ask to spend the night, but I wouldn't mind, really."

Guts gave something that was close to an eye-roll. "Do what you will, you're already here." He nearly ignored the sigh of relief from the young girl.

"Thank you, Mister Guts." She sat on the ground to his left, and Harry sat to the left of her. She looked between the two of them, unsure if either of them was going to speak, or perhaps if she should be the first, maybe it would be best if she say nothing at all. She finally settled on talking with Harry first. "Thank you as well, Harry. If you don't mind me asking, was that magic you did back there?"

"Oh, well…"

'There's no point in trying to deny it,' Schierke mentally spoke. 'She knows about elves and if there's an apostle terrorizing this village, I doubt she'd think badly of a magic user who saved her life.'

Wait and you saying its okay for me say yes? No point in trying to lie?

'Don't tell her about the spirit-tree or anything, just answer her question. But keep it vague.'

"Yeah, actually," Harry told her. "It was. You're not too freaked out by that are you? Not going to run off and bring back a mob?"

"No!" she said, seemingly appalled at the thought. "No, I wouldn't do that. I only asked because, a friend of mine used to talk about being able to do magic. That and being an elf; like the story of Peekaf. Do you know the Peekaf story?"

Harry shook his head. "No. What's it about?"

"Well, the story goes that a boy was born an elf to human parents. He was always ostracized because of how he looked, so he ran away to the Misty Valley where all the real elves lived."

Harry was going to ask a question, but the voice of Schierke prevented him from doing so. 'Sshh! Don't interrupt. I want to hear this.'

"When he met with the elves, they told him that he wasn't actually an elf, and that his parents were who they claimed to be. Distraught, Peekaf ran home only to discover much time had passed since he left. He had only been gone a few hours, but time in the valley moves faster than it does outside. Whole decades had passed, and everyone he knew growing up was gone, even his parents."

"That story's a downer," Puck shook his head in disapproval.

"That's just life sometimes," Guts commented without looking at the rest of them. "You think you want something only for it to come crashing down around you. It's accurate if you ask me."

'He's certainly cheerful.'

"Rosine – my friend, thought so too," Jill said. "It was her favorite, even if it was depressing. One day she went off to find elves in the Misty Valley, she never came back." They didn't talk much after that, rather they just sat in silence. Jill eventually drifted off to sleep, and a sudden thought crossed Harry's mind. He silently cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. He grabbed a shard from the broken mirror and took out the container of ink he had in his satchel. He began drawing the rune over his brand, lest more spirits visit them during the night.

"Hey, Guts," Harry looked over to the swordsman. "I discovered a way to temporality block the effects of the brand. I can draw a rune over yours like I did mine. If you're okay with that." Harry knew Guts had some previous aversion to being touched, he had seen that back during their days with the Hawks.

Guts momentarily eyed the ink on Harry's neck. He craned his neck. "Do what you have to." Harry knelt down and began to draw the symbol. Now that he was up close to Guts, Harry could see numerous new scars that doted the man's flesh. He had scars on his neck, on his arms, and under his chin. His journey had not been a pleasant one.

"All set," Harry said, going back to his previous spot. "It'll be good for about three days, and then it has to be reapplied."

"Noted," Guts nodded, his eye more focused on the entrance to the tower. It must have been a habit – sleeping with one eye open. This would probably be the first restful night Guts had in two years. "You're different now."

"Huh?"

"You've grown," Guts said, still not looking at him. "When I met you, you were a stuttering, frightened kid who was so unsure of himself that the only thing I thought for sure was that you would be going to an early grave." He paused as if to wait to see if Harry would try to argue that point. He didn't, and Guts continued. "You're more confident now; you know what it is that you want, you sought what you set out for. Tell me about it."

It was hard to tell if Guts actually wanted to hear about Harry's travel, or if he just wanted to hear a familiar voice. Whatever the case, Harry obliged his request. "It was like I thought; there was a place out there with other mages."

As expected, Schierke's voice popped in to give a word of warning. 'Look, Harry, I know that you trust this man, but please, please be careful with what you tell him.'

"They were the ones who taught me all of what I know about magic. There's so much more than what there actually is. It would take all night to tell you all about it. But, yeah, it's thanks to them that I have a staff. Flora was a great teacher, and her apprentice – Schierke became a good friend over time." Perhaps unsurprisingly, Schierke's voice did not speak up.

Guts nodded. "Good."

"What about you?" Harry asked. "How have things been going in your apostle hunt?"

"If I found one, I killed it," was what he answered with. "One fight after the next, it wasn't anything too special. You at least got to learn something useful."

"I suppose so, yeah."

'You suppose?'

"I mean, yeah, I did learn a lot. You saw a bit of it back in the woods."

Guts just slightly inclined his head. "What's that around your finger?" Harry looked at his hand to where some of Schierke's green hairs were tied around his finger.

'He noticed?'

Guts might have one eye, but it's hard to get anything by him. "They're hairs," said Harry. "They're for a part of magic. Schierke gave to me before I left, it's to keep in touch."

"Hmm."

"And, before I set out once again, Schierke and I had the same dream. We saw this tower – the Tower of Conviction, the plague that's going around, people are flocking there like crazy to seek refuge. And… I saw Casca tied to a stake." Perhaps for the first time that night, Harry had Guts's full attention.

"What?" his voice was low, sounding almost like a dog's growl, but it was one of concern rather than anger. "Casca… she's with Rickert, Erica, and Godo."

"I know," Harry said, trying to calm him down before he did anything reckless. "But Erica is just a child, Godo's an old man, and Rickert would be busy working the forge all day. She could have wandered off."

"And you saw this in a dream?"

"Schierke and I both did, yes."

Guts' face seemed to be teetering on the verge of contorting into concern or anger. "The Tower of Conviction, that's what you said?"

"It is," Harry feared he had just woken a sleeping beast, but Guts didn't seem entirely focused on Harry, or anyone for that matter.

"Tower of Conviction," Guts repeated to himself. "Tower of Conviction." He chanted it like a prayer for the rest of the night until sleep finally took him.

For once, Guts did not dream of his and Casca's corrupted child. No, instead his thoughts were filled with Casca, bound and helpless tied to a stake. Her eyes were filled with disregard to the flames that were licking at her feet, slowly climbing up to the rest of her body. Two voices seemed to be calling to him, one was of Nosferatu Zodd. The great beast of an apostle snarled down at the sight of Casca burning.

"A death you will never be able to escape."

The second came from the Skull Knight, sitting tall and strong atop his skeletal mount. "Struggle, for that is in your nature."

The way that the smoke billowed upward partly covered the sight of the looming tower behind all of them. From what he could see, the smoke made the tower look like a giant open hand reaching up for a darkened sky.

His singular eye blinked, and Guts woke. It was morning; the somewhat obscured rays of sunlight streaming through the broken roof let him know that. He made a move to rise, but a weight on his legs stopped him short of doing that. The girl- Jill, must have shifted in her sleep as her head was now rested on his legs. Soft breaths escaped from her mouth as she curled into his cloak further. It was, it was… he reached out a hand to push her off, but stopped himself.

Why? Why stop himself from moving this girl? If he had known she needed something to snuggle up to during the night he would have told her to go back to her home already. She was clearly an idiot if she was this comfortable resting her head on a stranger's lap, what was he to care about some stupid girl resting on him. It was a nuisance, one that got his aversion to being touched flaring up once again. He was younger than this girl when that insecurity first came about thanks to Donovan. Just force her off, it doesn't matter, she'll wake eventually. And his hand went back down to his side. Guts stared off toward the door to the tower, more frustrated with himself than this stupid little girl.

From out of his satchel, Puck flew. The elf stretched his tiny limbs and glittering blue wings. "Ahhh! Finally, a night when we could get some shut-eye. Am I right, Guts? Guts?" he took notice of Guts' predicament. "I knew you had a soft side buried under all that ang-!"

Guts caught the blue pest in his hand. "Careful. You wouldn't want my good mood to disappear, would you?" the elf managed to shake his head. "Good." He let Puck go free. "Wake up Harry, this brat needs to go back to her house already."

Puck coughed a few times before glancing over at where Harry was. "I think he already is." Guts inclined his head to where the mage was to his left. Indeed, Harry had his eyes open and was staring at Guts with a worried expression, probably because of what he had done to Puck. It wasn't a big deal, of course. The blue elf was used to his treatment, this was nothing compared to being thrown into a puddle.

Thankfully, at last, Jill elicited a wake-up yawn, and she began to stir. As soon as he felt her head move, Guts rose abruptly, causing Jill to act fast to catch her balance. "Oh, good morning, Mister Guts; Harry."

"Yeah, morning," Harry rubbed a bit of sleep from his eyes.

"So now that we're all awake, you ready to go back to your home, Jill?" Puck asked the girl.

"Yes," she answered. "I've been away far too long, I suppose. I don't want to cause any more trouble than necessary."

"We can explain what happened to your mother," Harry offered. "Well, without mentioning magic or anything of that sort."

She still seemed a little hesitant. "If you believe that would help."

Inside the village was just as unimpressive as it appeared on the outside. Unkempt vines grew over the sides of some of the homes and shops, an indication that either the owners were not there any longer, or they had simply stopped caring. The fountain in the square held water only two inches deep, it was dirty and green with algae, the birds didn't even seem to want to bathe let alone drink from it. No one seemed to be out and about, the exception being one old woman sitting outside her house with a spinning wheel. She only gave a passing glance to Harry and Jill, not paying much attention to Guts.

Jill had told them that the people here were deathly afraid of elves because of the attacks from the Misty Valley, so Puck had been ordered to stay confined to the inside of Guts' satchel. Harry suspected that he had no qualms about that. Peculiarly enough, Harry caught a glimpse of a behelit from inside. Guts caught him staring and told him it was from one of the apostles he had encountered.

"This is it," Jill said, stopping in front of a small house. "Thank you both again." She had barely finished knocking on the door when it was flung open by a woman who had to be no older than thirty. She looked almost like a carbon copy of Jill except her hair was not a brown like her daughter's.

"Jill!" she exclaimed, grabbing her daughter and pulling her in for a hug. "Thank goodness! When you ran off… I thought you had been taken by elves!" Jill hugged her mother back.

"No. There was no elves mother."

"And what is the meaning of this cloak?" she ran her hand along the dark fabric that covered her daughter. "How did you rip your clothes?"

"I… ran into some trouble," Jill chose to leave what kind of trouble unmentioned. "These two saved me and escorted me back." Her mother's eyes were lined with moisture and she looked between both Guts and Harry.

"Thank you, Sirs!" she made a move to kiss the both of Harry's hands as thanks. "You have done our family a great service. Guts pulled his hand back before she could grab it.

"…Sure."

"You don't have to thank us for that," Harry explained to the overjoyed parent. "We just did what any decent people would have done."

'Don't let it go to your head.' He could almost see Schierke rolling her eyes. 'Where's her father anyway?'

I'm pretty sure that's a touchy subject.

"Mother… is father home?" she sounded almost hopeful.

Jill's mother shook her head. "No, he's with some of his friends. You know how he gets when he's worried."

Not looking for his daughter when she went missing, Harry noted.

"I do," Jill said.

"Won't you come in?" she offered them. "Jill, you go change into your other clothes, you gentlemen is welcome to some of the stew that I made. It's the least I can do to show our thanks."

"Gentlemen?" Harry heard Guts mutter.

"Please, I insist."

Inside the house, much like the rest of the village didn't have much to offer. It was about as unimpressive as the outside would suggest. There was a single kitchen area that shared a space with the living lounge, the only two doors must have led to the bedrooms, as Jill disappeared in one to change out of her torn clothing.

The mother sat them down at the table and presented the both of them with a bowl of stew. It could have used a bit of salt, in Harry's opinion, but he wasn't a master cook himself, so who was he to judge. A hot meal was a hot meal. "Is it to your liking?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's good," Harry replied.

Guts barely touched his but said, "Yeah, good."

Jill came out of her room with a new set of clothes, Guts' cloak folded in her arms. "Your cloak, Mister Guts." He wordlessly accepted it back and draped it over his shoulders.

They ate in silent for a while before some laughing from outside drew most of their attention. The door to the house opened to reveal a group of three men. Two of them stayed in the threshold while the third hobbled in on a wooden cane. He wasn't a tall man, he was actually quite short, and had unkempt stubble growing as a beard. Jill's mother put on a very strained smile.

"Zepek, dear, you're back." This must be Jill's father then. "I've got terrific news; Jill's back!"

His bloodshot eyes landed on his daughter. "So she is. Gave us a good scare, didn't you?"

"I didn't mean to, Father." She was uncomfortable, but didn't appear to want to show weakness in front of him. One of the men in the doorway laughed.

"Good to see you back, Jill." She seemed more nervous now that this man was talking to her. "Sorry if I gave you a bit of a scare last night, I didn't know you would run off on me. You know how I get when I have a few drinks. Haha!"

'Does he mean what I think he does?' she did not sound happy at all.

Yeah, Harry's finger's clenched around the table knife. I think he does.

Zepek waved the concern aside. "Don't worry about it. We all go a little crazy when we have a few drinks in us."

"Convenient excuse," Harry didn't try to keep his voice all that low. Zepek just now seemed to take notice of the two strangers in his home.

"Who are these people?" his tone was suspicious.

"They saved Jill, dear. They escorted her back not too long ago. I was just extending our hospitality." She smiled, but the twitch at her lip suggested she was nervous she had said something wrong.

Zepek adopted a condescending tone. "Honey, you're the light of my life, but you know how tight our funds are. When you go around "extending hospitality" you're cutting us short. We need to save money for the things that matter most."

"Like your drinking?" Jill's voice came out much louder than she intended.

His jowl twisted up in a sneer. "What did you say? What did you say to me? You think you have the nerve to run off like you did, bring back a couple of deviants, and insult me in front of my friends?"

"Were you out with your friends when your daughter was missing?" Harry cut in. "If your answer is a "yes," then you have no right to tell her off."

"The hell do you know about being a parent?" Zepek barked at him. "Don't think I haven't noticed that my daughter is wearing different clothes than what she was last night. It makes a father wonder what you two did before returning her home."

"Zepek!" his wife cried. "That is a bit uncalled for. These men have been nothing but – eep!" she involuntarily flinched when Zepek raised his cane. The anger Harry was feeling toward this man started to intensify, and he could tell Schierke was having much of the same thoughts. Harry could tell that despite Guts' lack of reaction that he didn't much care for the man either.

"Don't you start," Zepek threatened. "You live a sheltered life in here, you don't know how twisted people are out there."

"You must be speaking from experience then," Guts remarked. "It takes one to recognize one after all. Though I doubt a cripple like you has seen much beyond the tavern of this village. Why not go back there and drink to your glory days? Spend your funds like they were meant to."

"You insult me in my house?!" Zepek yelled causing spittle to go flying. "I'm a fucking war veteran, you cur! My injury is a sign of my duress, and I won't stand here and take that from some-!" Guts kicked the cane from Zepek, causing the small man to fall to the floor.

"So don't stand," Guts glowered down at the man. "It's your home, take a load off." The two men in the doorway appeared unsure of what to do. "Why not invite your friends inside? You can all enjoy yourselves in your rightful spot.

'He's a bit extreme.'

You don't know the half of it.

'No, for this situation, it may be for the best.'

Guts got up from the table. "But I can see when I've overstayed my welcome." He looked at Harry. "You coming?" Harry sat up as well. The two men in the threshold parted as they exited and Harry "accidently" brought the blade attached to his staff down through the foot of the man who had made the remark to Jill.

"Yeoww!" he cried in pain.

"Oops, didn't see you there." He followed after Guts. It wasn't until they got back to the abandoned watchtower until they heard the voice calling after them.

"Wait!" it was Jill.

"What do you want?" Guts asked. "Is daddy being mean to you?"

She fiddled with her thumbs. "No. I just wanted to say, thank you for what you both did back there. My father gets like that sometimes."

"All of the time?" Harry corrected.

"Yes, a great deal of the time. What you did back there, maybe it'll make him rethink how he treats others."

"You shouldn't than us," Guts told her. From his satchel, Puck flew to freedom.

"What do you mean, Guts? You showed that punk what for."

"The man's an abusive asshole," Guts explained. "Harry and I just emasculated him in front of his family and friends. Chances are he'll be an even bigger pain. That's why I say don't say thanks; your life isn't any easier because of it. You want him to stop, do it yourself."

Puck didn't seem convinced. "Well that just sounds like… elves!"

'Elves?'

"I hear elves!" Puck looked up to the sky. What appeared to be a mass of insects flying overhead were being guided by a child sized being, feminine in appearance with a luminous green color to her body and pair of butterfly wings. Jill looked up on them in fright.

"That's them. Those are the Elves of the Misty Valley."

A few miles away, the traveling party of the Holy Iron Chain Knights rode along the main road. Farnese, the leader of the group of noble knights, was insistent on following the trail of the Black Swordsman. For two years, the Holy Iron Chain Knights had followed the trail of rumors and stories that they heard about this mysterious swordsman. He had been a topic of controversy ever since they came upon that lake of blood. If he was the Hawk of Darkness, or bore some relation to it, he had to answer to the Holy See. And if the rumors were to be believed, wherever he went, death was quick to follow.

There had been tales of demons and monsters involved in nearly all of the stories, but Farnese knew that they were just that; tales. Common folk would say many things if they thought they might get something for it. The most recent of stories had sightings that the Black Swordsman had been traveling north, straight to where a portion of the plague had broken out. Some of the men under her command had been hesitant about traveling to such an area, but her two most loyal subordinates supported her all the way.

The first of them was Sir Azan, a former hedge knight whose most notable deed had been holding up traffic over a bridge so an old man could cross without hurry. He was an older knight to be sure, and his righteous attitude often annoyed some of the other knights, but he followed her command to the T.

The second was her personal attendant, Serpico. A youth of her age who detested gory sights, but had been her companion since childhood. He usually kept his eyes closed which often begged the question of how he could see, but it had never impeded his ability to serve and was just deemed as a quirky trait of his.

"The north really does offer some of the best air," Sir Azan cheerfully commented.

"That it is," Serpico agreed. "But I can't say much for all these bugs." He swatted a fly away, careful not to kill it.

"Bugs are the least of worries," she told her two attendants. "The query of our search is close."

She could see the two look at each other in a similar fashion. "You seem awfully sure of that, Lady Farnese." Serpico told her.

Farnese briefly looked over her shoulder. "Of course. I believe it as I believe in the Holy See; the Black Swordsman is close."

A/N: Happy New Year! I promised that I would have this chapter up by then, so thank you for reading.


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

The formation up above was too erratic to any formation of bugs, but at the same time, there was a presence of a hive-mindset of thinking to serve as the basis for how they behaved. Their patterns were wild and un-choreographed, yet they never seemed to collide with one another or lose sight of the apostle guiding them. Even from down on the ground, Guts could hear the high pitched squealing coming from those bugs.

Puck was fluttering close by, but he wasn't about to get up close the swarm up ahead. "Those are the Misty Valley Elves?!" his tone was clear that he refused to believe it. "There are so many of them."

The mark Harry had drawn over his brand had worked fine for the night, but with an apostle in this close a range, the brand began to become irritated once again. "You really do have a pest problem." His eye trailed the flight path of the leading apostle. It was a bit hard to see, but it almost looked like it was bobbing its head to some sort of tune that it was humming. The apostle pointed a finger at the village below and the swarm descended.

What followed was a series of loud thuds being elicited from beyond the crumbling wall of the village. Seeing the impending swarm, the villagers must have fled into whatever shelter was available to wait out the attack. The apostle flying up above gave a cheerful clap at the sight of her bugs terrorizing the people below. This one might appear small and innocent, but it was no different than the others; just a maniac who likes watching people suffer. Not that Guts actually cared about any of those villagers either, he had probably torn countless families apart during the war and never spared a second thought about the men he had killed. No, these villagers did have some usefulness to them; they had the apostle's sole attention.

Not wanting to waste a cannon shot, Guts equipped his prosthetic with his repeating crossbow and took aim. The bolts went flying as fast as Guts was capable of cranking the lever, he kept count of how many he was firing up into the air, stopping when the quantity of ammunition began to drop to the point of having to reload. This was enough to catch the attention of the apostle; some of the bolts had managed to graze the dainty legs. Sensing the new danger, the apostle pointed down to where they were by the watchtower and a portion of the swarm obeyed an unspoken command and changed course for their new targets.

As they got closer, Guts was able to get a better look at what these "elves" looked like. They were actually smaller than Puck, a clear indication they weren't true to what they had these villagers believing. Like the apostle they served under, their flesh had a bioluminescent gleam to it, and their faces looked young but their eyes were that of a bug, with a pair of an antenna to top it off. Yeah, definitely not anything to what Puck looked like.

"Hey!" one of them spoke, pointing an accusing finger at Guts. "You attacked our leader!"

"Yeah!" others began to join in on their call. "She's nice, she lets us be free! You're mean for shooting those arrows!"

"Just a mean grown-up!"

"Grown-up's ruin everything! They always try to ruin our fun!"

"Ruin our fun! Ruin our fun!" the chant was taken up by nearly the entire section of the swarm.

"We won't let you! No, we won't! Just because you don't like to have fun doesn't mean you should ruin it for the rest of us!" their youthful features which resembled a human, began to change. Their voices were getting deeper. "We won't let you!" their jaws were now pincers, their antennae more prominent; and from their lower back, a stinger began to protrude. The sound of their wings beating now sounded like a swarm of angry rapier wasps.

So they can change their forms for combat, Guts mentally noted. He had to admit, their current design was much more effective at conveying fear than they would be looking like Puck. Dragonslayer left its sheath and was now at the ready. "Alright, you pests want fun? I plan on having a lot of it when I'm killing you."

"A challenge."

"He challenges us."

"Charge! Make him feel the pain of dozens of angry stings!"

The angry buzzing intensified as the wasp-elves flew stinger first toward the group of them. As they neared, Guts switched his hold on Dragonslayer. The massive blade was now ready to be swung with the flat of the blade at the ready. To his left, Harry was uttering some sort of gibberish, but Guts felt the air around them start to get a bit warmer. Waiting until he could see their bug-like eyes up close, Guts swung Dragonslayer a full ninety degrees, squishing over a dozen of the pests against the flat of his blade. Much like squishing a bug, their bodies were a twisted mess after, some had lost halves, and others were flattened. With a flick of his wrist, Guts was able to toss their disfigured bodies aside.

The portion of the swarm that had gotten close to Harry was thoroughly surprised when after he struck the ground with his staff, a sudden combustion engulfed them in flame. It spread out in a three-foot radius, charring the pesky bugs into a blackened state and their bodies dropped into a pile next to the ones he had killed.

"Killed them!" more angry voices of the wasp-elves shouted. "You've killed our brothers and sisters!"

A whole new swarm was charging them now, this one even larger than the last. Guts took a position in front of the old watchtower. "The both of you get behind me," Guts instructed both Harry and Jill. "When I give you an order, do it."

"Got it," Harry answered.

"A-alright," Jill said, sounding less confident.

The swarm got closer, and their unified chanting became stronger. "Skewer you! Skewer you all! Skewer you all like pigs!" it was a twisted chant that was especially off-putting when all of their voices chanted it in a sing-song voice. "Playing hunt is fun."

"Get down!" Guts instructed, ducking as the swarm passed by overhead. The two behind him followed his example, leaving them unscathed and the swarm confined in the watchtower. "Perfect." Guts took aim and fired one of his cannon shots into the tower.

Baboom! The fire caught on the dry bits of hay that lay scattered on the floor; the ascending smoke momentarily blinded and confused the winged menaces. There had been too many to kill out in the open, but now the tide of battle had turned. Wings were only good if you have someplace to fly with them. If you clip the wings and keep them confined, then victory was all but certain. But, this tower was made of stone, only the wood and hay inside was actually flammable. Guts had managed to kill a decent amount with that confined shot, but more than a fair amount still remained, and the tower was very worn out.

"Harry," Guts said, his eyes not leaving the sight of the disorientated bugs. "Use that gift of yours; bring the tower down on top of them."

He saw the end of Harry's staff point at the midsection of the tower. "Memonterum, descanda." It all sounded like a foreign language to Guts, but the results were not to be questioned. Harry must have been concentrating very hard as he repeated the same spell twice more before the weathered stones gave way. The tower collapsed in a tumble of rubble and dust.

"Fun enough for you?" Guts asked, posthumously.

Puck stared at the damage that had been done. "Yeah! You guys showed them! Maybe now they'll think twice about disgracing the noble name of the… elf… oh no…"

"What is it?" Guts asked, not really in the mood for a lecture from the one real elf. "Don't tell me you wanted to talk things out with those… Harry?" Puck wasn't the only one who had a far-off look in his eyes; Harry seemed to be in a similar state. He looked white, and he was shaking. "What the hell's wrong with-?" he never finished his question; he saw what it was.

On the ground where the bodies of the "elves" they had killed previous had been, something entirely different littered the stonework. Children's bodies were everywhere in a massive heap of severed limbs and torsos to charred crisps. The creatures they had slaughtered so easily, they had all been children. It had been something Jill had said previous, about how the people were scared of elves, how she would have been taken if Puck was one from the Misty Valley, somehow, it all fit. They were not elves, they were children. Something inside of Guts recalled that this was not his first time he had killed a kid, no. He had done so only once before, back when he was asked to kill the king's brother, there had been that boy – Adonis, that was his name. Guts hadn't meant to kill the boy; he had just gotten in the way. That's all it was, he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course, Guts had felt sickened after doing so, but he had offered to give Harry tips on how to better work the sword, he had made sure another kid wouldn't have to die an early death. Why should he feel… guilty of these kids, before was a different story. These children were ready to kill for the apostle they served, yes, that was it; as they might have been kidnapped, but to become an apostle, or in this case pseudo-apostle, you had to be willing to become one.

Yes, they had made their choice. They chose to give up their humanity, they were no better than any other regular apostle. Just stupid, naïve children who put their faith in someone who was untrustworthy, to begin with. Gambino. Guts scowled, either at the sight, at the apostle, or at himself, even he didn't know who yet. It's not the same as Gambino, damnit.

And then Guts felt it - fresh air on an open wound. He glanced down at his right forearm to see a cut. It wasn't deep, but his arm holding Dragonslayer began to feel very heavy. A gust of wind passed by, and Guts was able to see a green blur dart past Harry, a cut appeared on his arm as well. The apostle had made its move at last. Casting an innocent look over the shoulder, the apostle stuck out its tongue in a teasing manner. Between the two bug-like antennae, a curved barb was extended and folded in on itself now resulting in a curl.

Jill took a few haphazard steps away from the apostle, but the antennae perked up and soon the apostle was holding onto Jill by her arms. "Gotcha! You weren't thinking of running off and – Jill?"

Confused, Jill tried to wiggle free from the grasp that the apostle had on her, but to no avail. The apostle seemed to recognize Jill and wasn't about to let her go. "Y-you know my name?"

The apostle lets go of Jill's arms and instead wrapped her arms around her in a hug, rubbing their foreheads together. "Don't tell me that you don't remember. Although, I suppose I do look different from the last time we saw each other. But I was finally able to become an elf-like I always wanted."

A horrified look of recognition overtook Jill. "…Rosine?"

"The one and only! You've grown in the past few years, but I'm willing to bet that I still look the same. You tell me." Rosine's facial appearance began to change in complete opposite to the pseudo-apostles had done. Her skin became much less bioluminescent; her bug eyes were now human. Locks of blonde hair grew out from her head, but her two central antennae remained along with a pair of pointed ears like Puck had. "Well? Do I look the same age as before?"

"Rosine… y-you… what happened to you?" Jill tried backing away once more. "This isn't you. You went missing; we all thought you had died. No one saw your parents after they went out to search for you. How? Please, let me go!"

Rosine seemed a bit distraught that Jill was not reacting in the way she had intended. She loosened her hold on the girl. "Alright, Jill. But you have to admit that this body is much better than the one I had before. With it, I can fly as free as the elves we used to tell stories abo-," her antennae perked up, and Rosine barely had time maneuver herself out of the impending danger. Harry and Guts both went to attach her from the back. Guts' Dragonslayer nicked a portion of her wing, and Harry's elf sword cut across her Achilles tendon. "AGGhh!"

"So a kid is using other kids to do her dirty work," Guts glared at the apostle in front of him. "What's wrong; can't fight your own battles?"

Even with her injuries, Rosine managed to gain some distance by taking to the air. "Hmm. You boys must really hate me. You're powering through the toxin that was in my stinger." She suddenly smiled. "I think that you're the first to ever do that! All the other adults just lie down and die, you'd be great to have in some of the games that we play back home."

"How can you say something like that, Rosine?" Jill demanded of her friend. "Why are you attacking our village? This is your home."

"No," Rosine said with certainty. "You know what it's like, Jill; you knew exactly how I saw this place. The only home that we have id the one we make for ourselves. I chose to make a fantasy come true, and my sacrifice made it a reality."

"Sacrifice?" Jill wondered.

A blast of fire rocketed past Rosine, causing her to roll around it. Harry sent another blast of flame her way, and Guts was loading his repeating crossbow, quickly firing as many bolts as he had stocked.

Rosine quickly became overwhelmed and was forced to call her swarm of pseudo-apostles to her. "Jill," she said to her friend. "If you want to know the truths of this world, come to where the fantasy became a reality." With a beat of her butterfly wings, Rosine went soaring away as fast as she had come.

With the threat gone, for the time being, Puck came to offer his services to the two wounded. "Geeze, she got you guys good, huh? Stay still; let me work my dust on those cuts of yours."

"Damn apostle," Guts grit out. "Little bitch has speed, that's for sure."

Puck coated Harry's cut in his dust as well to help counter the lingering effects of the stinger venom. He accepted it without acknowledgment. "Not even a 'thanks' from either of you?" Puck crossed his arms. "If you have another faster way of tending to those wounds, I'd love to see it."

"Oh, right. Thanks, Puck." Harry said to the elf. That seemed to brighten him up a little bit. It wasn't the toxin that had Harry feeling out of it. No, it was more to do with the mass of dead children that lay just a few short feet away. The sight of it left him feeling sick to his stomach, everyone, and everything that he had killed before had been full-grown adults, undead spirits, or fully-fledged apostles, but not children, never children. From what he knew, they had been kidnapped, they probably would have agreed to anything if they thought it would help keep them alive. And he and Guts decimated them.

"Because as long as they acknowledge what they've done is wrong, and it wasn't easy for them to do, they still might be a good person." Those words that Judeau had spoken to him echoed throughout his mind. But it had been easy for him to do. When he thought that they were regular pseudo-apostles, Harry had killed them without a second thought. He acknowledged what he had done, but it had still been easy. Just what did that make him?

'Hey, Harry?' Schierke picked up on his distress. She had been quiet for some time after he had seen just what it was that he and Guts had done. 'Harry?'

…Yeah?

'You didn't know about what they were.'

I do now.

'You do.' She waited to see if there was anything he was going to add to continuing. 'Look, I don't know what it's like to kill a person, especially a child, but in the moment you did as you would have before. I'm not trying to justify killing children, I'm not, and there is no spell that can reverse time to undo what the two of you did. But the least you can do is make sure that no others like them have to die. It's something.'

Stopping Rosine.

'Yes. An apostle granted them pseudo-apostlehood, maybe there's a way to reverse that, and you know where she's headed.' To the place where fantasy became a reality; the Misty Valley.

Guts'll be on board with that idea, at least. I don't know how he does it, even after seeing those kids he was still willing to fight.

'Did you get a good look at his face? That's not what I saw.'

What do you mean?

'I'll admit, when you and he reunited, I didn't think too much of him. He fit the mold of the barbarian I had built up as an outsider stereotype. From how he fought, to how he talked to Puck, he just seemed like a brute.'

I'll tell him you said that.

'No! I mean, I saw something else to him as well, and I think Jill did as well. He still risked his life to help you in that fight with the possessed, he stood up to her father, and just then it looked like he was deeply disturbed by what he had just done even if he'll never say it. I guess he just has a quality to him that lets people know they can depend on him.'

Harry cast a look over to the Black Swordsman; he was flexing his arm, making sure that it had healed properly. In between flexes, his eye would dart to the pile of corpses. His thoughts, like Harry's, seemed to be a bit scattered. Yeah. I see it. He felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Jill. "Excuse me, Harry, but did you hear what I said? You looked a bit spaced out."

"Oh, no I didn't," he admitted. "I was just a bit distracted. What was it?"

"I asked if you were planning on tracking down Rosine."

Guts glanced over to where they were. "The Misty Valley," he said. "She wasn't exactly smart about hiding where she was going. Then again, what do you expect from a kid with an inflated ego?"

Jill paused to think over how to word her next sentence. "If that's the case, will you allow me to be your guide to the Misty Valley?"

Guts regarded her with skepticism. "Are you living in a fantasy world? You saw what it was your friend was. You must have some sort of death wish."

Puck sided with Jill. "Hey c'mon, she's offering to be our guide. I mean it's not like any of us know the way there ourselves."

To Puck's surprise, Guts chuckled. "Heh. I would never have taken you for the twisted type. You really want to see another child dead?"

"Please," Jill insisted. "I promise not to get in your way, and I owe you both for saving my life."

"You know why we're tracking her down, don't you?" Harry asked. "You saw what she had done to those children, who's to say she won't try to do the same to you?"

She looked conflicted. She was offering them her aid, but as a result, it would mean the life of her friend. It was a lot of pressure for her to simply give a straight answer to, and she knew that. Perhaps she just thought that things would just work out along the way, that she could somehow redeem Rosine for what she had done. Opening her mouth to speak, Jill's answer was overshadowed by the sound of many footsteps running from the inside of the village. No surprise there. The brief fight they had with the pseudo-apostles must have caused quite a bit of noise. And with the immediate threat of the swarm gone, the citizens were free to investigate what had happened outside of their wall.

"Look, the watchtower!"

"It's been destroyed!"

"Oh shit! Are those children's bodies?!" they finally noticed the group of them standing nearby the scene of the massacre.

"Watch out! One of them is still here!" they had caught sight of Puck, who was looking to the sky trying to spot one of the pseudo-apostles.

"Huh?" Puck looked around. "I don't see anything."

"They mean you, bug," Guts informed.

"Ohhh. Got it."

"Get the elf!" the mob yelled, brandishing farm equipment as makeshift weaponry.

"Well, what do you know," Guts made ready to draw Dragonslayer once more. "These people do have a backbone after all."

" Jill!" a woman's voice cut through the crowd. It was her mother. "Jill get away from that thing!"

The girl's eyes looked up at them both pleadingly. "Please. Let me help." The mob was getting closer.

"Damnnit!" Harry hurriedly reached in his satchel and retrieved what he was looking for; golem talisman. He tossed two along the ground and watched as they grew to be six feet in height. They linked arms with one another to form a makeshift protective wall around the group. The mob backed away in caution of this new development, buying Harry enough time to grab Jill by the hand to lead them away from the angry villagers.

"What are you doing?" Guts asked, sounding irritated at the change of things as well, but he still followed them as well away from the village.

"I bought us some time," Harry stated. "Those golems will only last about five minutes each before they disappear, that's more than enough time to get a head start to the Misty Valley."

"And you're seriously bringing her along?" Guts questioned. "I thought you were smarter than that."

'He has a point,' Schierke admitted. 'You could track Rosine by her od, you're only putting Jill in danger this way.'

I could track her by od, but to that, I'd need something to base it off of, and the bodies of those kids are back by the village.

She sensed where he was leading the conversation and didn't raise a counter argument. The four of them stopped when they reached a babbling brook that must have marked a borderline for the village behind them. "Do you know where we are, Jill?" Harry asked her. "Can you lead us to the Misty Valley from here?"

"I believe so, yes." She said, sounding somewhat confident.

"Well, isn't that reassuring," remarked Guts.

"Hey, go easy on her," Puck stuck up for the girl. "She's just a kid, let her prove herself."

"You know what, bug, you're right. She is just a kid. And she'll die a kid, do you know why? Because the world isn't easy, this isn't like an abusive home where if you keep your head down, you might survive, all it takes is one mistake and she'll end up like that pile of corpses back there."

"Guts-," Harry began to say.

"-But what do I know. Let her do what she wants, just don't come back to haunt me when she's dead in a ditch." He turned his back to them. "I'll work on starting a fire; the three of you scout ahead." Seeing that Guts put his walls up, Harry knew it was better to comply now than to have a one-sided conversation.

"Yeah, alright. Let's go then, Puck, Jill."

The three of them journeyed ahead through a grove of trees as Guts went to work on lighting a fire. "Talk about a stick in the mud," Puck seemed to fly a little lower. "I don't get why he can't just be happy that he has people willing to help him out."

"Has he always been so distant?" Jill asked the both of them.

"Most of the time," Harry/Puck both answered. "Sorry," Puck apologized. "You go first."

"Well… yeah, he has a tendency to keep to himself. He has lone wolf traits, but he worked well with others before."

"What?!" Puck almost stopped flying. "You're bluffing!"

"I'm not. The both of us, we had good friends for a while. Then things changed." His own change of tone conveyed an unspoken message to the both of them.

"I wish I could have met him back then," said Puck. "I bet I could have put a smile on his grumpy face back then."

"You should be careful what you say about him," advised Harry. "He can always squash you."

"Hm? Kehuhuhu!" Puck chuckled. "Now that's funny."

Jill didn't seem to understand. "How's that?"

"I've been following him around for the past two years. If he wanted me gone, he wouldn't have just kept tossing me aside."

'I don't think he's aware of how to take an obvious hint then.'

"I don't know much about why Guts is the way he is, but that doesn't mean I won't try to brighten up his life now. Guts might not always want me around, but when the time comes, I'll be there when he needs me."

That was certainly unexpected coming from the elf. Up to this point, he had always come across as a jokester. Knowing that he would always stick by Guts despite his standoffish behavior was a comforting thought. And maybe Guts was aware of that as well, and it was something the swordsman couldn't stand. Harry was well aware that the experience during the Eclipse changed everything. Both he and Guts had taken their own paths, Harry wanted to try and escape the sense of dread and he had found new comrades through magic. Guts went and surrounded himself in darkness, he deliberately pushed others away because of what had happened; he didn't want to get close because he didn't want to experience that feeling of loss ever again.

"As insightful as you are, Puck, Jill, what can you tell us about Rosine?" Harry asked, changing the topic.

"The both of us became friends because we were outcasts," Jill began, seemingly a little nostalgic for her friend. "Her home life… was similar to mine." They all knew what she meant. "Before she was born, a tribe of bandits raided and attacked our village. Rosine's mother wasn't fast enough to escape with the rest of the women, and her father began to question if Rosine was actually his daughter after she was born. He hated her just because he thought she was another man's daughter. I saw it when we go out to play, she would have bruises on her arms and neck, but she always put on a happy face when she went out. Then one day, she must have had enough. She stopped by my house and told me that she was leaving to go find elves, which they were going to become her new family."

"And her parents?" Harry had to know.

"They… went off after her the next day. Nobody ever saw them after that."

'They were probably who she sacrificed,' Schierke took note.

You're probably right. But how would that have worked? From what Jill just told us, it doesn't sound like Rosine would very much care for her father and sacrifices need to have to mean in your heart.

'I don't have an answer for that. But she was still very young when she became an apostle. Children's minds work in strange ways, maybe she still perceived her parents as being family if only by blood.'

Her explanation reminded Harry of something the Skull Knight had once said about how all children yearn for their parents, even demons. Rosine wasn't a demon by birth, just a normal human child. And that was the most uncomfortable fact to think about.

The fire crackled as Guts tossed a few more twigs on top of it. By no means was it special, the flames would flicker and die just as easily as they had been started, they were not meant to last, just to serve their purpose. He sat himself down on a rock, letting the fire warm him. It was only just past midday, but the weather was changing with the seasons. It was fall, and the days were growing shorter. The cloudy overcast didn't help ease the growing cold that would surely be upon them in a few weeks time.

The three of them should be back soon. If they were lucky enough to stumble upon any berries or maybe even a rabbit, they could enjoy a decent enough meal. It probably wouldn't be enough to feed all of them, but that's what happens when there's another mouth to feed. Once that girl led them to the apostle, she was gone. Her close connection to this, Rosine, would only serve to complicate things. Harry probably hadn't thought of that before he went and dragged her along on this journey.

Something shifted in the firewood, catching his attention. A shape seemed to float amongst the flickering flames. A blobby, deformed body floated, staring at him with that singular brown eye.

"Oh, it's you." As expected, his "child" made no sign of acknowledgment. "What? Are you here to follow me around like a little lost puppy?" it continued to stare back at him. "What? Not going to answer? You yearn for your parents, is that it? That's what that bonehead said. Have you come to pay me a visit, because it feels overdue?" The open, toothless mouth seemed to quiver.

"Guts?" a voice spoke. Faster than lightning, Dragonslayer was drawn, and Guts' eye widened. He stopped his arm; the blade was close to lopping Harry and Jill in two.

He composed himself, strapping Dragonslayer onto his back. "Oh, you surprised me."

"Who were you talking to?" Harry inquired.

"Just talking," Guts said. He cast a glance back to the fire. Sure enough, the child was gone. Strangely enough, the brand on his neck didn't even prickle. It could have been the rune Harry had drawn, but when Rosine had attacked with her swarm, he had felt it then. Of course, it wasn't sundown. The child couldn't have appeared to him. He really had just been talking to himself.

At last, they came to a village. It was worn, run-down, and isolated, but it could provide the ideal hiding spot for the elusive Black Swordsman. Farnese could feel it this time; they were closing in on this enigma of a man. "Don't sound our horns on our approach," she instructed her attendants. "If he's here, we don't want to let him know we're coming."

"Of course, Lady Farnese," Sir Azan saluted. "Often times the best way to success is to have the element of surprise."

"I was not aware you partook in any stealth operations," Serpico conversed.

"Well, er… no, I haven't. But that does not mean I do not possess the knowledge of that particular battle strategy."

"Knowing is half the battle, I suppose," Serpico admitted.

"Wise words from the youth," Sir Azan smiled, his large mustache moved up with his mouth. "I only wish I could have been as insightful in my own prime."

"Time has its effects on all of us," furthered Serpico.

"Too true, lad. Too true."

"Formation halt!" Farnese held up a mailed fist to signal her command. There was a sight to behold just outside of the old village; a watchtower looked to have collapsed. A multitude of villagers have gathered around, sifting through the rubble, they looked to be pulling out bodies from the ruins. Much to Farnese's horror, they appeared to be the bodies of children. As they removed the bodies, they were laid down next to another set of corpses, all children as well. They were mangled and burnt to the point not even their parents would have recognized them.

"Oh, my…" Serpico looked very pale. Farnese knew of her attendants fear of blood and fire, and seeing such wounds inflicted on children was just sickening to him.

"Good God!" Sir Azan gaped at the horrific scene. "What could have done something like this?"

"Not what, but who." Farnese had a creeping suspicion. "Dismount. We'll question some of these villagers." Her Holy Iron Chain Knights complied with her order, and the questioning process began. Something that Farnese quickly came to realize, was that the villagers were clearly traumatized by whatever had occurred. They told stories of elves who abducted their children, a clear sign they were just trying to cope with what had been done. None of it was useful information, there was no such thing as elves; didn't these people know the text of the Holy See? Only pagans and heretics believed in the tall tales of children.

She changed her topic of questioning to if any strange individuals had passed by here as of late. The responses were much more valuable; they confirmed her suspicions on point. One short man with a cane and who smelled like a tavern was quite vocal. "There was this big brute dressed all in black; he had a puck teenager with him as well. The boy had a staff like some kind of wizard."

That last bit was new news to her. Of course, leave it to someone like the Black Swordsman to go around associating with heretics. "Thank you, Mister Zepek. Your assistance has been quite helpful."

"W-wait! There's more. The two of them took off with my daughter, they looked to be heading to the Misty Valley." Kidnapping a young girl, is there nothing this monster wouldn't do?

"You know, I used to be a soldier myself. If you're hunting this man, I'd be of great help on your way. Why, before my injury, I was one of the best crossbowmen Midland had ever seen." Farnese began to lose interest the more Zepek bragged. He seemed more occupied with wanting to relive his glory days than he was with finding his daughter. "Just one word to my wife and the ol' crossbow will be ready and-,"

"-I'm sorry to stop you, Mister Zepek." She wasn't. "But this is a dangerous task we are undergoing. The loss of one of Midland's citizens is the last thing we want to see happen." Please take the hint.

Zepek's haggard face fell. "Oh, uh, of course. But, at least let me offer to be your guide to the Misty Valley."

Sir Azan, in all his gullible quirkiness, seemed to believe Zepek was offering to guide them for righteous intent. He began to sniffle. "A father's love for his daughter… there truly is good for every bad."

"Yeah…" Zepek trailed off. "Something like that…"

The first thing they noticed about the Misty Valley was that the name was very fitting. A layer of fog seemed to hang above their heads, making them feel lighter; almost like any minute they could jump and fly into the air. The tangled mass of trees that they trekked through looked more like the setting of a horror story, serving as a reminder that this place was far from the paradise it appeared. Jill had been a faithful guide to them, going off directions she had heard before from people who had visited before Rosine had made it her new home.

Harry could tell that they were getting closer to the now apostle Rosine, his brand, and Guts' too were beginning to prick, not bleed yet, but they would be soon. Needless to say, neither of them was actually looking forward to the prospect of killing more children, and Schierke had done some research back at the spirit-tree mansion to try to find a way to avoid it.

'You're familiar with the Four Elemental Kings, you summoned Ate for a time.'

Any chance of them being able to reverse whatever Rosine did?

'No, that is beyond their power. But if the power of all four is summoned at once, you'd be able to make a magical defensive barrier that no supernatural being can trespass through.'

Good to hear. When the fight breaks out I can perform it around Jill so Rosine doesn't try and grab her.

'You could, but there are downsides to it.'

Of course.

'For one, the barrier will have to be stationary. Second, it will keep out supernatural beings, but it won't protect against physical attacks. If Rosine were to toss a rock, it would go right through.'

But you mentioned it being used against those pseudo-apostles. If it can act as a barrier to keep creatures like them out, can it also keep them trapped inside?

'You'd have to lure them to a spot first and then perform the ritual. That's the last downside.'

Still, it was better than nothing. If it meant that he wouldn't have the blood of more children on his hands, Harry would gladly use it. Guts was probably going to deal with Rosine as soon as he saw her which wouldn't leave Harry the necessary time he needed to perform his spell. "Guts," Harry asked, "what exactly is your plan for when we find Rosine?"

"The one I've been doing. It's worked well so far." He could see Jill stiffen a bit at his answer. She clearly was not eager for what was to come with the confrontation. "If I may ask, why do you hate her so much?" Guts regarded her momentarily. "I mean, I saw what happened to those children she had with her, and anyone would hate her for that; but you seemed to hate her even before that."

"She isn't special," Guts told her. "There are lots more of her kind out there; each of them has done something to become those monstrosities."

"And that's why, because they're monsters?"

"I don't hate them for that, the things I've done; I'm not that far from a monster myself. No, I hate them because they exist." The tree line ended and they all instantly knew that they had entered the true Misty Valley. There was definite moisture to the air, almost like a tropical rainforest, and the climate seemed to have changed a season as well. Before there had been a cold chill in the fall air, now it was like it was a warm summer evening. A large lake was located near the center of the valley with a waterfall dumping in more from the side of a cliff. Surprisingly, the valley seemed almost devoid of trees, save for one cherry blossom tree on a ridge near the lake. As soon as Harry spotted the tree, an unfamiliar wave of od washed past him.

That od! Did you feel that?

'Just a part, since I'm not actually there.'

It felt… it felt new and old.

'The old od might be the tree. It could have magical properties like the one where Mistress Flora and I reside.'

And the new… if that tree has magical properties, could that be how Rosine is creating pseudo-apostles?

While Harry pondered that possibility, Guts was all ready to start searching the valley for the apostle. "Stay here, kid," he ordered Jill. "Unless you want to be used as bait."

"Guts, wait!" Harry urged.

He could tell Guts was starting to get impatient. "What?"

"I have a plan, but it'll require all of us." Guts didn't look enthused, but he still heard Harry out. To begin, Guts would take the cherry blossom tree, if that was truly how Rosine was creating her pseudo-apostles, he would take care of it. While he was doing that it would buy Harry enough time to begin his ritual of summoning the Four Elemental Kings to contain the apostle-like children.

"What about me?" Puck asked. "What task shall I undertake?"

"I'm going to need someone to lure that swarm into my trap," Harry explained. "Fly around the valley. Once you spot that swarm, bring them back to where I am."

Puck happily accepted. "I won't let you down, Captain! But… what about a weapon for me?"

'What does he need a weapon for? He's just being used as a distraction.'

Beats me.

"Uh… here!" Harry picked up a burr and stem from the ground. "It won't kill them, but it'll get them angry enough to follow you."

Puck stared at the burr for a moment before brandishing like a knight would a sword. "With this almighty weapon bestowed upon me, I, Puck the Conqueror, will not fail in my heroic mission! If I should fail in my task, then let one of my brothers wield this burr in my stead!" No one had any response to his dramatic.

"Harry, what about me?" Jill asked. "You said you would need everyone, does that include me?"

"You do have a part," Guts said, "go home. You've lead us here, that's what you contribute. You really want to see the girl you knew end up dead?"

"That's not what I had in mind," Harry corrected. "We still don't know where Rosine is, and if Jill was agreeable to it, she could lure her out. Rosine knows what we plan to do, but she wouldn't suspect anything from Jill."

"Heh! You've shown yourself to be smart before in the past, Harry, but at what point did you lose your fucking mind?" Guts' tone and laugh held no feeling of mirth.

"What I'm saying is-,"

"-What you're saying is going to get another little girl dead. Saying stuff like that, you sound no better than all of us twisted adults."

"It's far from the worst you've probably done."

"No denying that. But I guess I just thought you better than that. Shows how wrong I was." His words cut deeper than Dragonslayer.

Guts… thought that highly of me?

'You did use to be in the same mercenary band if you're among the last survivors, I'd imagine he'd feel a certain degree of respect. And… I don't really know anything about his life before, and I'm sure you don't, but maybe he wants others to turn out differently than he did.'

"Um," Jill's voice brought Harry back to the present. "Mister Guts, I… would like to help some more. Rosine was my friend, but I don't know how much is still her and how much is an… apostle. She was always a bit strange, but never crazy. Please, let me try and talk to her as a distraction. That way… I'll know if she really is the Rosine I remember."

Guts didn't look satisfied; he turned on his heels, ready to make a beeline for the tree. "Just be ready to dig your own grave then." His black cloak hung to his shoulders as he stalked off.

Jill found herself alone as she walked the field of the Misty Valley. The scenery was so surreal that in any other situation she would have been happily running through the grass and maybe even dipping her feet in the water of the lake. There were probably secluded places like this all over Midland, but this one just held an otherworldly feel to it.

"Rosine!" she called out. "Rosine, are you here?!"

From above, a shadow passed under a cloud, zooming down at incredible speeds straight towards her. "Jilllllllllllll!" just as it seemed it was going to tear her in two, the figure slowed down its speed, and a pair of arms wrapped around her in a hug. Rosine touched her forehead to Jill's. "Hi!"

Shocked, Jill slowly moved her arms, patting Rosine on her back as she reluctantly returned the embrace. "Y-yeah. It's me, Rosine."

Rosine's features shifted again to become more human. "I'm sooo happy that you came! Isn't this place wonderful? To think elves actually used to live here so long ago – real elves! This place is a dream come true."

"…It really is nice." She could think of no better thing to say than that. "But there aren't any real elves here anymore, are there?"

Rosine pouted, as expected. "No. People stopped believing in them, and they just… poof! They vanished."

"That… sounds like magic."

"Well, magic is all about believing in the impossible, isn't it?" Rosine guessed. "And belief is a powerful thing, everything that is or was, existed because someone believed in it."

Those were wise words, something Rosine had never been too fond of. "Where did you hear that?"

Rosine smiled proudly. "The four angels told me that. Although, I suppose there are five of them now."

Five angels?

"But enough about them," Rosine seemed eager to change topics. "What's going on in the world of Jill? Have you made any new friends since I left?"

"Not really. It was always the two of us since we met."

"True enough," said Rosine. "But what about more than friends?"

"What do you mean?"

"Don't try playing coy. When I was at the village earlier, I saw you by the watchtower with those two guys. What's the story there?"

"There is none!" she said a little too quickly. "I met them, and they helped me out of some trouble in the woods, and then with my father as well."

"You were never any good at lying, Jill." Rosine smiled like she had won a great victory. "It is a bit romantic that you would have a little crush on the guys who helped you out. That one boy looked only a year and a half older than you, I would never have figured you'd like older guys."

"I-I don't!" she denied. "Harry is just… a friend."

Rosine wiggled her finger teasingly. "Didn't you say that you didn't have any other friends?"

"Not any from the village," Jill countered, feeling very humiliated. "But you'd know why that is, wouldn't you?"

"Hm?" Rosine tilted her head. "Oh yeah! Some of them joined me here in paradise! Now they know what it's like to live the free life of an elf-like I do!"

"But they were kidnapped!" Jill argued. "Why? Why would you terrorize your old home like that?"

Rosine's happy demeanor began to fade. "Jill, you're the last person I would expect to ask that question. You knew what my home was like, you live just like it. No, the only home we have is the one we make for ourselves." She took both of Jill's hands in hers. "You can be a part of that home too."

"Rosine…" has this been the real you all along?

"You can be just like me; just like the stories, we used to share. We just have to go to the tree over there and – the tree!" Jill looked to see the cherry blossom tree in flames, and silhouetted against the flames was a tall, imposing black shadow holding an even larger sword. His lone eye shone with the flames giving him a demented look. "An intruder!" Rosine's appearance changed back to her insect-like one. "Stay here, Jill. I'll show him what happens to those who aren't invited."

"Rosine, wait!" but she was already flying off to engage with Guts.

He saw her coming, his eye tracking her every movement. She zigzagged low across the air, trying to make him lose his focus. She broke her formation when she dipped low and popped back up with her head stinger extended out, looking to stab him through. "Surprise!" she gleefully cheered as her stinger neared his face.

Her face quickly fell when she saw that her stinger bounced harmlessly off of his prosthetic arm. A predatory grin slid on Guts' face. "Surprise yourself." He thrust Dragonslayer forward and the blade poked a hole through one of her wings. She had folded them in front of her body to act as a shield.

"Gnnuuhh!" she winced from the pain. "That hurt!"

"Good, it was supposed to." He raised Dragonslayer again, but even with a torn wing, she managed to get away from him. She was shouldering the burden to her surviving wing; it was enough to glide back to evade his attack. "Where do you plan on going with that clipped wing? You should be smart enough to know that you're beaten."

She snarled up at him. "Says you!" her antennae began to twitch, sending out a signal to the rest of her swarm. "I don't plan on fighting alone. This is my valley, and here we play by my rules!" a dark mass appeared overhead. "This game is already over, enough stings will kill anyone." But the swarm did not come to Rosine, they continued flying back to where the surrounding forest was. "What?!"

Guts could faintly hear the voice of Puck shouting; "Hurry, Harry! Hurry, Harry! Hurry, Harry!" as he led the swarm toward the awaiting Harry. The young wizard had the time to use his staff to draw some sort of circular symbol in the dirt and was now chanting some spell or another. He appeared to be in deep concentration, but he was aware of Puck flying to safety under his cloak, an indication that the swarm was closing in. As soon as they were within the confines of the drawn circle, Harry finished his chant. A glowing circle of light erupted from the ground; four luminous beings appeared to have linked arms with one another. Confused, the swarm of now wasp pseudo-apostles tried to fly out but were repelled back by some sort of invisible force.

"My elves!" Rosine cried out.

"Can't handle your toys being taken away?" Guts sarcastically mocked. "But I guess you are just a stupid child at heart."

Her body began trembling. "You… come into my paradise, capture my elves, tear my wing, you're just some mad dog!" she was changing once more. A new set of wings were growing from her back, a large thorax sprouted from her back, working to encase her legs. "And I'm the queen of this valley."

Guts rushed her, Dragonslayer at the ready to cut her down before she finished her second transformation. Rosine was faster. Her wings were much stronger now than they had been previously. She flew forward at deafening speeds, completely running him over, knocking him off of his feet. She flew into the sky, her shape a giant shadow before shooting back down to the ground again, straight toward him.

A crazy idea popped into Guts' head, he stood ready with his arm cannon pointed at Rosine, and Dragonslayer held in one hand. He waited until she neared, before using his teeth to pull the string to fire his cannon. The cannonball struck Rosine, but Guts made no move to brace himself from the recoil of the blast, he let it spin his body a full one-eighty, ending with Dragonslayer cutting her across her thorax. It wasn't without its downside though, without bracing, Guts felt his left shoulder become dislocated.

"You big meanie!" Rosine shouted at him. "Look what you did!" like a hornet, his attack only seemed to enrage her. Her new wings were still undamaged, and they carried her toward like a speeding arrow, her head stinger at the ready. Once more, Guts used his prosthetic to block it from hitting his face, but Rosine was able to curl her stinger. The barbed stinger now pierced through his forearm holding Dragonslayer. "Your sword isn't going to help you now! Let's go for a little flight!"

Her wings were strong; they were able to support her new body as well as his added weight and Dragonslayer. She slammed him against the burning cherry blossom tree, the heat of the flames began to singe his black cloak and some of the skin on the back of his neck. Rosine shot herself higher into the sky, taking Guts with her. She began to twist and turn her body, looking to shake him off.

"Guts!" he heard Harry yell from the ground. "Get ready to brace yourself!"

"Whatever it is, just do it!" as long as she took the most of the attack, that was all that mattered at the moment. This was just another battle, he had to be willing to take punishment to win.

From below, Harry began another chant, the clouds high above them started to cluster closer together. A rumbling began to ensue, and a sudden burst of lightning erupted arcing its way straight toward Rosine. The blast struck her, and Guts felt some of that raw energy pass through his body as well. But it worked, Rosine was falling from the sky.

Harry made ready to perform another spell to slow their decent, But Rosine seemed to still have enough control over her body to an angle where she wanted to go, and that was straight toward Harry. Before he could roll out of the way, the joined Rosine and Guts slammed into him, the momentum of the fall sent the three of them sprawling in the waters of the Misty Valley Lake.

A/N: That's it for this chapter, the next one will feature a large look at what's going on in the HP side of things. Thank you for reading.


	30. Chapter 30

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, October 31st, 1994

The great hall was filled with the chattering and daily gossip that was to be expected of students both new and senior. A sort of palpable excitement and tension filled the air, and many of the food prepared down in the kitchens remained largely untouched; save of course for some of the students over at the Gryffindor table. The Weasley twins were a source of jovial attention as always, having been released from the hospital wing the other day after having their beards removed.

The two of them were clever, but not clever enough to fool an age line simply by drinking an aging potion. That wasn't to say that their failed attempt hadn't swayed others from coming up with their own harebrained schemes of fooling the aging line Dumbledore himself drew. No, there were still conspiracies going around even after the twins' mishap, which they took with surprising humility. Some of the professors had wanted to be a bit stricter when it came to suggesting punishment, but the concept of public humiliation was one that was far too overlooked in this day and age. Although, Dumbledore could understand the mindset of where his professors were coming from; Hogwarts was playing host to two other wizarding schools this semester – Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.

Madam Maxime, the Headmistress of Beauxbatons, towered over everyone else, even Hogwarts own Keeper of Keys, Game Keeper, and Care of Magical Creatures Professor, Hagrid. It appeared that Hagrid was actually intrigued at the prospect of meeting another who shared giants' blood, although Maxime would never admit to it. No, she knew of the discrimination against half-breeds and the like within Magical Britain, and she had the aura of a proper French Madam to uphold.

Then there was Igor Karkaroff, the Durmstrang Headmaster, a former Death Eater granted pardon after Voldemort's downfall by granting valuable information to the Wizengamont. He sat next to Severus along the staff table, something that didn't escape Dumbledore's notice. The Potions Master rarely acknowledged the presence of the Durmstrang Headmaster; Severus had an image of his own to keep up. Karkaroff probably would have been more annoyed with the lack of attention, but his focus more on the main event of tonight.

Further, in along the staff table, the figures of Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman sat in accordance with the tradition of the event – the Triwizard Tournament. It had been decades since the last tournament, having been put to an end due to too many student deaths, and now Hogwarts would be hosting the legendary event. Dumbledore had no heavenly idea what the Ministry of Magic was thinking by bringing back this tournament, but with Crouch and Bagman promising a much more controlled environment and by raising the age limit to only those seventeen and above, it was eventually deemed plausible. No doubt Cornelius agreed to the terms because he thought it would boost his popularity in the polls.

Dumbledore had warned him of something going wrong, but the minister was adamant. Even with the recent happenings over the previous years, Fudge still chose to remain blissfully ignorant of the growing dark. For starters, after Voldemort's failed possession of Quirrell, the fabled Chamber of Secrets had been opened after fifty years of stagnation. Wanting to be seen doing something, Fudge chose to arrest Hagrid due to his record while attending Hogwarts. Things became even more complicated when Lucius Malfoy had the school governors suspend his term as headmaster. It was only after the youngest of the Weasley children had been abducted had Dumbledore been granted his position back to deal with the situation. The chamber was discovered after an interrogation with the ghost of Moaning Myrtle, the only dead victim of the creature from fifty years prior. Dumbledore and a few other professors had forced their way into the chamber to rescue the young girl and destroy Riddle's diary. The Weasley girl was deeply traumatized by the experience and had taken the next semester off for treatment at St. Mungo's.

To complicate things even further just a few months after that, it was discovered that the Weasley family rat – Scabbers, was actually Peter Pettigrew in disguise. The marauder had been an unregistered animagus since his Hogwarts days alongside James and Sirius. Pettigrew managed to escape capture, but there was a silver lining to his escape, there was now enough evidence to get Sirius Black released from Azkaban Prison. An actual trial found him cleared of all charges from the Wizengamont and allowed him to take the seat as Head of House Black.

Managing to secure an actual trial for Magical Britain's most feared Azkaban convict had not been easy. Fudge and his undersecretary were largely against the notion, the incarceration of Sirius Black marked an important milestone in Fudge's start as Minister of Magic, and to go against that would be an ugly mark on Minister Fudge's record. With the help of Madam Bones and the ICW, a trial was able to become a reality, and by the end, Sirius Black walked out of the court a free man.

The years spent on that horrible island prison would have driven any other witch or wizard insane, but somehow, Sirius had managed to fight off the soul-sucking madness of the dementors. Sirius had chalked it up to being that he was always a bit crazy anyway and that he had something to look forward to upon his release. The first things Sirius had inquired for after his release had been and Dumbledore recalled, "real food, some new clothes and a comb for my hair, and most importantly – to see my godson."

The first two were the easiest to come by, the last request, well… Dumbledore was unsuccessful in his attempts at locating young Harry. Sirius, understandably, had been quite distressed to learn of what had transpired during his imprisonment. Dumbledore had tried to assure the now Lord Black that wherever Harry was he was alive, the multitude of magical instruments decorating his office served as proof. Although, there had been an instance two years prior that had multiple instruments going off, specifically ones pertaining to mental trauma, increase in emergency magical reserves, and the addition of a malicious presence. When Dumbledore saw this, he feared the boy would die, but when the instruments stopped reacting, the one monitoring Harry's normal heart and brain patterns continued spinning whirling respectively.

Dumbledore had kept a close eye on all of his monitoring instruments from that point on, careful not to miss any new developments. Thankfully, the only other activity that came about from his instruments had been showing the growth of Harry's magical core and advancement in magic. The readings were extraordinary, far beyond what a core should look like for a boy his age, no, it could even rival the power of some fully grown wizards. And that begged the question, where was he learning it? Dumbledore had gotten in contact with every magical school the worldwide, and none of them were harboring the boy. It was alarming, while he was not opposed to Harry learning magic; the idea that it was a complete unknown troubled the headmaster. If they were dark, then the Boy-Who-Lived, an icon form many young wizard children could potentially rival Voldemort in terms of power. That was why the need to find the boy was all the more pressing, it was better to keep him closer than risk his young mind corrupted.

Sirius had been quite vocal in his support for locating his missing godson, it was effort Dumbledore wished he had shown more of in his schoolwork while in Hogwarts. "I find it hard to believe, Dumbledore, that in all of this time, you haven't come across one piece of evidence that might suggest what happened to Harry."

"That is not true, Sirius. I have already shared with you my theory of Merlin."

Sirius hadn't been entirely convinced. "And what proof do you have of that theory being true? What was it Merlin even wrote about after his supposed "journey beyond the layers of magic?""

"The original text was hard to come by, and I had to call in a few favors within the Ministry to gain access to that level of the Department of Mysteries. Merlin's writings seemed cryptic; the first thing he mentioned once he managed to cross over was being greeted by a knight of skeleton."

"Like an inferi or dragur?"

"Not quite, but that opening left much thinking he had actually journeyed into the afterlife. He talked about how our world was a branch of a larger tree and other nonsensical things that only made sense to him. In Merlin's later years, he became quite the recluse, studying on ways to combat a larger force than anyone could comprehend. From what I've gathered, he was trying to create a powerful magical item."

"I bet the old coot is laughing at us from somewhere," Sirius said. "Our shortcomings must be an amusement for a genius. But forget about your theory for a moment, Dumbledore, I have one of my own."

"And that is?"

"As the recently anointed Lord Black, a title that is quite the hit with a few witches, I now have access to the Black Family Library. There's bound to be something about rituals for summoning-"

"-Let me stop you right there, Sirius. I don't mean to quell your desire to find young Harry, but you are aware of your family's darker history."

"Meaning?"

"Only that some of these rituals you speak of could very well be dark in nature. And I wouldn't want you paying a price that you can't afford."

The conversation hadn't continued long after that. Sirius had become rather heated and told him off for having no right to interfere with a family business. If Sirius had actually found anything or attempted to try anything was inconclusive, but the fact that the Black heir was not celebrating led him to believe he was stuck, the same as Dumbledore.

A cough came from Dumbledore's right, and a turn of his head revealed the scarred face of Alastor Moody, current Defense against the Dark Arts Professor. Moody's magical blue eye was scanning the hall for any trouble. "It's time, Albus."

"And so it is." As soon as Dumbledore rose, the hall went silent. The moment of truth for many students was now at hand, the drawing of the three champions. The impartial judge – the Goblet of Fire was placed in the very center of the hall, the blue flames emerging from the top glowed brighter than ever. "Good evening to all of you! As you're all very much aware, this is the night your three champions will be selected to participate in the fabled Triwizard Tournament. If your name is called I ask you to please head to our trophy room to await further instructions about the events to come. Now, let us begin."

Dumbledore placed his hand on the goblet to signal that the time was right. The blue flames turned a startling crimson and single piece of parchment shot out from the fire. With his hand reaching out automatically, Dumbledore caught it. "The champion of Beuaxbatons is Fleur Delacour!" a polite round of applause was elicited from the French students, while many of the Hogwarts males gave standing ovations, completely charmed by the girl.

Once again the flames turned to red and a name was shot out. "The champion for Durmstrang is Victor Krum!" the Quidditch fans all cheered in approval, with Karkaroff being loudest of them all. His star pupil would be representing his esteemed school.

The goblet glowed a third time, shooting out the last name. "And our Hogwarts champion, is Cedric Diggory!" a massive cheer erupted from the Hufflepuff table; each badger was looking to shaking Cedric's hand to congratulate him. Professor Sprout clapped as well, her eyes watery with the excitement and joy. Making his way to the trophy room located adjacent to the great hall, the schools all had a representative. "Excellent! We now have our three champions. I am sure that they can all count on our continued support while they-,"

The goblet was not done. For a fourth time, its flames grew red, all eyes now on it. Alastor had his real and magical on it as well. From its fiery depths, a piece of parchment shot out. Acting like a seeker, Dumbledore's hand reached out to catch the smoldering parchment. The hall was dead silent now making it all the easier for them to hear the name he was about to read out, even it was just above a whisper. "Harry Potter."

Hundreds of sets of eyes began roaming the hall. No one came forward. His hands almost trembling, Dumbledore read again, a bit louder this time. "Harry Potter."

Whispers began to break out. "Did he say, Harry Potter? The Harry Potter?"

"That's what I heard."

"I didn't know he went to Hogwarts, I've never seen him."

"Hogwarts has two champions now?"

"Harry Potter," Dumbledore read again.

More whispers, this time they were more agitated. "Where is he?"

"Why isn't he going up?"

"He must be a coward."

"How'd he even get his name in? He doesn't go to Hogwarts, and he isn't even seventeen."

"He's a cheat then!"

The judges for the tournament were coming up behind him to read the parchment for themselves. "What is the meaning of this, Dumbledore?!" Karkaroff hissed in his ear. "Two champions? Hogwarts has two champions? I demand an explanation!"

"As do I," Maxime agreed with the other headmaster. "Eet is not 'osible."

Ludo Bagman was the only one with a genuine smile on his face. "The actual Harry Potter! Dumbledore, where have you been keeping him all these years? No doubt you wanted to make an entrance for our savior, let's bring this young man out!"

"It's not possible," barely anyone was listening to Dumbledore at this point.

Bagman cleared his throat and magically amplified his voice so all the hall could hear. "Would Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, please come forward so he may join the other champions." No one, not one person in the entire great hall or otherwise made any move to rise. "Come now, we require Harry Potter, please come forth." Bagman was met with the same result as before, absolutely nothing. Moody's magical eye was moving around in his socket, Dumbledore thought it might fly out. For once in his career, Bagman had no idea what to say next. "Harry Potter, are you here?"

By that point, there was nothing anyone could say to stop the outbreak of gossip. The Gryffindor's were loudly talking amongst them demanding explanations from the staff. The only students from that table who weren't taking were the nervous first-years and Neville Longbottom. The Hufflepuff's were in a clear uproar, they didn't want another champion to take away the glory the Diggory lad was tasked with bringing to them. The Ravenclaw's were more hushed, but each was coming up with a theory of their own on where Harry could be and how his name was drawn. The only Raven who wasn't was a third-year girl, Luna Lovegood; her focus was up at the enchanted ceiling. The Slytherin's were the most composed of the Hogwarts Houses, students like Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis kept neutral expressions. Draco Malfoy however, tried to remain as composed and cool as a pureblood heir could be, but even he couldn't stop the sneer from working across his face.

It was becoming painfully obvious that Harry Potter would not be joining the rest of them in the great hall anytime soon. Whoever had put Harry's name in the goblet, had clearly done so to bring the boy to Hogwarts for this tournament, and Dumbledore doubted that it was just for a friendly competition. Something sinister was behind this, and Dumbledore had a guess as to whom. If Voldemort was truly behind this, then maybe Dumbledore should take it as a good sign then. Wherever Harry was, he was far from Voldemort's reach. But that again begged the question of where Harry was and why he was not here now. The Goblet of Fire was an ancient form of magical creation, whatever was preventing it from bringing Harry here had to be an even more ancient source, something beyond their comprehension. But what?

The lake water had washed away the ink-drawn rune covering Harry's brand and scar. A trail of blood leaked from where the brand was on his neck, and his head felt like there was a fire burning inside of it. He was seeing spots by the time he managed to break the surface, gasping for air. The impact of Rosine slamming into him at her speeds had bruised or even broke a few ribs. He, Rosine, and Guts had all taken a tumble into that lake; only two heads were above the surface.

Guts coughed up a bit of water and looked over to affirm that only he and Harry were the only two that had surfaced. "Guts-," Harry began.

"-She got out already. Her wings got weighed down, had to transform back. Saw her swim out of this damn lake." He pointed to a place beyond the shore where a trail of water was. Doing so, Guts' arm was visible to Harry. It was shaking, and it had nothing to do with the water being cold; the point where Rosine had skewered him with her toxic barb looked a sickly shade of orange. Dragonslayer rested near the shallows, wedged between a few rocks. "I got this, you go after that thing."

Harry nodded and began to trudge his way out of the lake, his soaked clothing weighing his movements down a peg. Luckily, he had managed to keep a hold of his staff and sword, he would need them if Rosine had any additional fight left in her, and he would need to finish it fast. The barrier he had used to trap the pseudo-apostles would not last forever, and the magic was at its strongest when he was close by. Glancing over to where he had drawn the entrapment, Harry was pleased to see that the circle of light was still encompassing the swarm, but the light was much less bright than it had been when he first cast it.

Puck flew over to him looking tired but accomplished. "Mission… complete…" he said, exhausted.

"Yeah, you did well, Puck." Harry thanked the elf. Thankfully Puck seemed a master at getting people's attention, so the task had been idly suited for a creature of his nature.

"Wow. I've known you a few days and you're already giving me compliments. I like you already!"

"Don't get too comfortable," Harry advised. "Rosine's still alive."

"Still?" Puck asked flabbergasted. "Between Guts cutting her and you zapping her with lightning, what's it going to take?"

"Hopefully just one more strike." And then it would all be over.

'Be careful,' cautioned Schierke. 'If she's cornered and threatened, she might put up an even bigger fight.'

But the sight of a bloodthirsty beast was not what Jill came across. There, lying on her back in the grass next to the burning cherry blossom tree was Rosine. The girl no longer appeared to look like her second transformed state, she was as she had talked to Jill, a bio-luminescent body with a pair of wings sprouting from her back. This time, her one wing was severely damaged, the webbing was working on repairing itself, but it wasn't fast enough. Rosine's eyes were staring up at the night sky, not even moving to acknowledge Jill's arrival. She looked… defeated.

"…Rosine?" Jill took a few cautious steps forward. She wanted to believe that Rosine would never harm her, but she saw her fight between Guts and Harry, she had been aiming to kill.

Rosine's lip quivered, and her eyes became misty. "It's a lie, Jill." Her voice sounded close to breaking. "The stories, the elves, this place, and especially me; it's all a lie. I'm not an elf, I'm just a stupid girl who dreamt up a paradise to escape, and now that's gone." Her eyes were very watery now. "I just wanted… I just wanted to believe that life could get better, and look at me now. I gave up my parents to the angels, most of my swarm is gone and the other half…" her eyes moved over to where the others were encased by that glowing circle. "They can't help me any more than I can help myself."

"You had me before. I was your friend in a place where no one cared about us. Didn't that mean anything to you?"

The saddest of smiles graced Rosine's face. "More than anything. And I'm all the more stupid for not seeing it before. You deserve better friends than me. Please, go home, Jill. I don't want you to see what happens."

"Listen to her." Harry leaned against his staff, still feeling the ache of Rosine crashing into him.

"Wait!" Jill pleaded, moving to stand in front of him. "Rosine's done terrible things, I know, but somewhere inside of her, she's still my friend."

"And what about all of those children over there?" Harry pointed with his thumb over to where they still remained trapped in his circle. "What about all of their friends, their families? I think they have a right to be angry if they weren't under her control. Step aside."

"Jill?" Rosine sounded far off. "What is that? It isn't one of mine." She was looking at Puck, who scratched his head in embarrassment.

"Uh, hi there." Puck gave an awkward wave. "Name's Puck. I'm, uh, here with the guys who want to kill you. Oh, I'm also an elf – a real elf by the way."

Rosine tried to sit up so that she could see him clearer. Her eyes began to brighten. "A real elf." A happy sob escaped her. "Where were you this entire time? I always wanted to know."

"What? Are you happy?" Harry asked. "You finally got to see an elf, that's always been what you wanted?"

Rosine nodded. "I don't suppose you're taking any last words?"

Jill was shaking her head. "Rosine, don't say that!"

"If it's about you wanting to be one with the elves, you can save it," Harry said, his sword at the ready. "I don't want to hear anything about that."

She slowly hung her head. "Just make sure Jill has better friends than me. And don't let her look when you do it."

"Don't let her look?" that was what this apostle was asking of him? With everything she's done, all the horrible acts, her last will is to make sure her one friend doesn't get to watch her die. She doesn't deserve it, why should she? Jill certainly didn't deserve to watch her friend die, but Rosine has no right to request that she doesn't, Harry would have seen to it on his own. An apostle making a request like that, was she purposefully trying to sound human, to sound regretful of what she had become? She was an apostle; they had forsaken their humanity for a demonic form and he had told Schierke once before that they deserved no mercy, they knew none themselves.

"Don't look!" the same words Casca had shouted to Guts during the Eclipse when the newly born Femto had… Harry's head felt like it was going to split open. Lying at his feet was a pitiful excuse for an apostle; she wasn't even going to put up a fight. Had the destruction of her paradise caused that great a snap in her mind? A dream that had been snatched away and she was now left with the sad reality of how meaningless she truly was. Harry's sword came down, but not on Rosine, to his side. He could feel three pairs of curious eyes on him.

'Harry?' Schierke inquired.

I know what I'll see if I do it. There'll just be another dead kid. And that's blood I don't want on my hands. No, despite everything Rosine had done, at her core she was a frightened child lining in a fantasy world, delusional, but a child all the same. She dreamt of something incomprehensible, and it had just now been yanked away from her, Harry knew that pain, and so did Guts, although he would not show the same act as Harry was about to. Perhaps Rosine did deserve to die but living with the shattered reality that her dream was gone, that was a far worse existence.

"Get out of here," Harry ordered plainly.

Rosine looked as if she had been smacked. "W-what?"

"Go. Get out of here."

Jill was looking at them, fearful that one would suddenly attack the other. "You're letting her go?"

"Your dream is gone," Harry told her. "It was what you lived by, and you're nothing without it. Never forget that."

'Harry, there are lights amongst the trees!' He focused in on the tree line. Indeed, pairs of lights seemed to be coming closer to the valley clearing. 'Maybe it's the mob from before at the village. They might have mustered the courage to finally attack back and come for the missing children.'

He turned to look at Rosine. "You say Jill's your friend, prove it." He pointed out the lights. "Draw their attention away, it's probably you that they're here for anyway. Maybe one of them will kill you instead, that way you can die knowing you helped out a friend. And I recommend you do it fast, Guts won't give you the option like I did."

The butterfly wings on Rosine's back flexed as she tested how long they would last. She pulled Jill into one last hug. "Bye, friend." Much slower than she had flown before, Rosine still managed to gain air with her wings. She shot off toward the surrounding forest, a distracting green glow. The torchlight's stopped their advance, and changed direction all of a sudden, disappearing back the way they had come.

"She's actually gone then?" Jill asked, her tone sounded sad, but… something else as well.

"Gone where?" standing behind them, was Guts. He was soaking wet, his usual spiky hair was worn down by water, and he was hunched over slightly, using Dragonslayer as a support. The cut on his forearm he had roughly tied with some fabric from his cloak, but blood still stained the dark material. The way his lone eye gleamed and the way his bottom teeth were barred, he looked almost rabid.

"She left," Harry told him.

"And you just let her?" it sounded like he had growled.

"I had her," Harry explained. "I was going to kill her, but I didn't want to look at the corpse of another child. And she has it worse than if I were to have killed her."

Guts' nostrils flared. "Oh? And what's that?" he was staring Harry down, his sole eye fixated on him, Harry could feel Guts' hot breath in his face. The anger Guts was displaying right now, it was beyond mad, he was demented. And just for a minute, Harry feared that Guts would turn Dragonslayer on him.

Harry was very careful to respond. "She has to live knowing that her dream is gone."

Guts was shaking now, a combination of rage, disbelief, and the wetness of his person all working together and simultaneously competing to see which one would come out on top. His arm seemed to be working to raise Dragonslayer, and Harry backed up, ready to defend himself if necessary.

'Is he actually going to…?'

Guts sheathed Dragonslayer on his back, turning away from all of them, his hand was clenched so hard that his knuckles were turning pure white, and his nails dug into his palm. His shoulders rose and fell with each consecutive breath. No one dared to approach him.

"Well isn't that a bitch." He stalked off toward where Harry had drawn the entrapment of the swarm. They all waited before following after him, fearful of what he might do or say next, but the question was present in each of their minds; what did Guts plan to do? As they neared the circle, they discovered the pseudo-apostles were no more. In their place was a bunch of naked children, boys, and girls alike, all of which were scared and confused as to what was going on.

"They changed back," observed Puck. "Did you do this, Harry?"

"No, this wasn't me." How'd this happen?

'Probably Rosine. Either she died and that somehow reversed what she had done to them, or like you said about her dream; it all just fell apart.'

So, what? Did she decide to willingly reverse their pseudo-apostlehood?

'Maybe. If she perhaps believed that's what Jill would have wanted her to do. It would have made one last act of a friend on her end of things.'

Harry dispensed of the barrier surrounding the children, causing them to cower at the sight of the arrivals before them. "It's alright," Jill tried to assure them. "You're back to how you normally were now."

They still appeared startled and dozens of questions were being asked. "Where's mama?"

"How do we get out of here?"

"Who are these people?"

"Please, try to keep calm," Jill tried to ease their worries. "Harry, Mister Guts, what are we going to do with them?"

With the pseudo-apostles now reverted to their original state, Guts' bloodlust seemed to be diminishing. "You know the way back to your village?"

"Well… yes, but-,"

"-Then go," Guts cut her off. "Take them back there. It's time that you go home." Realization began to sink in for Jill.

"I was hoping that… I might be able to come with you."

Guts looked more tired than he did angry. "Go home, I won't say it again. Your home life is a fight, but it's your fight. My fight is with those who won't care if you're a kid or not, one wrong move and you're dead, it's an endless fight. Go back to your fight, the one that you can win."

Jill looked at Harry, hoping that he would argue against it. "Listen to him, Jill, he's right."

"Finally agreeing with me?" Guts said for him to hear.

"Out there, it isn't going to be any easier. But back at your home, you at least stand a chance." Harry reached into his satchel to pull out a golem talisman. He handed it to Jill. "This is like the ones I used back at your village. If your father or any of his friends give you a hard time, just toss this on the ground and they'll be in for a surprise."

Jill looked at it with an odd fascination. "You're giving me a magic item?"

"For emergencies, yes. But it's up to you to use it, it's your fight."

Harry was thoroughly surprised when Jill wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you," she said.

"Uh, yeah, of course."

'Lucky you.' Schierke sounded a bit irked.

For Jill, it was more bitter than sweet to know that she would be going home once again. Her mother would be worried, and Jill was sorry for having given her such a fright, to begin with, she was barely a teenager and to have taken off all of a sudden with two newcomers would have been concerning for any parent who cared. As she led the confused group of children back through the woods she had traversed with the Black Swordsman and Harry not too long ago, she considered what some of these children's parents would say or react when they saw their children after believing them to be dead. It would no doubt liven up the state of things back at the village, something which they desperately needed. Knowing her mother, she would shed tears of joy that Jill had returned safe, her father would… actually, and she did not really care what he would do.

He would not show her concern, she knew that, if anything, he would be disappointed he wouldn't be able to bust out his old crossbow and come to lead a raid on the Misty Valley himself. With his glory stolen away, he would be let down, let down in her and even more in himself. He didn't deserve the pity and sympathy her mother would show him, anything he would have done would have been out of his own self-interests, nothing more, and nothing less.

It was in that what Jill found to be the irony of the situation. Her father would only ever show her care when he benefitted from it, and yet someone like the Black Swordsman, while distant and brooding, had shown genuine care in his own personal way. Saving her from bandits, standing up for her, and knowing when enough was enough for her to continue on, in a way, he had shown more care in two days than her real father had in her entire life. And she smiled the most bittersweet of smiles at the thought.

In another part of the Misty Valley Woods, Harry and Guts, along with Puck stopped alongside a stream. Both the wizard and elf made sure to give Guts some additional space, he was being unusually quiet, more so now than ever and Harry had to wonder if he was giving the silent treatment. With Harry's decision to let Rosine go free, Guts seemed to take that as a blow to himself.

"Um," Puck nervously began, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news on this one, but are you guys up for another fight?" wisps of shadows seemed to dance around the trees, the brands on both of their necks bled once again. Damnit! The ink that Harry used to draw the runes had been washed away after the tumble into the lake, they would just have to fight their way through tonight.

Guts' arm was still shaking, the venom still having a lingering effect on him. "Just tell Harry not to let any of them get away. We wouldn't want them coming back to haunt us later on, would we?"

"I appreciate the subtle effort," Harry sarcastically responded. His wounds still hurt as well, and at least there were two of them to handle this situation. They gave each other space as they swung their swords, cutting down the shadows that sought to torment them. Guts' swings were sloppier than his usual standard; his arm was constantly shaking, so to counter this, he rested the flat of his blade on his prosthetic arm to lighten the load. Harry's own movements were not quite up to par either, relying more on simply swipes and cuts than any further movement. Even his use of magic was limited at the moment, he felt like he would pass out if he used too much of it. Keeping up that magic circle for that amount of time had taken its toll.

If there was a plus side to their predicament, it was that the spirit shadows were very weak. So weak, in fact, that the one who was managing to slay the most was Puck. The blue elf still had the burr and stem Harry had gifted to him, and it seemed to be doing the trick. He was flying around; waving the prickly weapon around and the shadows seemed to evaporate when hit. "Cower before the full might of a master of Elf Dimension Style!" the elf seemed to have an endless amount of energy, he kept going until the first signs of the morning dawn.

Puck wiped a droplet of sweat from his forehead. "Whew! What a workout! No wonder you stay in such great shape, Guts. I can feel the burn in my stomach and arms."

"Good going back there, Puck." Harry leaned against his staff for support.

"'Twas nothing," he seemed to relish in the praise. "Now, you two sit on down and let me work my dust powers, you both look like you need it. Let me start with your arm, Guts."

Guts extended his still shaking arm, and Puck began to sprinkle some of his dust on the open wound. "I needed that. Thanks, bug."

That instantly caught Puck's attention. "Did you just… thank me?" his face lit up brighter than the sun, he flew forward and hugged Guts by his face. "Oh, I knew that you'd come around and be friendly, I just knew it!"

"Get off me before I squash you."

"Okay," Puck complied, wiping away a tear of joy. He flew over to tend to Harry next. "That was one of the best moments of my life." Once Puck had tended to Harry, he slowly rose to his feet. "Where do you think you're going, mister?" demanded Puck. "As your temporary caretaker, I can't have you up and walking around."

"I was just going to see if there was any food I could scavenge up. maybe find some herbs for Guts' arm to help the healing process."

"Don't you know what patient compliance is? That would be really-,"

"-Let it go, bug," Guts interjected. "If he's going to do something, he's going to do it. Especially if it goes against what you want."

"Look, Guts," said Harry, wanting to make amends.

"If you're going, just go. I'm not going anywhere." He rested Dargonslayer across his lap, letting his arm soak in the stream water.

"… Alright then." Harry took that as his cue to leave. Guts would be able to get past what had happened with Rosine, at least, Harry hoped that he would. Although, it was more than an odd situation that had fallen between them. Throughout their time with the Hawks, they had always been on relatively good terms, with Harry admiring Guts for his talent with a sword like how a kid brother would. Guts would distance himself at first, but had always shown a degree of concern for those he considered a friend. This Rosine thing was the first real disagreement that they had really had, and with everything that had happened after the Eclipse, would Guts be willing to overlook Harry's decision?

Harry found that was not something that he wanted the answer to right now. For the moment, he would focus on collecting what he could find in these woods. And the more he searched, the more he was able to gather. Having been largely untouched by humanity, the woods surrounding the Misty Valley had managed to remain relatively untouched. He found a variety of different leaves and herbs, along with some berries that he could use to make a healing salve for Guts' arm. He stored them all in his satchel, and made ready to head back to the stream when an unexpected noise caught his attention.

He took cover behind a nearby tree, poking his head out slowly to see what it was. It was a horse and rider wearing a shiny suit of armor; he carried a banner with a chain design embedded on it. 'What insignia is that?'

I don't know, I've never seen it before. More clopping rang throughout the woods, and a second rider came into focus.

"Have you seen anything?" the second one asked.

"Not a thing. Whatever it was that flew past us during the night is long gone."

"Understood. Ready to report back to Commander Farnese?"

"Nearly. Let's go a little further, just to be sure."

The first one grumbled. "If you believe it necessary, I'll follow your lead." They steered their horses forward toward the stream, right to where Guts was. Knowing Guts' condition, he could still kill these soldiers with ease, but if they were with a larger unit, it could spell trouble for the both of them.

Acting fast, Harry discreetly directed his staff at the two knights. "Homelio dicerto." It was the spell used for od manipulation. He could make the knights think they saw or heard something in the opposite direction of where Guts and Puck were.

"Hold up!" the second commanded. "Did you feel something just now?"

"Something from behind?"

"Eactly. Quiet, we don't want to spook whatever it is." They dismounted and began creeping to where they thought they heard a noise. Harry cast the spell again, this time further away from where they were now. Again, they fell for it; moving quietly as if not to scare this imaginary thing. If Harry kept this up, they would be well on their way without ever knowing what hit them.

Thunk! An arrow embedded itself into the tree he was hiding behind. He whipped his head around to look and saw a second grouping of knights had been making their way towards him, presumably to meet up with the two he has redirecting. Not good.

"We got one!" a mounted knight shouted. "Signal the others!"

Bwahhhh! Bwahhh! Bwahhhhh!

Three horn blasts in quick succession rang out into the air, flocks of birds scattered from the trees upon hearing the commotion coming from below. The sounds of galloping hooves filled the air, and soon, a small platoon of knights wielding their chain banner came to encircle him in a tight formation. Riding up last was a blonde teenage girl in an antiquate suit of light armor, flanked by a blonde youth of around her age and an older, stout, dark haired knight with a large moustache. The girls eyes zeroed in on Harry before addressing him.

"We heard rumors from the nearby village that there was a teenage youth dressed in the garb of a wizard. I assume that's you?"

"It's not a crime to dress like one, is it?" Harry replied with a question of his own, trying to think of a plan to get out of this. "And aren't you a teenage as well?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "My age is nothing of your concern, and it is heresy to purposefully dress in such garb as stated in our holy text."

'They're with the Holy See.'

"These clothes are all I can afford, and I wouldn't want to go and steal new ones. I'm certain that it says stealing is wrong in your text."

"You're hardly in a position to be cheeky," she warned. "The locals of that village reported that two outsiders had stopped by. You fit the one description perfectly, and the other was of a swordsman dressed all in black. Sound familiar?"

"He already took off," Harry lied. "If you're looking for him, then you're wasting your time."

"He's gone, you say?" she questioned, Harry nodded. The knights had not pressed in on him yet, but looked close to doing so. "And this was after he slaughtered all of those children and kidnapped that young girl?" Harry's blood ran cold. "We saw that grisly scene back at the village. That was a sight better left forgotten, and yet you cover for a monster such as that. So I will ask you one last time, where is the Black Swordsman?"

"Answer the question, boy," the moustache knight advised. "We'd be forced to take you into custody if you don't comply."

'Please tell me you have a plan to get out of this.'

I do. It's hastily thought out, and I'm all but dead if it doesn't work, but I have a plan. "Alright," Harry heaved a sigh of defeat. "I'll tell you, but I'm only going to say this once." She raised a brow. "Floras locomotus." He tapped his staff on the ground, and woods became to come to life. Branches bent down to swat the nearest of the knights away from Harry, and roots sprung up from the ground to hold some of the farther ones in place.

"Witchcraft!" was echoed amongst all the knights assembled, and they cowed away from his staff. It wouldn't hold them for very long, the strain from before was still with Harry, and he needed to get out fast if he was to survive.

Some knights had began to hack their way free of the wood restraining them, ready to make for an all out retreat, but their commander shouted otherwise. "Desertion will guarantee you the might of the Holy See alliance bearing down on you! Stand and fight! He is only one." The moustache knight took her words to heart.

"You heard the Commander! Fight!"

Some of the few braver knights had begun to circle around Harry. Using his staff, he drove the blade at the end into the weak spots of their armor, just at the knees. They cried out in pain before he used the hard crafted wood to knock each of them across the face. They stumbled backward, clutching onto their bleeding faces or trying to keep some of their teeth in place.

"Watch out for the staff!" two spearmen charged him next. Harry used both blades to knock their attacks up before rolling and stabbing them both through their legs. He might have nicked a major artery by doing so, but there was no time to think about how serious their injuries really were.

An iron club smashed right in front of him, it would have smashed his head in had he not taken a step back. The stout moustache knight had joined the fray. "For a heretic and a heathen, you avoided that attack well." Some of the knights looked amazed that this knight was joining the fight.

"Sir Azan is really doing battle?"

"I've never seen him fight before."

"I never would have took him for a fighter."

Azan twirled his club above his head, bringing it down to his offensive stance. "I might not be as young as I used to be, but don't assume that you have the advantage because of it. I've got experience on my side, and the courage and motivation that come with serving under the Lady Farnese."

Farnese, huh? She was the clear leader of these knights, the fact that she sat up on her horse instead of fighting alongside her men said one of two things; one, she was withholding her strength, or two, she had little actually experience with fighting. Actually, some to think of it, none of these knights seemed to be too skilled in combat. They went down entirely too easy, even with Harry's injuries taken into consideration. It was like they were a bunch of noble kids who have never been in an actual fight before. If he could take out Farnese, or even take her as a hostage, they would be scrambled.

With an idea forming in his mind, Harry brought up both blades to block Sir Azan's sweeping blow. Harry let the momentum of the swing carry him, putting him on a straight path to where Farnese sat on her horse. A flash of fear crossed her features, he had her, and she knew it. "God…" Farnese half whispered.

Riddle Manor

Triwizard Scandal

By Rita Skeeter

Hello, dear readers, you read that title correctly, an act of unimaginable proportions created waves last night during the drawing of the three champions for the schools participating in this year's Triwizard Tournament. Just when we all thought that the three champions had been chosen, a fourth name emerged from the famed Goblet of Fire. It was none other than Harry Potter, te Savior of the Wizarding World, and the Boy-Who-Lived. As you are all aware, Harry Potter has been absent from these past few years at Hogwarts, leading many of us to theorize where he could be.

It would seem that we aren't going to be getting answers to that anytime soon, as Harry Potter never appeared when his name was summoned. This of course has led to shock and outrage, and more questions than ever being asked, questions that his reported plans to get the answers to.

Headmaster Albus Dumbledore has declined any interviews with members of the press, which asks the question; how much does beloved headmaster really know? For more turn to page-

"Get that out of my sight, Wormtail!" Voldemort ordered his servant. He was not alone in the house of his filthy muggle father. Wormtail had been with him for some time, but Barty Crouch Jr. had been the one to deliver the paper. Crouch had managed to secure a copy before apparating to this hideout the morning after the drawing of the champions. Everything had gone according to plan, Crouch's position was secure in Hogwarts thanks to polyjuice potion, and the boy's name had been drawn as intended. So where was the blasted boy?!

The Goblet of Fire was one of the most powerful magical objects in existence, no one should be above its power, and Potter should have been pulled from wherever he was, straight to Hogwarts where he would be forced to compete. What power could possibly trump that of the goblets?

Crouch hung his low in shame. "I am sorry, Master. I will take whatever punishment you see fitting to give me."

"As you should. Crucio!" Voldemort held Crouch under the torture curse for as long as he was able to keep his feeble arm in the air. Pathetic, without Potter, he would be in this weakened form for an unforeseeable amount of time.

"Master," Wormtail raised a shaking hand. "Perhaps, if we to do it without the boy-,"

"-Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now, Wormtail, you coward." Nagani hissed at the rat-faced man. "Or perhaps, does some affection still linger in your heart for the boy's parents, for your old friends?" Wormtail paled further.

"No! Never, Master! I serve you, only you."

"Pick yourself up off the ground, Wormtail. You're filthy enough as it is." The head of Nagini slithered under her master's hand, and he stroked her. In his other hand, the strange egg bauble was held. "You suggest we use another, but whose blood would make me stronger than Potter's? He is the one, the only one who can make me the lord I was and more. Without him, everything goes up in shambles." The features of the bauble began to slowly rearrange. "Do you enjoy seeing me in this pitiful state, Wormtail? And don't you dare lie to me!" the eyes began to open.

"N-no, Master," Wormtail shamefully avoided his gaze.

"You lie. Crucio!" he held Wormtail under the torture curse longer than he had Crouch. Even with Crouch's failure at Hogwarts, he still remained loyal out of belief, not fear like Wormtail. He lifted the curse from the rat, who began to whimper softly, his voice having gone from screaming under the pain. Even though Potter's whereabouts still remained a mystery, the least he could do was to take enjoyment in the sufferings of his two followers. The eyes on the bauble were fully open and in an anatomically correct order. How dare they have the gall to suggest that he use the blood of anyone else but Potter? There was no doubt that Potter was the child of prophecy, a prophecy that he only knew a part of. That scar of Potter's had almost become as famous as he, Lord Voldemort, was. The mouth was beginning to open.

"Oooooooooooooooooooooo!" the otherworldly scream startled all occupants of the room, Voldemort included. He weakly turned his head to see the now fully formed bauble. The mouth was open, still releasing that loud yell, but it looked almost like it was smiling.

"M-master?" Wormtail cowed before the yell coming from bauble, while Crouch took a different approach. His wand was drawn and aimed solely at the shrieking bauble.

"Let it drop, Master! I will take care of it!" but no curse ever escaped from Crouch's mouth. The fireplace erupted in sickly green flames, making all of them assume that the DMLE had somehow learned of their location and was flooing in at full force. The flames seemed to have a mind of their own, crawling around the walls of the room, changing them into something else entirely. The walls seemed to fade into an infinite amount of staircases, each going a different way than the next; it vaguely reminded Voldemort of the work of that one muggle artist, Escher, or something.

"What is this magic?!" Wormtail cowered behind Barty Crouch.

"We have been summoned at last." A voice, feminine and curious seemed to originate from somewhere on one of the staircases. Five shadowy figures began to materialize on a separate staircase each. The first was of a woman whom the voice belonged to. Her appearance bore resemblance to the Greek myth of Medusa, with a pair of bat wings sticking out of her back. An amused and unconcerned expression marred her flawless features. Two others were rather stout and rounded. One had closed eyes and a gaping maw, and the other hovered in the air, a sick grin on his bluish features, and the sight of the three below him reflected in the glasses that seemed to be a part of his face.

Next came a raven black figure, with a leathery cape draped over his shoulders, standing tall and powerful. His head resembled a bird of prey, but there was soft, smooth flesh visible from beyond his eye and mouth holes, giving the impression that the armor was an outer skeleton of his body and something more human was attached on the inside. His eyes were red, just like Voldemort's own, but like the woman, his pupils were slits. The eyes of this being were entirely unreadable, if he was planning something, Voldemort found he did not know what it was.

And then the final form came into being. It was the tallest of all of them, wearing a leathery cloak that covered his entire body, but keeping his six finger hands exposed. His high collar did not hide his facial appearance, or the abnormally large brain that seemed to have broken free of his skull. Out of all of them, Voldemort felt the most power coming from this one and the raven.

The one with the brain spoke without moving his mouth, his voice filled their heads almost telepathically. "Welcome, guests, you bear witness to the summoning of the Godhand by your lord and master." A dead looking finger was pointed to the chair in which Voldemort sat. "We are the five, Ubik, Conrad, Slan, Femto, and Void. Your plea has been heard, and we have answered."

Crouch was panicking. "Avada Kedrava!" a jet of green light soared toward the one named Void, but never met its mark. The raven one, Femto, raised his hand and the spell seemed to freeze in the air.

"No matter where they are, humans never seem to comprehend that their existence is futile compared to the powers at work."

"Come now, Femto," Slan eyed the three humans with interest. "Their ignorance has made them bliss. Their concerns are so miniscule that it's downright amusing."

"But here and now, that may all change." Conrad's voice echoed. "With the behelit granted to this man, the possibility for his eyes to be opened are now possible."

"Yes," Ubik agreed. "But first, he must be willing to accept our offer. Nothing will change if he does not."

Void inclined his head. "My kinsman speaks the truth. You, Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Dark Lord known as Voldemort, are presented with a choice. Decline, and continue to exist in your pitiful state, or accept our offer to be remade into the body you once had. In this world, you would be our prodigal son, an apostle amongst sheep. Your servitude would prove invaluable."

An old flame rekindled inside of Voldemort. How dare they call me by my father's name! "I serve nobody!" he hissed up at the Godhand.

Ubik floated down until his face was only feet from Voldemort's own. Nagini hissed as well, but she did not strike. "Your defiance is expected, as of most humans."

"I am beyond human!"

Slan couldn't hold back a dry chuckle. "That you are. One foot is already in the grave."

"You are as broken as they come," said Femto. "You cling to a past memory, a dream of what you once were. That is your folly."

"Silence!" Voldemort yelled. "I will not be talked down to by the likes of you! I, Lord Voldemort, have transcended death!"

Femto smirked. "And yet, you still try to summon a boy so that you may be reborn."

"How did you-?"

"-Do you wonder why he is not here? Your arrogance in magic has clouded your eyes. If you believed a mere goblet could break the power of my brand on the boy, you were mistaken."

"You! You know where the boy is!"

"His body, blood, and everything else belong to me. He was to be my sacrifice, but not mine to kill."

Void continued where Femto left off. "The scar on his forehead, which is your work. You have branded him in your own way, by means of fate. Worlds separate you both, but causality still works its lasting effect."

Slan spoke next. "But in your vain attempt to cheat death, you never thought what might happen to the boy. Not only did you brand him, you left a trace of yourself behind."

No, it couldn't be. Harry Potter, a Horcrux? "You lie." It lacked his usual amount of venom.

Conrad spoke again. "You have let ignorance cloud your views all your life, believe it, or don't, the truth is all the same." Vooldemort did not want it to be true. If it was, then he would have to kill part of his soul before killing the brat. It was a humiliation that he couldn't stand for.

"We offer you the choice to make it all null," Ubik's glasses seemed to shine brighter. "Accept, and your body shall be restored to you."

"That is not possible," Voldemort denied the claim. "Only the blood of Potter can-,"

"-That is not how our power works," Slan eyed him. "Anything and everything is possible when something you hold dear to your heart is sacrificed."

"Indeed it is," Ubik floated around the chair, making Wormtail and Crouch back away. "But you have never known friends or family." And Voldemort saw in the reflection of Ubik's glasses, the image of Wool's Orphanage. "All your childhood, all your school years, there was not a single person you held close to you, only yourself."

"And your soul lives," Conrad added. "Split beyond recognition, but still in existence."

"Accept our offer, and you will receive your body in exchange for the nullifying of your soul anchors," Void concluded.

"My immortality…"

"You will be immortal to the effects of time, but should the boy confronts you as is prophecy, your life is in your own hands."

"And what of the boy?" Voldemort asked. "If I accept, will he be destroyed as well?"

"His body still belongs to me," Femto reiterated. "He will still be branded, but that piece of you will be gone. He will be as killable as any other."

Nagini's tongue flicked out nervously. She seemed to know what Voldemort was already considering. "…And when will the boy be delivered to me?"There could be no one to stand in his way. If he had to accept the aid of these… Godhand, so be it. As long as Potter would eventually wind up dead by his hand. So what of he had to null his Horcrux's? once Potter was dead, he would make more, there was no guarantee these Godhand would stick to their word, he had to look out for himself.

"The worlds are close to changing," Void answered. "The veil separating your worlds will become as thin as parchment, and then, he will come to you."

"…" Wormtail and Crouch remained huddled together, too scared to even move, or maybe the power of the Godhand was keeping them like that. "…I… accept your offer."

Void spread his long, thin arms from beneath his robe. "So it shall be, by the will of causality." Nagani hissed one last time before thrashing around on the floor. In Gringotts, the cup of Hufflepuff began to shake and rattle of its own accord; goblin keepers were already detecting signs of dark magic because of it. In number 12 Grimmauld Place, a locket was having a similar reaction, same with a diadem hidden away at Hogwarts and a ring buried away in the House of Gaunt. And in another world, Harry Potter felt it as well.

The last thing Harry remembered, before his head split open with unimaginable pain, was being within arm's reach of Farnese. The shock and fear was evident on her face, the both of them knew that he had her in that moment. "God…" that was the only thing she was able to say, the only thing that came to mind for her, the belief that God would somehow protect her from the impending attack. But before his blow could even strike, a pain like no other erupted from Harry's scar.

"AAhhhhaa!" his staff and sword fell alongside him, both hands moving to clutch at his head. He was losing conciseness, he wasn't even able to hear Schierke's voice calling to him, and he was only faintly aware of the blood oozing from his scar. Even the world around him seemed to be in a haze as he was seeing spots through his half-lidded eyes. Farnese only stared down at him in a trance-like state, she knew she had been close to death in that moment, and the shock was still with her.

"Lady Farnese!" Serpico ran to her side. "Are you alright? Did he harm you?"

She seemed to be having trouble finding her voice. "N-no," she cleared her throat. "He seems to have worn himself out from the fight. I consider myself thankful for that." The rest of the Holy Iron Chain Knights formed a hastily made circle around the fallen wizard.

One raised his sword. "Die, heretic!"

"Wait!" Farnese halted his blade. "Get a moveable stock, we're putting him in chains." Some of her soldiers seemed displeased with her decision.

"But, Commander, this vermin crippled some of our men! We should kill him where he is!"

"He will be killed, I assure you," she told them. "As it stands, he is an accomplice of the Black Swordsman, we'll interrogate him first, and after that we take him to the Tower of Conviction. Father Mozgus travels there as we speak. He'll make a display of this riffraff." She ordered for the boy's staff and sword to be confiscated along with his satchel. She didn't want any more surprises coming from this heretic. The wizard's head and hands were put in a stock, and he was hauled to his feet and tied to her horse. She would ride slow, it wouldn't do well if he were to die before she questioned him.

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed seeing the Hogwarts side of things again after such a wait. And while the Triwizard thing was a bit of a red herring on my end, that isn't to say Harry won't be returning to the HP side of things, I already have an exact moment planned out for when that will happen. Thank you for reading.


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

"Guts!" his wings were beating as fast as they could go. "Guuuts!" he was feeling exhaustion, but somehow had the air capacity in his lungs to shout his companions name. "Guuuuutssss!" he appeared more like a blue blur than he did an actual elf, but that didn't matter, what did was telling the swordsman what he had just bore witness to.

It had gone a little something like this; Puck had just been flying around, looking for anything that might further heal Guts' injuries, when all of a sudden he hears this big commotion going on. Being the curious little elf that he is, Puck decided to go and check it out for himself. When he got to the source for the entire hubbub, he was startled to see that Harry was in the center of it. A group of knights had managed to ambush him, and he was putting up a fight against them. Even with the injuries, he sustained during the previous fight, the young wizard was managing to hold his own for the most part. Seeking to end the fight, Harry had made a beeline straight for their leader, a blonde teenager a few years older than him, and he would have gotten her too if he hadn't collapsed within arm's reach of her. And that was the thing; Puck didn't see any of the knights lay a finger on him. A blonde teen that looked similar to the girl had been rushing to her defense, but he hadn't made it in time, and it certainly hadn't been the blonde girl who stopped him; she had been so caught off guard that she hadn't even drawn her sword.

As Harry collapsed, he had been clutching his head, right where that lightning scar was. Something didn't sit right with Puck about that scar, it couldn't have been his imagination, but Puck felt a dark presence become dispersed as Harry writhed in pain. Puck would have been compelled to solve this mystery himself to showcase his true elf insight, but there was no time for that! Harry was being dragged off to who-knows-where, by who-knows-who to do who-knows-what to him. Puck didn't claim to have known the wizard for long, but he didn't have to in order to consider Harry a friend. And the best way of going about getting him back was with – "Guuuuuutttssss! Ow-!"

He had flown down right onto Guts' face. His eye was closed and he was soaking his arm in the stream, letting the water help with the toxin in his system. "Watch where you're flying." Guts barely opened his eye. "It'd be a shame if you crashed into anything."

"Guts!" Puck exclaimed.

"What?" he didn't look amused.

"Well… I went off to find you anything else that could help you, see. And all of a sudden, guess what I stumble across? Knights! A whole bunch of 'em! They came out of the trees like… like… branches! They were everywhere and there was this blonde girl leading them, and a blonde boy too, and then there was this one guy with a really stupid mustache who-,"

"-Slow down." Guts caught Puck in his hand, trapping his head under a thumb. "Now, I'm going to let you go, and when I do, I expect you to say whatever you have to in a way that makes sense; got it?"

"Mmhmm!" muffled Puck. Guts released him from the hold. "Thank you. So, this is what happened…" and Puck began to recite to Guts all that he had seen happen, from Harry fighting the knights to his sudden collapse, and the end of the boy being hauled off in stock and chains. "Make sense now?"

"…Yeah, I see what happened."

"Good, because I sure don't!" yelled Puck. "Just who were those knights anyway? And what did they want with Harry?"

"The insignia on their flags, it was of chains," Guts inferred.

"They were," Puck affirmed.

"Then he got tangled up with the Holy Iron Chain Knights," Guts deduced. "He couldn't have picked a worse group of knights to have been found by."

"Why? What's wrong with them?" Puck asked. "They have 'Holy' in their name."

"You really don't know," Guts said irritated. "The Holy Iron Chain Knights aren't restricted to any one nation; any country that upholds the Holy See Doctrine is fair play for them. And they're zealous to a fault. They're made up of a bunch of nobles' sons; their armor and weapons have never seen true battle, save for maybe a few. All the trials for witch burnings and heretic raids are headed by them."

"I thought I heard something about them making him stand trial," Puck mulled over what he remembered. "They said they would take him to the Tower of Conviction, and about how a Father Mozgus was traveling there to any idea who that is?"

"Just by the name," Guts said. "And if that's true, Harry's as good as dead."

"Huh? Hey! Don't go talking like that! How bad can he be?"

"Because he oversees most of the Holy See's witch hunts. One toe out of line and a fate of torture or being burned at the stake awaits you. No one lives if he decides they're guilty."

"Don't tell me you're giving up on him then!" Puck urged. "You wouldn't really sit here and let him die, would you?" Guts' face was impassive, but Puck could tell that Guts was still angry about before. "Okay, yeah, you two had a disagreement about what should have been done with Rosine, but you've known each other for years, doesn't that mean something to you?"

"You shouldn't go putting words in my mouth," Guts warned.

"Well that's what it sounds like to me," Puck defended. "I know how you are when it comes to your apostle hunting, don't you think it's gotten a bit stale? Before when you first met up with Harry, you seemed interested in heading to this Tower of Conviction when he brought it up. Then Rosine came along and we got sidetracked. If you want my opinion, then I think that-,"

"-I'm not asking for your opinion," Guts cut him off. "And I sure don't need a lecture from you about any of this stuff. I get why he did what he did, doesn't mean that I agree with it."

"So… what are you going to do? You're not actually going to leave him to be tortured and killed, are you?" Puck wanted to believe that Guts wouldn't do that to Harry, but the elf knew of some of the darker things that the Swordsman had done, and leaving someone to fend for themselves was near the bottom of that list. "If you seriously plan on doing nothing, I won't forgive you for that."

"You're giving me an ultimatum?"

"I'm just telling you how I would feel. If you aren't going to do anything to help him out, then I'll go it alone." Puck had no idea how he would go about mounting a rescue of his own, but if push came to shove, he would resort to the ancient technique used by elves of countless generations; improvise.

Guts propped himself up. "Then you're as silly as you look. One elf against a brigade of knights; I'd love to see how that plays out for you. You'd probably die as soon as they spot you; knights aren't too fond of pests." He stood up fully now.

Puck was becoming increasingly more frustrated. "You don't have to go sounding all optimistic about that. At least I'm willing to put in the effort; what are you doing? Standing there not willing to help out a friend – and don't try and say that he isn't. You're just… you're just…" he tried to think of a degrading name. "You're not the Black Swordsman, you're the Bastard Swordsman!"

"That's big talk for a shrimp like you," Guts just seemed annoyed.

Puck put on a stubborn face. "Yeah, well it's true."

"You don't stand up to me often, bug. This might be a first for you." He hefted Dragonslayer. "My sword arm isn't in idle condition, but it'll do if I have to fight some prissy knights who have barely swung a sword in their lives."

Puck's face began to rise. "Wait… do you mean that you're going to-?"

"-Not for the reasons you think. The paths that he and I walked, they seem different, but we each held on to a piece of the past when we left and when we came back. Neither of us really wanted to forget what it was like back then. Now, it seems like we're both headed to that same goal; to rekindle that piece of the past, a piece that just might be at the Tower of Conviction. We've changed since then, but that might be for the best as it stands."

Puck smiled. "We're doing this then?"

"Just so long as it doesn't lead to any more distractions. I don't plan on risking my hide when I have an end goal in mind. If I start a fight, it has to be finished."

"Do I detect enthusiasm?" Puck knew that he was pushing the boundaries, but he was feeling a swelling sense of accomplishment that made him not care all too much.

"You're losing it," Guts told him.

"I haven't lost m sense of direction," Puck tried to see the optimistic side. "Follow me and we can catch up to those knights before sundown!"

So I'm really doing this, Guts internalized. I'm going to use my sword for someone else's benefit but mine. I've done that before… for him! But Harry… he isn't like how Griffith was, not even close. If anything, this is like how it was with Casca when I killed those hundred men, I'm doing this of my own choosing. Why is that? For these past two years, it's been me swinging my sword for my own purpose, never actually caring if I lived, just so long as my enemy wound up dead. Now… it's different. If Harry was right and Casca is at that tower, then I want to live to see her. I want to live. And my sword will be the burden of that desire; to fight on another's behalf.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

The Dark Mark had been burning. For the first time in nearly fourteen years, every Death Eater alive, imprisoned or free felt the call of their master. When Snape had felt his, he nearly spilled his morning drink. Karkaroff was much less fortunate; he fell from his chair in front of the entire assembly of students in the great hall, making himself look the fool. The Durmstrang Headmaster made a lazy excuse to leave, largely ignoring any eyes on him, which were not many. Moody probably would have found this suspicious, but the DADA Professor was absent from the table this morning. The whole school and even the visitors were still buzzing with gossip about the Potter brats name coming out of the Goblet of Fire to care for this matter. Snape was far less concerned about the boy's whereabouts as he was the increasing sensation of burning on his forearm. He knew what it meant as well as Karkaroff had; the Dark Lord had returned once more.

He called off all lesions for the day and made the journey to Hogsmead Village, beyond the protective wards to apparate to the Dark Lord's location. Just so long as a Death Eater focused on the call of the Dark Lord, they could apparate to him without having the destination in mind. This was not a trip Snape was looking forward to, and it would be a sight to behold if Karkaroff actually went as well. There were plenty of other Death Eaters who had made no attempt to search for the Dark Lord after his fall in Godric's Hollow, but Snape was among Dumbledore's inner circle, a turncoat after all that had happened to Lily, not that the Dark Lord was privy to that bit of information though. Dumbledore had never really believed that the Dark Lord was gone and had insisted that he be ready with a cover story when the time came. Snape had thought it over, and while it could pass, he would still likely be subjugated to the torture curse like so many others.

The familiar sensation of being shrunk and squeezed through a tube consumed Snape, and the Village of Hogsmead was left behind, replaced by one far less picturesque. He was outside of a run-down manor overlooking a graveyard and the cloudy overcast did little to help the image and feeling of dread of what lay on the inside. From one of the upstairs windows, a light could be seen. There was loud pop, and a figure materialized beside Snape.

"Lucius," Snape greeted the father of his godson.

The blonde aristocrat straightened, swallowing a lump in his throat. "Severus."

"So, you've felt it as well?" his suspicions were all but confirmed; this was the real thing.

"I have." He looked as if he had been sweating earlier. "This is truly a momentous occasion." His swallowing was a dead giveaway that the image of the proud pureblood was starting to slip. "After you, Severus." He stepped aside to allow Snape to enter the manor first.

Whoever the caretaker was, they had not done a very good job. Everything was in need of a good dusting, it almost caused Snape's allergies to act up. Charming place. Footsteps came pacing down the stairs to the second floor and a very nervous looking Wormtail greeted them. "W-welcome. P-p-please, follow m-me. T-the M-master is waiting, b-best not to keep him."

The buffoon is stuttering worse than Quirrell. Where the former DADA Professor had had a fake stutter, Wormtail's seemed to be the real deal. The marauder had always been a coward, hiding behind more powerful wizards like Black and Potter to protect him; he was a coward in virtually every sense of the word. Had the Dark Lord been that displeased with the rat he had found ways to torture him beyond the cruciatus curse? Wormtail was looking like he had stared into the eyes of a vengeful god and come back a broken man.

Wanting to not go in blind, Snape quickly made eye contact with the traitorous Wormtail and used the power of legilimency, and he quickly wished that he had not. The mental images were a jumbled mess, Wormtail's mind could scarcely process everything and in turn, Snape was feeling that feeling of disorientation. He saw a weakened Dark Lord, frail and sickly. Then he saw sets of disorganized stairs extending in every conceivable direction. There were five figures now, each with their own unique look to them. The mental strain was starting to become very taxing; he could not stay for long in Wormtail's mind. Before retreating, the last image Snape was able to discern was of a great fire surrounding and engulfing the weakened state of the Dark Lord.

Snape was quick to put on his usual poker face; his incursion into Wormtail's mind seemed to have gone unnoticed. Lucius was too occupied with straightening his robes and running a hand through his platinum blonde hair, and Wormtail was too weak-willed to have felt the intrusion of the mind. The servant beckoned them both to follow as he led them to the second floor and allowed them entry to a large study.

"L-lord Malfoy, and P-professor Snape, Master." Wormtail was looking down at his feet. They were not the only ones in attendance. Looking around, Snape saw a few familiar faces. There was Avery, Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott Seniors, Karkaroff, and much to Snape's surprise, Barty Crouch Jr. The Sandy-haired man was licking his lips, standing next to an armchair by the fireplace. Snape was under the impression that he had died in Azkaban Prison; it would seem that he was sorely mistaken. Apart from Crouch, these were all the Death Eaters who had walked free. If it was from bribes, lying, or influence, they all had not looked for the Dark Lord after he had disappeared.

The armchair was turned away from all of them, but Snape could see a pair of elbows resting on the armrests. Where is Nagini? Snape wondered the familiar snake was nowhere in sight.

"Close the door, Wormtail." A voice ordered from the overstuffed armchair. Snape instantly recognized the cold tone in which it was spoken, but it didn't seem like he had once remembered. It was lacking a certain… quality, it sounded more human than it did a monster. A much darker could be heard in the voice as well. "Is this all that are in attendance?" Snape noticed Karkaroff bite the inside of his mouth "How many does this make, eight? Nine counting Wormtail." The only sound came from the crackling fire from the hearth. "I confess myself, disappointed. How many loyal followers have felt the burn of the Dark Mark on their arm and are unable to attend because of their imprisonment?"

No one dared to answer; they knew that a jet of green light would steal the breath from their lungs if they dared. It was easy to get a feel for the atmosphere of the room, terror everywhere. Even with what he had planned to say, Snape felt nervous. It was only natural when dealing with the darkest wizard since Grindlewald. The floorboard creaked as the sitting figure stood up to his full height and turned to face the assembled bunch.

It was not the Dark Lord as Snape had remembered him being. The Dark Lord Voldemort of the past had been as white as a sheet with a bald head, slits for nostrils, long pale fingers, a forked tongue, thin lips, and red eyes with slits for pupils. This being standing before them, he looked nothing like that ghastly image. He was pale, but not too unhealthy, and he had a head of full dark hair with only a few touches of grey by his temples, the only signs of aging present on his features. His lips were a natural red, and nowhere near being too thin or too plump, they actually suited his chiseled face quite nicely. When those lips curled into a deceptive smile, his teeth were a pristine white, and his fangs looked sharper than they should have been. But it was his eyes; those red eyes with slit pupils, those were the only indication that the man standing before them was the true Dark Lord. Somehow, he had been reborn.

"Greetings, friends." His voice lacked any trace of camaraderie. "How long has it been since I have seen all of you? Thirteen years, nearly fourteen? Have you forgotten your manners in that time?" Snape followed the crowd as they all bowed before him, taking turns to kiss the hem of his robes as he walked past them. "That is better, much better." He stopped in front of Snape, waiting for him to kiss at his robes like the others and he complied, the Dark Lord moved past. "Of course, I couldn't help but wonder, what have you all been up to since we last convened in a manner such as this? What excuses have you wormed up for why this meeting is being held years after our last?"

Avery crawled forward, kissing the robes to show his devotion. "My Lord," his voice was faltering. "I thought you… I thought that-,"

"Crucio!" Avery began to writhe in pain as the curse worked its effect all over his body. The Dark Lord eventually lifted the torture curse.

"You thought me what, Avery? That I was dead or perhaps you hoped?"

"I would never-,"

"-Do not lie to me." He did not yell, he didn't have to in order to convey the power he had over Avery. "I will know if you lie, I will always know."

"I… tried. I searched where I could…" Avery trembled before the feet of the Dark Lord.

"You should have tried harder then, Avery." His lips curled into a sneer that Snape could admire. "Someone as pathetic as Wormtail was able to find me within a year while you had thirteen and Ministry connections to back it up." He turned his attention to Crabbe and Goyle Sr. "Should I even bother asking why neither of you has searched for me? Neither of you was ever had the brains to think for yourselves. Are your sons as stupid as you are?" he held the both of them under the torture curse as he had done Avery. "And what of our Durmstrang Headmaster?" red eyes sought out Karkaroff.

The man instantly crawled forward, kissing the lord's robes. "Master… forgive me."

"And what is it I should be forgiving you for, Karkaroff?" his red eyes narrowed. "For fleeing the country after your trial; a trial where you ousted a few of your brothers, Crouch among them."

"I believed you dead…" he sounded close to crying.

"You've always been a snake, Karkaroff, just not a very clever one. Only a fool would truly believe me to have been dead at the hands of a toddler. I could not be killed so easily, I, Lord Voldemort who dabbled in the darkest of magic, and have been granted my new form by the Angels of Darkness."

"Angels of Darkness?" Since when was the Dark Lord religious? It had to do with what he saw within Wormtail's mind. Perhaps he had made a contract with devils of some kind, anything that would have restored him to what he was now. Karkaroff was subjected to torture as well.

"What about you, Severus?" Snape lifted his head to see the Dark Lord standing directly in front of him once again. "I'd love to hear why you did not come to find me; your lord and master."

"My Lord."

"Am I still your lord, Severus? Or do you owe your allegiance to someone else?" Snape did not make eye contact; he focused on a piece of wall behind him.

"I am under Dumbledore's employ, that is true, but my loyalty has never faltered since that fateful night. Dumbledore is a man who believes in second chances, even for Death Eaters. It is the reason their side suffered so many casualties during the first war; he had his side shooting off stunners while we threw killing curses around. Getting into the old goat's good books helped to secure a position of trust, Dumbledore fully believes me to be his agent."

"A snake in the grass, eh, Severus?" the Dark Lord's tone lacked any real humor. "Then what information do you have for me, Severus? What secrets can you unfold about the old man?"

"Dumbledore is starting to slip," Snape said, not too eager or too uncaring. "The old fool is driving himself crazy looking for that cursed boy."

"Ah, yes… Harry Potter." The Dark Lord's eyes gleamed a shade deeper. "I thought the boy would have been delivered to participate in the tournament. I had to punish Crouch for that failure." So Crouch was behind that? How had he managed to pull that off within Hogwarts? "But I have assurance the boy will come to me when the time is nigh." Assurance from who? "But that is another topic. We are talking about you, Severus. You claim to be a spy for me, but what of Dumbledore. His talent with the mind arts is astonishing; he will surely weed this information out of you when you return. My return will not be a secret for long, will it?"

"Dumbledore trusts me, this is true, and he will learn of your existence before long. When that happens, he will inform Minister Fudge." He left at that, he knew the Dark Lord was figuring out what that meant.

"Then the old codger has doomed himself." A cruel smile adorned his near flawless features. "A Minister blind to the truth, he will become paranoid to those around him, making our work all the easier." Snape didn't relax; he knew he wasn't getting through this without getting punished. "I almost forgot, crucio!" pain like a thousand knives piercing his body flooded his senses. "Careful. Do not forget where your true loyalties lie, Severus."

"Of… course… My Lord."

Now, the Dark Lord set his sights on Lucius Malfoy. "Lucius, you're looking as pristine as ever. Time spent out of Azkaban would have given you the healthy appearance, wouldn't it?"

"I would have served the time for you, my Lord."

"And yet, here you stand. A free man. You relied on your influence and your family money to buy your way out claiming that you were forced to do all of those atrocities. How would the Minister react if he discovered the ideas to do some of those acts were yours, Lucius? Could you still rely on your money as you have done countless times?"

"I believed I could use the Ministry to detect any sign or whisper of your whereabouts," Lucius was grasping at straws.

"And in thirteen years you have found nothing? No trace? No whispers in the dark or even any leads from your multiple contacts? Not one?" the silts for pupils thinned. "I told you that I know when you are lying."

Lucius was on the verge of whimpering, he knew what torture he was sure to be put under. "My Lord, I beg mercy!"

"You beg this of me, Lucius?" he almost sounded sickly amused. "I am a merciful lord, especially to my most loyal of followers. Once your sister-in-law and her lot are free of Azkaban, they alongside Crouch will receive a blessing of mine. They will experience a power given to me by the Angels; they are the ones who deserve a request of me. But you, Lucius… I will not subject you to the torture curse."

Lucius visibly relaxed. "Thank you, my Lord."

"I wasn't finished," the Dark Lord stared Malfoy down. "Your son, Draco, was it? He could be a valuable player within Hogwarts alongside Severus. On the next Hogsmead visit, send an owl for him to return to your manor. I would like to meet him in person."

"V-very well," Lucius tried not to sound as nervous as he looked. "I will have Narcissa aware that you will be visiting our manor for-,"

"-Visit?" he almost laughed. "But surely you've seen the state of this house, Lucius. If you were as loyal as you claim to be, you'd offer your manor as headquarters, what greater honor than that?"

"I-I… I see no problem with that, my Lord. The manor is big enough to hide should Minister Fudge decide to pay a visit."

"Excellent! I look forward to the change of scenery." His red eyes wandered back over to Snape. "As for you, Severus, return to Hogwarts. Inform Dumbledore if you must, it will make little difference. The Ministry will never believe him, and it matters little if they do. I am more immortal now than I was before."

This behavior from the Dark Lord was not just for boasting, he truly believed he was that powerful. It was arrogant to be sure, but he was so much different from the last time as well. Snape dreaded to believe it, but the Dark Lord was probably right. He bowed in dismissal and made to apparate back to Hogwarts.

Dumbledore placed the memory of all that Severus had told him into his Pensieve. It was most troubling indeed. The idea of a newly reformed Lord Voldemort was a terrifying thought, the terror that he had unleashed on the Wizarding World was still fresh in the minds of nearly every witch and wizard. But they had to be made aware! He had already sent a floo message to Cornelius, and the Minister was expected to arrive any second now. He was not expecting this meeting to go well, there was a high chance that Cornelius would not even believe what he had to say in regards to this latest development, but going out and spreading the word publically would not be idle if a panic were to break out. There was a controlled way to go about handling the situation, he just had to get Cornelius to listen.

The fireplace blazed to life with green flames, and the Minister for Magic stepped out, coughing a bit as he did so. "Good Lord, Dumbledore! The floo connection must be faulty. I've never had that happen to me before. I'll have to have our Head of Magical Transport take a look into this once I return."

"You should, but I'm afraid a faulty floo connection is the least of our worries at the moment."

Fudge nodded his animatedly. "Right you are, Dumbledore, right you are! You've been getting them too, I image; the letters and the howlers? Merlin's Beard, they've been flooding my office ever since Rita Skeeter wrote that article on the Triwizard Champions. Harry Potter! How in the blazes does Harry Potter's name come out of the Goblet of Fire?!"

"It would seem Hogwarts has been playing host to an imposter," Dumbleodre said sadly. "Professor Moody was absent from breakfast this morning."

Fudge look scandalized. "Alastor?! The man's an ex-auror! How could he be an imposter?"

"Our Potions Master has reported missing ingredients from his storage unit; ingredients used to brew polyjuice potion."

"And…? Has the culprit been identified or caught? These problems just keep piling up higher."

"They have," Dumbledore nodded. "It was someone we all thought to be dead, Barty Crouch Junior."

Fudge nearly fell down. "W-what? I don't… how could… explain, Dumbledore!"

"It is also important to note that Igor Karkaroff has left the castle as well."

Fudge wasn't seeing the connection. "Karkaroff? What does Karkaroff have to play into this?! Dumbledore, please start talking sense!"

"Severus Snape was absent for the day as well. They both knew they had to answer the summon. Cornelius, I'm sorry to say this, but the Dark Lord has returned." He allowed Fudge to take that information in, it would be hard to accept, but it had to be done. If an action wasn't taken soon, then Voldemort would gain more and more influence by the day.

After gaping like a fish out of water, Cornelius seemed to find his voice. "Dumbledore… are you feeling quite alright? The stress is getting to me as well, but you're talking nonsense right now. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, back again? Don't be ridiculous!"

"It is the truth, Cornelius. I have assurance from Severus that he is back with an entirely new body. This whole tournament was a ploy to draw Harry back into his grasp."

"Preposterous!" Fudge dismissed. "Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman came up with the idea to bring the tournament back."

"Crouch's son is alive; Barty could be under the imperius curse as we speak."

"And what proof do you have of that?" Fudge demanded. "The word of an ex-Death Eater? That is hardly convincing evidence."

"I thought as much," said Dumbledore. "But if the DMLE were to pay Lucius Malfoy a visit within the upcoming weekend, I am sure they would discover-,"

"Dear Merlin!" exclaimed Fudge. "You want a raid conducted on an upstanding citizen?! Lucius Malfoy is no more a Death Eater than I am. That all came out during his trial."

"Do not make yourself blind to the truth, Cornelius," insisted Dumbledore. "It could very well mean the end for us all."

"You speak of the truth?" Fudge asked. "Well what truth can you offer as a reason how You-Know-Who could have returned from the dead?"

Fudge was in denial, and if Dumbledore gave the answer of what Severus had told him of these "Angels," that would not suffice. "Only that he was never dead to begin with, I've said as much before. Think about it, Cornelius; the events that transpired at the World Cup, the disappearance of a Ministry employee over the summer, it all connects."

The Minister was waving his finger. "No proof, eh? He's back, you say, and yet there is no proof to back up your claim. This isn't like you, Dumbledore, don't think I don't see what you're up to. You're out for my job!"

"Cornelius, that is hardly the-,"

"-How long have you been planning this, hm? Well I won't fall for it, see!" Fudge stormed angrily over to the fireplace. "He is not back, and he will never be back!" he palmed some floo powder. "I see what this is, and mark my words, I will not be intimidated!" green flames consumed the Minister, taking him back to the Ministry.

The wooded landscape that surrounded the Misty Valley became more rugged and dry terrain as the Holy Iron Chain Knights marched Harry along. They had stripped him of his weapons, boots, and even his shirt to add to the humiliation he had dealt them previous. With lack of protection on his feet, Harry quickly found splotches of blood left behind in his wake. The sun was high today, and for an autumn day it almost felt like summer in Midland. The stockade bound his neck and wrists together, and the chain that connected the stock switched on a set schedule and Harry found himself being dragged along by a new knight.

For the most part, these knights didn't put much care into how fast they rode, forcing Harry to have to run to prevent him from being dragged along helplessly; as a result he ended up with more cut along the bottom of his feet. They were clearly hung up over the fact that he had been able to best a few of their companions before and were getting their revenge in a more subdued way instead of just killing him. When he found himself being dragged along behind the one moustache knight – Sir Azan, it was the closest thing he was able to get to normal pacing.

Azan seemed to have a set of honor to him, and recognized Harry's skills from when they briefly crossed weapons. He might despise him for using magic, but he could respect the skills he had with a blade. Of course, it wasn't perfect. Sir Azan talked loudly about how this was an important duty for being a Holy Iron Chain Knight, and that he would follow all tasks through to the very end. He talked with all the bravado a child would expect a knight to talk with.

The walking itself was already taxing enough as it was, and between the blistering heat, the boasting of the knights, and the lingering pain that had come from his scar, it was took awhile before Harry was actually able to think clearly again. When he finally did regain his thoughts, he was instantly assaulted by the mental voice of Schierke.

'Oh thank goodness! You're alive!'

That depends what you define "alive" as being. I feel like my head just got trampled by a horse.

'I felt a part of what that was. The thought transference doesn't work on physical pain, but for something like that… Ivalera found me unconscious after it happened. Whatever it was.'

Are you alright?

'Yes, thanks to Mistress Flora. But it's I who should be asking you that. You felt the full force of that mental strain. I've been reading through some of Mistress' texts trying to find what could have caused it.'

Have you gotten any sleep at all?

'I'll sleep when I have to; but for now, this takes priority.'

Harry was quite thankful for out of all the items that had been confiscated off of him, the hair tied around his finger had been spared perhaps for its seemingly unimportance. Schierke's voice was a welcome one in an uncertain situation he found himself in.

From the front of the formation Farnese raised her hand, signaling for them all to halt. "We make camp here for the night, it wouldn't bode well if we ran into a bunch of Kushan Invaders. Serpico, please see that my tent is constructed. Sirs Azan and Jerome, construct the cage for our prisoner."

They must have kept a portable cage on hand for prisoners, because the two knights had it constructed in less than five minutes. He was ushered inside, having to duck his head and squat as he was too tall for this tiny cage. The stockade was still around his neck and wrists, restricting his movements even further than just being confined to a cage too small for his size. If he wanted to turn to see what was going on inside the camp, he had to roll onto his stomach and use his knees to push back up to a sitting position.

'They're working fast. How long will they keep you locked up?'

Hopefully not too long, it's too small in here. You wouldn't have any problem with it, though.

'I suppose it's a good thing that you still have your sense of humor. But in all seriousness, you being here are only going to complicate things. Once the sun sets, the accursed will come for your brand.'

Yeah, I'd hate to be a burden on this lot.

'You have a right to be angry with how you've been treated; I'm disgusted by it too. But without your weapons, you'll be a sitting duck for accursed attacks.'

Everything that I had would be with that Farnese girl. It won't be like stealing a pot of honey.

'I wouldn't expect so.'

Hours passed, and the knight keeping watch over the cage was instructed to give him a few sips from a wineskin and the end slice from a moldy piece of bread. Harry eagerly drank some water before it was yanked away from him, and he did his best to use his teeth to bite around the mold, his hands unable to move to his mouth to assist. As the day passed, the sun set lower and lower, there was probably only an hour or two left before the sun set completely.

An armored boot kicked against the bars Harry was leaning against, startling him from dozing off. The one attendant – Serpico stood by the watchman. "Commander Farnese is ready to see him now."

The guard fumbled around with the keys for a bit. "Here's hoping that we'll burn this heretic sooner rather than later, eh, Serpico?"

"That decision falls entirely to the Commander. And I am not particularly fond of fire, so I wouldn't much care to watch." Serpico grasped the chain attached to the stockade around Harry. "Follow me."

Serpico dragged him like a dog on a leash to the heart of the campsite; a large tent had been erected for the Holy Iron Chain Knights commander. From behind the canvas, different flickering lights could be seen. "Do try not to be cheeky with the Commander," Serpico advised. "It will not bode well if you do." He opened the flap and led Harry inside.

Farnese had changed out of her armor, but still kept a sword sheathed at her hip. She wore a pink doublet with gold trim on the hems and tucked it into her breeches. Her blonde hair was still styled in buns on either side of her head. In front of her on a small table were all of his confiscated items. They were arranged before a carving of the Holy See insignia; a white bird facing the sky with its wings spread open. It almost resembled a crucifix.

"Tie the chain to the support beam, Serpico." Her attendant did as instructed, before giving a polite bow and making his exit. "Comfortable?" she didn't sound like she meant to sound sincere.

"Well… it's better than crouching in that cage."

Farnese walked around him, like she examining if there was any way he could escape. She walked over to a trunk and pulled out a multi-lashed whip. "Your condition can be rearranged if you respond with cheek again."

Looks like Serpico had been telling the truth. "That won't be necessary." He tried to sound as civil as possible.

"Hm." She stood directly in front of him. "That remains to be seen."

I'm off to a great start.

'Just keep a clear head; a plan will come to you.' Even then he could tell she doubted her own advice.

Farnese pointed her whip toward his gear spread out before the Holy See icon. "These items belong to you, do you deny this?" he shook his head. She saw him use them, there was no use lying to that question. "These items are that of heresy." She picked up his sword. "A blade that seems to glow blue, a satchel filled with ingredients and strange talisman, and lastly, a staff used for witchcraft. All now lay before the holy icon; no power is above the power of God."

"I never claimed that it was."

"Witchcraft is an unholy abomination," Farnese coolly regarded him. "You seek to undermine the miracles God provides us with the power of hell. I saw what you did back at that village; I saw the corpses of all of those children. You, and your cohort – the Black Swordsman, you were responsible for that."

"We didn't know that-," Farnese pushed the whip up against his bare chest.

"-Lying is a sin. Although, I wouldn't expect much from a heretic such as you." She held it there for a brief pause before removing it, and running her fingers through the lashes. "Tell me, what is your name?"

"Harry Potter."

"So your parents were potters? An honest craft for those with skilled hands. And what of your cohort, the Black Swordsman?"

"I don't know where he is, if that's what you're after. We parted ways before your knights came across me." It wasn't even really a lie. With Harry's decision back in the valley, he doubted Guts would even want him around anymore.

Farnese wasn't too convinced. "Such loyalty is admirable, but to defend a man such as the likes of him is beyond despicable. Have you heard the tales about him? How wherever he goes, death is sure to follow. He has destroyed whole villages; countless corpses have been piled high to build his legend throughout Midland. I can't help but wonder how many you have participated in; there were never any rumors of him traveling with a wizard."

"We haven't been traveling together for long." It was harmless information he could give her, and it would fit with what she already knew. "I've only traveled with him for about a week or so." He lied about the period.

"My men seemed to have caught you by surprise the other day," Farnese continued. "If you had been traveling with him for that amount of time, how was it you did not know we would be following you?"

"Neither of us knew he was being followed."

"He did not know?" she sounded more than a bit irked. "Then he does not know of his relevance."

Harry was confused. "Are you talking about something Holy See related? Because I doubt he has anything to do with that."

"Of course I refer to the Holy See!" she snapped. "The Black Swordsman could have a connection to the Hawk of Darkness." She couldn't possibly mean… "The one will bring about the end of this world and lead the flock astray from the light."

"You actually believe that?"

'What are you doing? Don't antagonize her!'

"Where are you getting that idea from?" Harry asked. "I don't know much about your religion, but even I know that that sounds like mad ramblings."

She pressed the whip to him again as a warning. "Don't you insult my faith! I believe that God is on my side, and by the light of his shining wings, I will one day be delivered into his welcoming embrace of heavenly light."

"Oh?" Harry asked. "How much do you know about your Holy See? From what I heard, your founder was pretty misguided in his view. And what you said just now, that was just blind faith talking; it was something that you memorized and thought repeating would have any real meaning."

'What are you doing?!' Schierke worriedly asked. What was he doing? As soon as Farnese had mentioned a Hawk of Darkness, and associated that with Guts, Harry couldn't stomach that idea. He knew who the Hawk of Darkness was, and it sure as hell wasn't Guts.

This time, Farnese did more than just press the whip to him; she lashed it hard across his chest. "Blind faith?! Is that what you said?!" again, the whip lashed across his chest. And again, and again, and again. "Confess! You know where he is!" blood was oozing down Harry's torso. "My faith will prevail! Confess!" the lashes took more skin from his chest, and Harry was breathing hard, careful not to scream from the pain. "Confess! Confess! Confess! Confess…"

Farnese had begun to wear herself out. She dropped the whip that's lashes were now covered in Harry's blood. Her sapphire eyes took in the sight of his bloodied chest. Her hand reached out to touch his blood. "Why do you not… confess?" she moved her finger coated with his blood to her mouth, and for a second, Harry thought she was going to lick it. She instead clenched her fist, a conflicted look on her face. The flap to the tent was thrown open.

"Commander Farnese!" Serpico yelled. "There's been a fire in one of the tents!"

"What?" she didn't seem entirely present. "Oh, lead the way!" she rushed out after her attendant, casting one last distrustful glare in Harry's direction.

'What was that about?! And your chest, are you okay?!'

I've had worse. She seemed pretty half-hearted after the first few whips.

'Don't try and seem tough, you still haven't fully recovered from the Misty Valley. Why did you have to provoke her like that?'

Just something she said I guess. I guess I should be lucky that a fire broke out.

'Don't count your blessings. With what just happened, I wouldn't be surprised if they burn you at that fire.'

Well unless a miracle happens, I'm screwed then.

The flap of the tent shifted a little, but no human came through. It was a tiny blue elf. He smiled brightly when he saw Harry. "Found ya!"

"Puck?"

"The one and only! I told Guts that my plan would work."

"Wait, Guts is here?"

Puck nodded. "You bet. He was being bit of a jerk at first, but he came around. He's the one who started that fire so I could go and find you, and ta-da!"

"That's great, Puck, just find the keys to get me out of this stupid stockade." The sooner he was out, the better.

Puck saluted his new orders. "You got it!" he became a blue blur as he whizzed around the tent, searching every nook and cranny available to him. "Aha!" he came back holding a ring with a pair of keys. "Don't you worry; I'll get you out of there in a jiffy." Puck had some trouble lifting the iron set of keys, but he eventually got it into the lock and turned it to unlock.

Harry wiggled free of the wooden confines and gave Puck a nod of respect. He was quick to retrieve his gear, putting his shirt and boots back on, and strapping his sword to his side. "That's better." He allowed himself a moment of accomplishment.

"Sure looks that way," Puck agreed. "Now c'mon. Guts is close and if we're stealthy, we can meet up with him at the – eep!" The flap of the tent opened again, Farnese had returned and Puck was directly in her line of sight. The elf was exposed. He instantly began to wave his arms in a panicked gesture. "Whoa! You wouldn't hurt an elf, would ya?"

Farnese took no notice of the blue elf hovering right in front of her face, but she did notice Harry free from his restraints. "You!" she drew her sword, but Harry could tell she was inexperienced with it; he was quick to charge her. "Serpico! Sir Azan! The prisoner has-!"

Harry knocked the blade out of her hand with his own. He grabbed the tablecloth, knocking the Holy See icon over as he did so, and shoved the fabric in Farnese's mouth like a gag. "Mmmfffff! Hllllllhpppp!"

"Incarcus finite." Roots began to grow from the ground, and worked to tie themselves around her wrists.

"Mmmmmmmffffffff!" her cry was muffled. Harry put a hand on her shoulder and the tip of his sword to her back.

"Move," he ordered. "You're men won't attack as long as you're a hostage." He urged her along. "We're getting a horse."

As soon as he stepped outside, he could see that the fire had already begun to spread. Guts had lit it at the opposite end of the camp, but the Holy Iron Chain Knights did not have enough resources to put out the flames. Maybe Guts had sabotaged their water supply as well. Those were questions for later, for now, he had to get a horse and get out of this camp. He dragged Farnese in front of him, ready to use her as a human shield if need be. He followed the nervous neighing of horses to find them tied up a few tents away. He had to hoist Farnese up first so she lay across the saddle; it was bit of a challenge since she was a bit taller than him. Harry mounted the saddle and spurred the horse.

Farnese had managed to free her mouth of the makeshift gag and cried out. "Help! The wizard has escaped!" those nearest, instantly rushed to help their commander.

"Commander Farnese!" Serpico seemed to be the one leading a few men to the horses as well. Before they could get there, a barrage of crossbow bolts peppered their ranks. From the shadows of the setting sun, a dark shape moved.

"Ride!" Puck instructed. "Guts'll catch up, just head east and he'll meet up with you."

"Right, hiya!" Harry spurred the steed on, the clomping of hooves drowned out Farnese's cries for help.

The firelight of the camp became less and less vibrant as the horse galloped away. Farnese was still panicked, so Puck took it as his job to try and calm her down. "Hey! I get that this must be scary for you, but Harry isn't going to hurt you. Sure, he kidnapped you just now, but once we're a safe distance away he'll let you go back to all your friends."

"Let me go!" Farnese shrieked like she hadn't just heard Puck.

"Um… you heard me, right?" the elf hovered right in front of her face. She showed no recognition that he was there. "Hey, Harry."

"What?" he kept his eyes forward.

"I don't think that she can see me."

"What are you talking about?"

"Let me go!" Farnese cried again.

"She can't see me. I don't know why, but she can't."

How is that possible?

'It must be her belief. She is a blind follower, but she believes in what the text believes to be real. Things like elves and all of that are just fairy tales to her, only things originally of the physical world are real to her. She doesn't see Puck because she doesn't believe that he's there.'

Harry kept riding until the lights and shouting faded from his line of senses. He dismounted the horse and pulled Farnese down too. She tried making a break for it as soon as her feet touched solid ground. Harry was quick to grab her and hold her in place. "I'm not going to hurt you, alright?"

"Don't touch me, heretic!" she continued to try and fight him.

"I'm going to let you go, but you just have to – ow!" she kicked him in the shin. "Damnit!" she was running, but it was not Harry that stopped her. It was the sound of a feral growl. A quick look to the sky showed that the sun had set. "Damn!"

Glowing pairs of eyes came out from the dark; they belonged to a pack of coyotes now possessed by accursed spirits. Their faces were morphed and twisted to look like a demented humans. Harry quickly grabbed Farnese and began to draw the protective circle around her. He uttered the enchantment and four golden lights surrounded the circle that housed Farnese. "I know that you hate magic, but believe me, stay in this circle or you will die."

Thick, wet beads of saliva dripped from the possessed maw. They began to circle him. The first made a leap, and Harry skewered it through with his sword. Seeing this, the others became more cautious; they circled around behind him, looking for an opening to exploit.

Using magic, Harry created a ring of fire around himself, warding off any attack from the back. He inhaled and with his exhale, he dispersed the fire, spreading it out like the wave of the ocean. The beasts' fur caught fire, and they began to gnaw at it trying to put the flames out. Some of them took less damage from the blow, and circled in on him again.

His sword cut across their muzzles and through their paws, slowing some of them down before outright killing them.

"Aaaaiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee!" a shriek of pure terror directed Harry's attention over to Farnese. She was still in the protective circle, but a grisly sight was leering at her from beyond the glowing field of light. The horse that Harry had escaped on appeared possessed as well. Its face was twisted to resemble a human. Its teeth were more pronounced and its eyes glowed will ill intention. Wet saliva dripped from mouth and it was sporting an erection. It was unable to pass through into the circle, but it was still a horrifying sight to behold.

Harry rushed to kill the new possessed, but a sword far too thick had already cleaved its head clean off. His sole eye was blazing with hate as he impaled one of the coyotes through, and with a flick of his wrist split the creature in half.

"I think my injuries are feeling much better. Either that or I just really wanted to kill that thing whatever it was, it worked." In his all black outfit, Guts was barely visible in the dark. "But I suppose I have until daybreak before I know for sure." He rushed past Harry and cut four more down. Wanting to contribute as well, Harry took his half of the remaining possessed, letting none live.

From within the circle, Farnese just watched as the two went at killing those animals, or, could they even be called animals? No coyote or horse she had known ever looked or acted like that. The two of them continued on all through the night, a heap of corpses lay in their wake. This isn't real. None of this can be real.

"God," she spoke. "Please, God, let this all be some night mare. Let me wake up back in my tent." She closed her eyes, believing that all she had seen was just a dream. When she opened them, it was not God she saw.

A tall knight in armor made to resemble bones sitting astride a horse of similar fashion watched as the Black Swordsman and wizard finished putting down the last of the animals. His skull helm stared her down; a pair of glowing eyes regarded her. "Belief has power. Do not be blind to what you follow, or else wind up another soul lost within the current of your corrupt philosophy."

Words were completely lost to Farnese, but the two males were nowhere near as surprised as she was. "Oh, it's you." The Black Swordsman sheathed his blade. "What are you doing here, bonehead?"

"I come with words of caution. The destination you seek, the board is set for events similar to that of the Eclipse. But not is despair, the wrongs that were done then and so long ago do not have to be repeated."

"What wrongs long ago?" Harry asked. "Why don't you ever give a straight answer?"

"A truth told is knowledge gained, but a truth discovered is knowledge understood. If you seek the answers to how of this young woman's religion was founded, you will find your answers at the Tower of Conviction."

The founding of the Holy See? Father Mozgus was traveling to the tower at this moment. Could he possibly know what this all meant, Because Farnese sure didn't.

Harry noticed that Farnese's eyes were glued to the Skull Knight. Schierke, I thought Farnese couldn't see stuff like elves.

'Elves are from another part of the astral layers, this… Skull Knight, at one point he must have been from this world, the physical, it's the only way.'

"Do heed my words, Struggler, Wizard. Our paths will cross again when the stage is set. Your answers and your desire will both be in the same place." His horse was near deathly silent as it galloped away.

Guts' eye watched as he left. "Always… it's always a warning with him."

"Do you think that it's true then?" Harry asked.

"The old bonehead never makes much sense, but he's never been wrong either." Guts scowled a bit.

"So you're going then?"

"If Casca is there, of course. What about you?"

"That's what I planned. If you'd be willing to have me along that is." Harry knew that although Guts was being civil right now, he was still probably mad about what had happened before.

"Bonehead said that it would be like the Eclipse. I'm not the same as I was back then, and neither are you. I don't want what happened before to happen again, not to Casca. If you're magic can help turn that tide… well, you can figure out the rest."

Puck flew between them. "Our team is assembled!"

Farnese was only vaguely aware of what they were talking about, and her eyes were so set in focus that she didn't even see them depart. The image of that Skull Knight burned into her mind. "Blind faith," Harry's words from before echoed in her head.

The Tower of Conviction was close now. All of the refugees from either the plague or the Kushan Invasion, they were all seeking refuge at the tower. For Luca, it was the latter. The Kushan had raided and taken many of the villagers as slaves to appease their emperor who was supposedly leading the invasion himself. Say what you will about the Kushan, at least their leader is willing to take to the field. Too bad all of us have to suffer for it as a result.

Luca made sure that she and the girls under her employ stayed a decent way behind the overly large carriage traveling along with the refugees. Inside was the High Inquisitor for the Holy See, a man named Father Mozgus and his disciples. Luca briefly caught a glimpse of the disciples and she thought they looked more at home in a torture dungeon than they did as holy men. But it was all part of the Holy See protection, the carriage they traveled in contained some old holy texts being moved to the tower's library, as well as a large sum of gold from generous sponsors. God works in mysterious ways I suppose.

Once there, Luca doubted she and her girls would be allowed entry into the town surrounding the tower, they would be herded like cattle outside the wall to fend for themselves. The world can be cruel, and we all have to share it. At least for women in their line of work they could get by alright. There were plenty of men who were in need of a night to forget their troubles. It wasn't an ideal job, but it helped get them by, and all of her girls contributed to earning a share. Well… all except one, but she was a special case.

Elaine, that was her name, well, not really, but to Luca she looked like an Elaine so that was what she was called. Luca had found her one day wandering by the side of the road. She had been in her own little world, seemingly unaware of those glowing eyes that leered at her from the darkness. Whatever they had belonged to, Luca didn't want to know; especially that misshapen thing that would appear sometimes at night. When Luca first saw it, she had almost kicked it away, but Elaine had shielded it with her body, like a mother would a child in need. It was always gone by morning, but Luca had kept Elaine close after that.

Yes, Elaine was a strange girl, but one that Luca found herself protective over. Elaine seemed to have the mind of a child, and needed to be kept under watch. For that, Luca had taken some gauze and wrapped it around Elaine's face to hide her image. It wasn't as if Elaine was ugly, quite the opposite, with her silky black hair and smooth mocha skin, she was quite the beauty. But Luca knew how men could be when they saw a pretty face, not all of them wanted to pay for it.

And then there was that mark on Elaine's collarbone. If someone saw that they might think it the mark of a witch, so Luca had given her peasant clothing that covered her body completely. Elaine wore them like a toddler would, and Luca and the others had to continuously bathe her. It was taxing, but Elaine knew no better; she knew nothing at all.

A/N: That's it for this chapter. Thank you for reading.


	32. Chapter 32

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Corpses were piled high on the Midland fields. They were that of farmers, peasants, women and their children, but primarily Kushan. Yes, there seemed to be no shortage of Kushan in Midland as of late. Having the largest ground empire to date, an expansion was inevitable. Some of the more eastern nations affiliated with the Holy See had already fallen to the unrelenting onslaught from the Kushan invasion. These people, the ones who lay dead, it was an inevitable fate; if the Kushan hadn't killed them, then the plague certainly would. At this point, it was hard to tell which had claimed more lives, disease, or Kushan. Probably the Kushan.

And he had killed more than any Kushan had. He had killed more Kushan than they did Midlanders. Death, the field of battle, as long as there was one, he would fight, and he would win, and victory made him even stronger. These corpses, the ones that lay before his feet, the ones that he sat upon, resting his chin on the pommel of his giant scimitar, they were all the same to him. They were different in only what he perceived them being before their deaths; civilians and opponents. Now they were all the same; weak. Civilians died far too easily when an enemy force invades, and the enemy force gets compliant killing weak civilians, it makes them lax when they finally come across a strong opponent.

For all of their boasting and the backing of the largest land empire since the time of Gaiseric, the Kushan were far too easy to kill. He had won an impressive sword from one of his slaughter of their forces, but it was a hollow victory; his opponent had barely put up a fight, the sword was just for intimidation purposes. A true disgrace, he sourly thought. One opponent, one strong opponent, that was what he sought, and these Kushan had barely been enough to hold back his longing for battle.

Perhaps he should pursue the Kushan Emperor Ganishka, little was known about the enigmatic emperor, but his strength was undeniable. It would not be long before Midland or even some of the neighboring countries under the Holy See influence began to hire out for mercenaries. He considered the plausibility. A fight is undeniable. They will take action eventually. With Midland's King dead of a heart attack, they will scramble to fill that power gap. It was unlikely the princess would take control, more likely a group of advisors would run the ruling behind the scenes. Just thinking about all that power structure began to bore him. It did not matter who was in charge, but what they decided to do that made the difference. And strong; yes, they had to have strength.

There was that one swordsman… he had been able to land a hit on me. The first in a hundred years. Nostalgia filled Zodd as he recalled that fight. That opponent had been a struggler, he never gave up even when he thought that he might lose. Of course, the fight had quickly turned the tide when Zodd switched to his apostle form, only sparing their lives because he knew what fate awaited them. Although, from what I've heard, he has been killing many apostles since the Great Eclipse. If our paths were to cross once again… I would love to see how he has progressed. The Black Swordsman… could you be the equal I have searched for? Will you give me the fight I deserve?

Zodd never went out of his way to seek out other apostles, but when their paths did cross they spoke of how great a warrior the Black Swordsman was, and how many had fallen to that cursed blade of his. The Eclipse had changed that boy, molded him into one who could stand toe-to-toe with apostles and come out the victor. From what he understood, that driving force came from what happened to that woman. He had heard apostles' jest about the fate that had befallen her in the Eclipse at the hands of the new Godhand, but the humor was lost on Zodd. A battlefield was for killing, not for defiling women in a show of dominance, it was a disgrace to all involved. And if that was the force behind the Black Swordsman's desire to kill, Zodd could not argue against it. With a driving force like that, a man could take on the world.

Zodd experienced an eerie sense of contemplation. Three-hundred years I've been fighting. Always one battle after the other… I love it! The thrill of a Calvary charge, the cries of rage and despair, swords' clashing with each other to create sparks. It is an art I can enjoy. I remember every battle I've fought in. He could recall every war. And his drive for that search for a true fight… well, perhaps that was something he had in common with the Black Swordsman apart from their prowess on the battlefield. The two of them were drawn to the battle field like crows; crows that surrounded him right now.

The black birds pecked and clawed out the eyes and flesh of any fresh, or rotten for that matter, corpse. The only thing out of place being the few white feathers that gently floated down from the sky. His keen eyes watched as more white feathers floated down from the sky and burst into sparkles of light as they touched the blood stained ground. The entire sky seemed to glow brighter than the sun as a great bird spread its shimmering wings. It was waiting, waiting for him. Zodd propped himself from the cushion of fallen warriors.

The Great White Bird regarded him. "Nosferatu Zodd, what you seek is a fight, and what you desire is an equal to fight with. Yet you will follow the strong and only the strong. They will not always guarantee you what you want but through the Hawk of Light… it will become a reality."

This… it feels like being in a dream. "It is true, I follow only the strong. And you, the Hawk of Light, you can offer what I seek?" the bird glowed brighter. "Words are one thing, they can be deceptive. You wish for me to follow you…" Zodd's body began to grow in size. Thick dark fur began to cover him. He sprouted a tail, goats legs, and two horns from his head; a true behemoth. "Show me. Prove that you have the strength!"

It was not like Zodd to transform into his apostle form almost instantaneously, but this… this felt like a power closer to the Godhand. He would pull no punches with this one, and that was how he started the fight, with a punch. His massive clawed fist slammed into the ground where the bird had perched itself, creating a small crater.

The bird had effortlessly dodged the attack, soaring upward with twin tails of light extending from the tips of its wings. The light trails wrapped around his left horn, and cut it from his head, leaving a small stump of bone. "Rraaaghhhh!"

Zodd's eyes shot open. He was sitting on the pile of corpses – in his human form. Had he actually dreamt that? His heart was racing, but not from the thrill of a fight, this was… this was a feeling he had not felt since he was a human; before he found his black behelit, and certainly before he had lost... a warm, thick liquid trailed down the side of Zodd's head. He brought one of his strong fingers to it – blood. There was a large gash on his forehead that would result in a scar. It would be right where a horn would be.

The "Wastelands" as they were known in Midland due to their hot climate, rugged terrain, and lack of vegetation, led straight to a mountain pass with a small village tucked away from civilization. Being in a remote location had some perks to it, such as being spared heavy taxes. On the downside, it was vulnerable to pillagers who dared to venture the trek up the mountain. And in this case, the pillagers were a group of Kushan scouts.

The invading Kushan Empire seemed to have spread further into Midland in such a short amount of time. If scouts had made it this far into the country, it wouldn't be long before the country disappeared and became part of the ever-expanding empire.

First Chuder, and now the Kushan, Guts thought. Two invading empires only barely two years apart, talk about not catching a break.

"Should we go around?" Harry asked. He too was eying the village under siege. "We could avoid those scouts altogether if we did."

"The fastest way from one point to another is a straight line. If they give us any trouble, we handle it. How are your injuries? That lady commander didn't work you over too rough, did she?" after reuniting once again with the young mage, Puck had offered his dust for Harry to apply to his chest. The wizard had been covered in lacerations that looked to have come from a whip.

"They're fine, thanks to Puck."

"You're… welcome…" Puck said lazily from inside of Guts' satchel. The little elf had given so much dust between tending to both of their injuries that he seemed to have worn himself out for the time being. Guts, of course, had no complaint against the quiet it brought, but Puck cuddling up to the behelit he had tucked away in his satchel was a bit concerning.

"The Kushan like to boast, but words mean little in a battle," Guts explained. "Leave the talking to politicians and philosophers." He patted Dragonslayer's handle. "I have my own diplomacy."

Harry drew the blade Godo had crafted for him, the one made from the ore in the old elf cave. "So be it then. We're both heading for the same place, it'd be stupid if we were to go and split up again. Although…" he drew the staff he had constructed himself, "there might be a way to avoid fighting them altogether."

"Are you planning on raining fire down on them like a vengeful god?" Guts asked, only half joking.

"I can redirect their od."

"Huh?" Guts was unfamiliar with that term. Harry had covered some of the basics of what he had learned, and Guts had seen some it in action firsthand, but Harry seemed to have a rick up his sleeve. "What does it do?"

"Od is basically a life-force. If you ever got the feeling you were being watched," he had, "or when you have a feeling you know where someone is, that is a basic sensation of what od is. You can feel the life of another. If I were to manipulate that into making those Kushan think there was a distraction, we could slip by unnoticed."

"Hm." The kid really has come far. "Sneaking around isn't usually my style; but, all the fight we have in us should be saved for when we reach that tower. If you think this is the best way to do it, then do it."

Harry looked up at him, shock written on his face. "Wait, you mean it?"

"Did I stutter?" Guts rhetorically asked. "Why wouldn't I have meant it?"

"Well… I figured that you'd be a bit angry with everything that had happened before, back at the valley." He said, sounding a bit ashamed.

Oh, that's what he was hung up on. "Listen, Harry," Guts instructed. "You're not wrong to think that. I thought out of all the people in this world that you'd be the one to understand what it feels like. To feel the anger toward what her kind had done, and the anger toward yourself for not being able to stop it from happening. I was disappointed with what happened back at that valley, and not just toward you." He could see the wizard was confused. "I was disappointed in myself too. For so long I had allowed my hatred to drive me forward, to kill every apostle I came across. It consumed me like a rabid beast. And then you show up and let one go, and why? Because you knew that letting her live was worse. As soon as you got that vision of Casca, you left you magic studies to go and rescue her, and I was caught up on killing. I guess you never lost sight of that precious thing, something that I had."

Even though Guts couldn't see, he knew Puck was listening in. Harry didn't quite seem to know how to respond to that. "Well… uh… I never knew you saw it that way."

Guts shrugged. "Well you could stand there gaping like a fish, or you could do that witchcraft nonsense you were just sprouting a moment ago."

"Understood," Harry affirmed. He raised his staff and pointed it toward the Kushan infested village. He waved it around like the wheel to a mill, chanting a spell in words that sounded like gibberish in Guts' ears. But it seemed to have done its trick. The Kushan that had been sneaking around on some of the rooftops suddenly changed direction, aiming to the far side of the village.

"Looks like it worked," Guts observed. "Come on then, the sooner we get to this tower, the better." The sooner we get to Casca… just where are you?

Harry meanwhile was having his own mental conversation, this one with an actual listener. That sounded like a whole new Guts. Fighting is his passion, and he gave that up in favor of a quicker route.

'He must be motivated to get to the Tower of Conviction then. Is it for that woman – Casca, was her name?'

Without a doubt.

'I see. If it's okay for me to ask, but just who is she to Guts? She's obviously important, but how?'

Why? Do you have a little crush on Guts or something? He was baiting her, of course, but knowing Schierke, she was sure to get flustered.

'No! No, of course not! I don't mean to say that he isn't handsome, but the age difference… he must be at least thirty.'

No, Guts is twenty-two, twenty-three? Somewhere around there.

'Serious? He looks older.'

Well he spent most of two years being hunted by accursed spirits and barely getting the right amount of sleep, it would happen to anyone. It probably would have happened to Harry too if he had not found the spirit-tree and the sanctuary it provided. He instantly felt guilty about having it so easy while Guts suffered every night for two years. There was no spell to go back and reverse time, but he could give it his all to make sure the same actions were not repeated. But to answer your question, Casca is… she was a part of that mercenary band Guts and I were in.

'A lady knight like that Farnese.'

Well, not as… fanatical as Farnese, but yeah, she was one of the best, the second-in-command in fact. She and Guts didn't exactly get along most of the time, but they respected each other and one thing led to another… you get where I'm going with this.

Schierke was quiet after that, seeing where the conversation was headed. Her calm and reserved mental voice was replaced by a loud real one coming from a backstreet of the village. A quick glance showed that it was a boy with short copper colored hair and a shifty look in his eyes. "Hey, idiots!" he yelled. "You shouldn't go that way!"

'Who's the monkey?' Schierke asked as Harry's eyes fixated on the village boy.

He must be one of the-, several od signatures were closing in fast towards Harry and Guts. Damnit! "Guts!"

The Kushan leapt down from the roofs, their curved swords raised high above their heads, ready for the kill. Guts was faster with Dragonslayer, however, despite it being the heavier of all their blades combined. He cut them in half in the blink of an eye, sending both of their halves scattered along the street.

For the ones that had leapt at Harry, he opted to use his magic. A powerful gush of wind knocked his assailants back. The Kushan were blown back, hitting the houses they had leapt from previous. Some were only knocked out, other were less fortunate, having cracked their skulls open from the impact.

The village boy looked to both Harry and Guts with a gaping mouth and wide eyes. "A-awesome!" he almost squealed in delight. "You guys just did what nobody in the village could do!"

Guts sheathed Dragonslayer on his back. "What's your deal, kid? You the only one left or something?"

The boy crossed his arms over his scrawny chest, trying to look impressive. "As far as I know, yeah. And don't call me kid. My name's Isidro."

"How'd you know the Kushan were over there?" Harry asked, he hadn't sensed their od until it was almost too late.

Isidro grinned slyly. "I know this village like the back of my hand. You have to keep on top of things of you want to stay alive, and I don't want to die without knowing a woman first."

'Isn't he charming,' Schierke snarked.

"Right…" Harry didn't quite have anything to follow that up with. "Well thanks for the heads up."

He snickered. "Yeah, well you guys handled that amazingly! I'll definitely be copying some of those moves."

Guts regarded him oddly. "You're a swordsman?"

Isidro grinned cheekily. "Soon to be the best that there is!" he pulled out a thin blade. "The people everywhere will know the name Isidro, feeding my legend."

"Good luck with that then." He said without any genuine empathy. Guts began to walk away, Harry following behind him.

"Hey! Wait!" Isidro called after them, running to catch up to them.

"What do you want?" Guts asked.

Isidro looked offended. "You guys show up and then just leave?"

"Is there a reason we should stay?" Harry asked. "We didn't come here to kill Kushan, we were just passing through."

"I'm not talking about the Kushan," Isidro said. "That sword of yours, where'd you get it? I didn't know they even made them that big. And yours," he pointed to Harry's sword, "why does yours look blue?"

"They were made by a talented smith," Harry told him, putting his sword away. He didn't trust Isidro to look at it. "Why'd you want to know?"

"I just said; one day I'm going to become the best swordsman. When my time comes, I'll need a blade to match my legend."

Isidro's bravado quickly fell apart when Guts asked, "Have you ever cut anyone before?"

"Uhh," Isidro's mouth hung open and he became rather interested in a passing cloud. "Of course I have!"

'He could try harder to be convincing.'

Nobody probably cared enough to pay attention to what he had to say before. Harry didn't know that for certain, but he got the distinct impression Isidro was largely ignored by the people of this village, if there were any left alive.

"Say," Isidro got a spark in his eyes, "how's about you show me some other tricks that you got?"

"You want to be an apprentice?" asked Guts, he didn't sound thrilled.

Isidro scoffed. "Apprentice? I'm not beneath anyone. If you want me to be honest, I'd just watch to steal some of your moves. Once I honed my skill enough, I'd go my own way; you'd never have to deal with me again, except when you hear people talking about my legendary skills, of course."

'Subtle, isn't he?' Schierke clearly did not have a positive impression of Isidro.

He does personify the word "brat."

'A loudmouthed one at that.'

"That's ambitious of you," Guts told the boy. "But since you were so honest, I'll be honest too; its best you stay away from us."

"You can't exactly tell me what to do," Isidro whined. "I do what I want. You're not my damn pa."

'Harry, just transfigure him into a monkey. He's acting just like one.'

I might take you up on that. But I want to see what Guts will say; it's bound to be good.

Much to Harry's shock, Guts didn't scold the boy, he actually chuckled. "Heh. I guess you're right about that."

'Transfigure him into a monkey, do it, do it fast.'

Is he actually not going to argue him on this? It was like a complete opposite with Jill, whom Guts had wanted to keep away and off to the side. He had been doing that to spare her of a worse fate, but why the sudden change? It couldn't be that Guts believed Isidro was a competent swordsman, it was clear that he was all talk, so what? A strange thought entered Harry's mind, could it be that Guts is reminded of himself? He had only met the boy, yet Harry could see that he was stubborn, much like Guts could be, only much louder about it. The idea that Guts could have been a whiny brat like Isidro didn't sit right with Harry, and there had to be more to it than that. Perhaps it was the fact Isidro had taken up the sword at his age and that he was now caught up in the middle of a war. That seemed the more likely of the two. Either that, or Guts was willing to have the boy walk to his own death by following them.

"So, what does that mean?" Isidro asked.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Guts told him. "If you're going to follow us, then the only way I could stop you is to kill you." Isidro blanched. "But, lucky for you I don't feel like killing any more kids than I have already. So if you're going to follow, keep it at a distance, and don't get in my way."

Isidro's face was caught between surprise and delight. "R-really?!"

"On one condition," Guts reached into his satchel and pulled out a half-awake Puck and tossed the elf over to Isidro. "You get to carry him around."

Looks like he was just aiming to get rid of Puck as well.

Isidro twitched slightly as Puck began to stir. "So… you want to learn the way of the sword?" the elf asked. "What did you say your name was?"

"I-Isidro," he stuttered.

Puck nodded. "I hereby recognize you as a pupil in Elf Dimension Style. Use my teachings responsibly."

"W-wait a minute!"Isidro shouted. "What is this?!"

"Your first lesson," Guts began walking away, the two boys following behind him, Isidro further than Harry. "If you want to learn, maybe start with learning some patience. If dealing with Puck can't teach you that, you should just go home." It was either genius on Guts' end, or it was the worst idea he had ever had, and Harry really hoped it was the former.

As the quartet departed from the village, three sets of eyes watched their retreating forms. Two were bound in muscle, and the third was rather lithe and more agile, and all had copper skin, dark eyes, and wore light clothing befitting of a desert-like environment, the typical drappings of Kushan.

"Master Silat, what are our orders, should we pursue?" one of Silat's muscle covered henchmen asked. Silat's dark eyes followed the small band leaving the village. While he and his Bakiraka Clan had not been directly involved in this attack, or subsequent invasion of Midland, they were searching for ways to contribute to the war effort. All it took was one generous display for Emperor Ganishka to revoke their banishment and the Bakiraka could end their lives as exiles for the Kushan Empire.

"They are three and we are many," his other bodyguard mentioned, referring to the additional clan members that were stationed close by. "It would be easy to overpower them."

"No, it wouldn't." Silat scratched at his clean-shaven face from under his lower cowl. "That man dressed all in black – I've crossed blades with him once before." His appearance had changed, but Silat recognized the man as Guts from the Band of the Hawk. It was over two years since he had raided their camp and been humiliated in the process, but he still remembered. "Loathe as I am to admit it, that man is beyond our skills. And his one companion… did you see the sword he had?" Of all the people, he has to be associated with that man Guts!

He waited for one of his bodyguards to work it out. "It seemed to be blue."

"The same blue blade that killed that monster in human skin when we were cornered by those Midland Knights," Silat reminded them. The same blade we owe our lives to. Damnit!

His bodyguards tensed. "Young Master, you do not mean that…"

"You both go on ahead," Silat instructed them. "I've some business to deal with first." Silat silently leapt down from his observation point, following after the small party. It just had to be him! And he shows up now of all times!

'Just once,' Schierke said.

No.

'It doesn't have to be for long, just a few minutes.'

You said so before, and my answer is still no.

'If you're worried about Guts being mad, I think he wouldn't hold it against you.'

He would only become worse.

'What's worse is if you don't do something,' advised Schierke. 'It might actually help him out.'

You're just saying that because you want to see him as a monkey. She made no attempt to hide her disdain for their newest follower. Harry was worried that Isidro would turn out to be like one of Dudley's friends due to his loud mouth and brash nature, and while he was difficult to be around, he seemed to have some degree of respect to him; he kept his distance like Guts had requested. He had even taken an instant liking to Puck, who reciprocated the friendship and the two were holding a very animated discussion about the fighting form of Elf Dimension Style. To Harry's knowledge, it consisted of hitting your opponent as hard as you could and nothing else, it was something Isidro seemed keen on.

"The path of a warrior elf is not an easy one," Puck told his new and only pupil. "By accepting my teachings, you have taken the first step down the road of your training."

Even though Guts was leading, Harry could practically see him roll his eye. "I never would have figured the elfves to be such a bloodthirsty batch of people."

"Our technique is for defense only," Puck felt the need to clarify. "Violence only breeds more violence. If more people cared for each other, the world would be a better place to live."

"Kind of mixed messages you're sending to your student," Guts scoffed at the elf's declaration.

Isidro didn't seem to mind however. "Fighting is all about knowing what you're working with. If I build up my defense, it'll throw an offensive opponent off guard."

It looks like he has some knowledge about what he's doing.

"Hey!" Isidro looked at Harry. "Why don't you and I spar sometime? I'd love to see what you're like in a fight."

"Maybe," Harry said. Isidro could use a lesson in humility. "But no promises."

That seemed good enough for Isidro. "Yes! Your sword might not be as big as his, but it has an awesome design to it. I want to see you use it instead of that trick you did with your stick."

'When you spar with him, don't go easy.'

I could wind up hurting him.

'Pain makes a great teacher.'

Does Flora know you have this side to you?

Isidro seemed to fantasize about his future sparring match. "Oh, boy. Once I build my skill up I can really start knocking it to those dirty Kushan bastar-!"

"Not an insult against my people, I hope." An accented voice hinted with sarcasm spoke from behind them. They all drew their weapons, including Puck who brandished his burr. The speaker was one Harry had seen on two occasions, both of which revolved around fighting. It was Silat of the Bakiraka Clan. "While I and my people are not on the best of relations with the homeland, I feel your sentence would be very-,"

"-Kushan!" Isidro yelled, but he didn't attack with his sword. he opted to picking up a stone and throwing it at Silat's head. The Kushan assassin must have been caught off guard by it since it hit right between his dark eyes.

Harry and Guts both expected retaliation on Silat's part, but the Kushan kept himself restrained. "If I were here to fight you, I would have the greatest of satisfaction of separating your head from your body, boy. But that is not the reason for my appearance." He looked at Guts. "Do you remember me? Because I remember you."

Guts looked him over. "I was going to say that you were a street performer, but that doesn't seem right."

Silat's eyes narrowed. "We crossed blades once before, Guts. You told me your name, and I told you mine. Although, it would appear our fight did not hold the same meaning it did with you. Allow me to reintroduce myself; I am Silat of the Bakiraka Clan."

"Oh yeah, the clan that got exiled," Guts recalled. "So why are you here? Come to settle the score?"

"As much as it would bring me the greatest of satisfaction, no." Silat pointed at Harry. "You, your sword, is it the blade that fought with that monster in human skin near two years ago?"

Was he talking about Wyald? "The big white ape?" Harry asked. Silat nodded, and he did not seem happy about it. "Yeah…" he said slowly. "What of it?"

He almost thought he could hear Silat grind his teeth. "Then it would seem… that without your interference that day, my life would have been slain." He seemed to force himself to take a knee. "As customary of the Bakiraka Clan, I am indebted to you until my debt has been repaid or you release me from it."

Guts looked at Harry quizzically. "Is this true? You saved his life?"

"Well… I guess, Wyald was an apostle, and he was planning on killing Silat and a few others before I came by." Schierke, is what Silat saying true? Does he really owe me his life?

'The customs of the east tend to be like that. If what you said is true, then Silat would be bound by his honor to pledge his life or else risk expulsion from his clan.' And the Bakiraka were banished from their homeland as well. Silat would be a complete outcast if he were to refuse.

Guts addressed Harry. "Then what happens to him is up to you."

Harry regarded the Kushan assassin, Silat's pride was clearly wounded from having to kneel before someone as young as Harry. From what Harry remembered, Silat had more of a martial arts style of combat unique to eastern peoples. 'What are you going to do with him?' if Isidro's eyes were shifty, Silat's were ten times more cunning.

He's from an assassin clan; he isn't exactly the most trustworthy. Keeping Silat around for a long period of time would be more harmful than it would useful, and they had enough to deal with as it was. "I'll make a deal with you, Silat."

"And what would that be?" the Kushan asked.

"If you help us rescue the life of a woman, then your debt will have been paid." Guts shot Harry a knowing look.

"Such a noble task. I'm almost jealous."

"You can stop kneeling," Harry told him and the Kushan rose.

Isidro was looking back and forth, clearly bamboozled. "W-what?! Just like that?!"

Puck flew straight toward Silat's face, making his almond shaped eyes widen in surprise. "Hm. Another one with a shifty look. You have competition, Dro" it was the nickname Puck had given to the aspiring swordsman.

Guts was keen to just keep moving. "He's your responsibility, Harry. if he tries anything, you're the one that's going to put him down."

"Not a problem," Harry affirmed, giving the assassin the best glare he could, letting him know not to try anything.

"His people are invading," Isidro scowled. "Just so you know."

"If you have a problem with it, you can go back to your village," Guts suggested. "You do have to be here, you know."

"Back to my village?" Isidro bit at his lip. "Trying to get rid of me that soon? Not until I've learned what I need from you two. That village was a dump anyway." He pouted. From the way he was acting, Harry almost felt there was more to what Isidro was saying. His disdain for Silat and the Kushan was clear, but the boy was most likely the only surviving member of his village. Maybe he was just following them because he didn't want to face going back to nothing. "Just make sure that guy doesn't try anything."

"I assure you, no problems will arise due to my actions." Silat made a hand gesture that must have conveyed a promise, just so long as it wasn't the Kushan equivalent to fingers crossed.

Isidro looked doubtful. "Yeah, well if you do try something, I have another rock ready for your head."

"While I am bound by the life-debt, to my..." he struggled to say the word, "Master…"

"Harry, just call me Harry." he didn't need anyone calling him master.

"Yes… Harry, I will not harm him or any of his companions." Silat's demeanor began to change as he stared Isidro down. "However once I am freed from by debt, if you were to throw another rock at me, there would be nothing stopping me from taking your hand."

"Enough!" Harry ordered and Silat backed away from Isidro. "Come on. Guts will keep walking if we don't catch up." Silat cast one last look at Isidro who stuck his tongue out at the Kushan. A vein seemed to throb in Silat's temple, but he kept his tongue to himself, not wanting to disgrace himself any more than he had by owing his life to a teenage wizard.

Rolls of wrapping had been set along the rough ground; each layer added some comfort as Luca laid down on her back. She had taken care to light some scented candles, a rare import that she had gotten from a trader from the south near the Uterine Sea. The smell the candles provided helped to drown out the lingering stench of sex. It was a smell Luca and her protégées had grown accustomed to, but never truly enjoyed. Her current client was a member of the Holy Iron Chain Knights, a man with dark, wavy hair named Jerome. The knight had come across Luca and her girls during the trek to the Tower of Conviction, and had been a customer of Luca's from then to their arrival.

Jerome craned his neck to plant kisses along her collarbone, slowly sliding his way to her entrance. Luca let out a small gasp as he initiated the act; she found that it tended to urge him on. It wasn't to say Jerome was a bad lover, he was certainly more gentle than most, although he largely avoided eye-contact, something that Luca found attractive. No, it had more to do with the honeyed words he would whisper into her ear as he built up to his climax.

"You are far too lovely to be a street whore, Luca," he whispered to her, his thrusting got faster. It wasn't the first time she had been told. Men seemed to like her long brown hair, brownish grey eyes, and slim figure.

"You have a silver tongue, Sir Jerome." Yet you never seem to use it where it would be of use during our segments.

"I mean it," he insisted as she wrapped her legs around his waist. "When my business is concluded at the tower, and Commander Farnese gives us the order to leave, I'd love to take you back to Vritannis with me. I could buy you a house there too."

"That's very generous of you." I'm not sure how your wife would feel about that. Actually, I know exactly what your wife would think about that. "But I don't think the city life is for me. I prefer a cozier life."

His hands roamed up to grasp at her breasts. "Are you sure? You'd never have to want for anything again."

Well I don't plan on sleeping my way to a cushy life. "I have good people; I can't walk out on them." His hands squeezed her chest, he was getting close.

Jerome did cry out, but it wasn't due to his pent up sexual desire. Another voice was screaming as well, this one a distinct female. Luca moved her head to see a head wrapped in gauze peeking into her tent. You pick the most random of times to poke in, Elaine. Jerome quickly scrambled to get off of Luca and dress himself.

"Nearly scared me half to death!" he strapped his belt on. "Luca, who is this?"

Luca sat up as well, putting on a loose robe. "Oh, this is my sister, Elaine. She has a tendency to wander." Elaine seemed to be pulling off some of the gauze around her face, and Luca was quick to re-wrap it. "I'm afraid she's quite simple."

"She's your sister?" Jerome looked between the two of them, or at least the arts of Elaine's face that weren't covered. "You don't quite look it."

"I'm sorry, my half-sister. Father never learned to fear mother's wrath." Jerome didn't look too convinced, but he didn't raise any other argument against it. "She was supposed to have someone looking after her, but Elaine has always had bit of a free spirit to her."

"I see." Jerome finished dressing. "Is she going to go, or…"

"I'm sorry, but it looks like I'll have to look after her for now. Consider this session free of charge." Jerome accepted, sparing one last look between Luca and Elaine before exiting her tent. "Oh, Elaine. I don't suppose you can tell me where Nina ran off to?"

Elaine responded with her usual childish babble. "Aauuu."

Luca led the girl out of her tent and to the next one over shared by the girls Luca had taken to looking after. "That's what I thought."

There were four girls who Luca looked after in their business as prostitutes. The first was Lucie, the eldest next to Luca, and the most mature and responsible out of the girls. Then there was Pepe, a girl who was bit of tease, but still listened to what Luca had to say and tried to live by her example. The youngest of the bunch was Fouquet, a girl who tended to act like a child, but nowhere near the extent as Elaine who had a child's mentality. And lastly, there was Nina. A blonde youth with curly locks who was the most… entitled out of all of Luca's girls. Luca tried to encourage them all to act selfless to better themselves, but Nina hardly adhered to this doctrine. Nina had met a boy on the road to the Tower of Conviction, and seemed to want to slack off with him. Luca was not opposed to her girls finding love, but this boy had also given Nina a disease during one of their encounters and wasn't long for the world himself.

Upon entering the tent, Luca noticed all but one of her girls was in attendance. "That session seemed a bit short, Luca," Lucie observed. "Did Jerome's wife follow him all the way here?"

Luca presented Elaine to the girls. "Elaine!" Pepe took the girls hand and sat her down. "Wasn't Nina suppose to watch you?"

"Oouuuii." Elaine rocked her head in circular motions.

"She was," Luca said. "But unless she was with a very important client, I'd love to hear about it."

The three girls all shook their heads. "She said she was going out by the stream to take care of some… 'personal problems.'" Nina must have been referring to the disease she had gotten from that boy. She was bleeding on days that weren't her moon days.

"That explains it," Luca nodded sadly. "But she should know better than to leave Elaine unattended."

"Luuuucaaaa?" a man of at least sixty was poking his head in the tent. It seemed she had another client to deal with.

"I'll be right there, just wait in my tent, I'll be by shortly." Once he had receded Luca instructed her three remaining girls to watch Elaine until Nina got back, the girl was going to have to start picking up her slack. Or if the three girls wanted Elaine to interrupt this session, Luca would have no objection to that.

The Tower of Conviction, one of Midland's oldest constructions still standing, along with the Tower of Rebirth inside of the City of Windham. Like the Tower of Rebirth, the Tower of Conviction could be dated as far back to the time of Emperor Gaiseric, the one who united the continent in his conquest. Instead of an entire city, the Tower of Conviction had but a small town of St. Albion built around it, named in memory of the High Pontiff who funded the construction of the town. To protect against possible heretic attacks, a large wall was built around both the tower and town.

The tower stood as a beacon of power for all who followed the Holy See doctrine; so why did the inside feel so hollow? Farnese wondered that as one of Father Mozgus' disciples escorted her and Serpico to the top of the tower which had later been renovated to an area of worship. "Blind faith," the words that wizard boy had said still echoed in her ears, and it was only further driven in after that Skull Knight had appeared. Things like that, they had no right to exist, there was nothing written in any Holy See text that justified what she had seen that night.

Serpico had found her later soon after the Black Swordsman, and the young wizard had taken their leave. Her faithful attendant since their youth had expressed the direst of concern when he came across her. Having been kidnapped by a heathen, Serpico had feared the worst, but she had assured him that no harm had befallen her; she left out the parts about those possessed animals and the Skull Knight, he would think her mad if she spoke of such things. After that, Farnese had ordered that any search party for the wizard and Black Swordsman be put on hold; their true destination was at St. Albion. For some strange reason, Farnese felt as though they were being watched as soon as they had arrived. Perhaps it was the eyes of God.

The way to the tower had been marked for them by Father Mozgus and his disciples, they had erected the wheels. It was a technique signature to the Father; it consisted of placing a human body on a wagon wheel and breaking their limbs so that they bent through the spokes. A pole was attached to the other side and the wheel was raised into the air. It was fitting work for the disciples who dressed the part as torturers. Farnese had only seen the disciples a few times since arriving at the tower; they consisted of a bulky one, a tall lanky one, a small imp, and a set of twins who all wore executioners masks. The one leading them now seemed to be the most normal of the bunch, dressed in a leather outfit that covered every inch of skin and a mask that resembled a bird.

Yes, he was the most normal one of the bunch. He also seemed to most polite and well spoken, offering to take them up to Father Mozgus. Apparently he had a disease that would burn his skin if exposed to direct sunlight. Father Mozgus had taken him and the rest of the men under his wing and helped show them the path of God. When they stood outside the monastery doors on the top of the tower, a loud series of banging could be heard from beyond the door. The disciple raised a gloved hand.

"Father Mozgus is performing his daily ritual of faith," the disciple informed. "While his methods are extreme, he is the holiest man I have met. Please, this way." The disciple opened the door and allowing them entry.

What they saw was Father Mozgus kneeling before an icon of the Holy See, his face planted firmly against the floor. He was pressing it so hard that his face seemed to contort in pain. Farnese realized that he had been slamming his face against the floor causing the thuds that they had heard before entering.

Mozgus finally broke from his practice and rose to stand. "Ah, you would think I would learn to bring a pillow for my knees. They aren't quite what they used to be." He adjusted the wide brimmed red hat and his stainless white robes. "God bless you, Commander Farnese."

"And you as well, Father Mozgus." She and Serpico made a move to kneel, but Mozgus waved that off.

"Oh, no! No! Please, the only one you should kneel before is our divine lord." Mozgus was a man of middle age, tall and stocky with a wide flat face and pale blue eyes. "I am glad that you made it to the tower safely, it would seem God has answered my prayers for you to have a safe journey."

Safe… "There were a few… complications along the way. Our hunt for the Black Swordsman led us to a wizard who we took into custody."

"Ah, wizards, nasty heathens, all of them," Mozgus said with disdain. "They seek to spread the lies of this world and drive us away from God's divine teachings. What became of this wizard? Knowing your reputation, I assume he was burned."

"I interrogated him," Farnese hung her head, unable to look the Father in the eye. "But he escaped. Please, I beg forgiveness." She was sure Father Mozgus would be displeased, she could feel Serpico's head tilt toward her in a concerned gesture. Instead of a berating, Mozgus placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Wizard's are a troublesome ilk. I know of all the witches you have burned back in Vritannis, your judgment would never be called into question. And it is not I whose job it is to forgive you, that is for our Lord to decide." He gave a wide, thin smile. "And I made it here safely as is."

It was better than she deserved. Father Mozgus had a reputation for passing harsh judgment on the wicked. The wheel skeletons were proof of that. "Blind faith." Why am I still thinking about that? Did it have to do with the fact that the wizard and Black Swordsman seemed so at ease killing those animals while she cowered in fear? She had been praying to God the entire time for a miracle to happen to rescue her, but all through that night, the two had continued to rely on their swords and in magic. Where was their faith?

"Thank you, Father Mozgus."

He detected her conflicted emotions. "What troubles you, Commander?"

"Father Mozgus… were there ever times when you doubted your faith?"

He didn't seem offended, he actually seemed thoughtful. "There were moments in my youth where I felt that faith alone wasn't enough. Those were… dark days for me, but the Father of my monastery offered me some old texts to read. For days on end I poured my time into reading those texts. By the end, I came out convinced that faith required dedication, and by dedicating myself to God, I never once questioned my faith after." He smiled kindly. "Traveling here, I carried a text of the first edition of the Holy See Doctrine. It has remained preserved in the first temple for some time, but I was given permission to add it to the library here. You're welcome to read it."

"Have you read it as well?" Farnese asked. Could the same happen for her? Could her faith be restored by understanding like Mozgus?

"Oh no," he said humbly. "That text is meant for the High Pontiff to read, or any who are in a time of need. It is more than just a doctrine; it is first edition, written by our founder."

"Truly?!" she asked. For all her time in the Holy See, she never knew who founded their faith. It had mainly been out of fear of the idea that the initial ideas might have been misinterpreted and that she would burn for the acts she took. "Blind faith." "I will think on it, Father."

"Splendid!" Mozgus beamed. "Belief is our greatest ally! Through us does God's will come to fruition."

Farnese replied with the reply that had been drilled into her head for years. That feeling of being watched never disappeared. Was it God who was watching, or something else?

There it was, looming above all else like a man-made mountain, the setting sun cast an almost sinister glow against the smooth stone that was the Tower of Conviction. Some light and smoke came from inside the outer wall, but the liveliest of activity was outside of the walled town of St. Albion. Camps, tents, and people were all clustered around like cattle outside, and even from their vantage point on a small ridge, Harry and the others could see how things were going. Even though the tower promised refuge, perhaps they thought that now that they were near a holy place, God would shelter them.

"So that is the famed tower," Silat studied the structure. "It'd thought it be taller."

"Just one wall?" Isidro asked, he actually seemed to be in somewhat an agreement with Silat.

"You shouldn't be complaining," Guts told them. "The smaller the size, the less places we have to look." His sole eye wandered to the large series of tents that had been erected outside, stretching as far as a stream that served as a sort of border. "We should start searching the camp, that seems to be where the most activity is going on."

"That'd also make it the easiest for us to be spotted," Harry mentioned. "The both of us are still wanted by those Chain Knights, and if one of them recognizes us, we'll be swarmed."

"A wise observation," Silat spoke smoothly. "And there is the fact that I would stand out like a sore thumb among these people. A Kushan in a Holy See refugee camp, that wouldn't stir up any trouble at all."

"You're from an assassin clan; shouldn't you be good at sneaking around?" Harry asked his temporary servant.

"I never said that I wasn't. I was merely making an obvious statement for if I were to be seen."

"So that just leaves me then?" Isidro asked. "If you need me to search, I'm pretty sneaky, but I prefer a real fight."

"You're not going alone," Guts told him. "You'll be sticking with Harry. Two boys walking around is less likely to draw attention. That leaves Silat and I."

"You're comfortable being with him?" Harry asked. He was well aware of Silat's desire to fight Guts, and his oath to Harry was the only thing keeping that from happening. "I thought you said he was my responsibility."

"He is. But a kid holding what looks like a magic staff and walking around with a Kushan would draw more attention than a traveling swordsman would."

"And… if one of us comes across Casca, how would we let the other know?"

"…We'll both have another person with us. If that happens, we send them to search for the other."

It was flimsy, but it was better than going in blind. "You got that, Silat?" Harry asked.

"A simple task. Yes, I understand."

"Try not to stab me in the back," Guts warned. "It won't turn out well for you."

Silat actually grinned from behind the cowl that obscured his mouth. "If I were going to stab you, I'd want to look you in your eye."

"Looks like that leaves you and me," Isidro patted Harry on the arm.

"And me," Puck added with a salute. "If you guys require a messenger, then I am the elf to come to."

The four made their way down the ridge, splitting up once they entered the edge of the large camp. Harry almost missed Silat taking to the shadows, sneaking around like a cat on the hunt for a mouse. For added measure, Harry put his hood up and walked with his staff laid across his shoulders. Being seen walking with it might give the wrong impression to some of the camps inhabitants.

Isidro was the one who initiated conversation. "So after we find who you're looking for, do you think that Guts guy will teach me some of his fighting moves?"

Would he? Guts had given Harry some good pointers early on, would he do the same for Isidro if he helped to save Casca? "I can't really speak for him. Besides, you two have different styles of fighting, Guts is more force, and you seem more quick."

"S-so?" Isidro sputtered. "What's wrong with being quick, it helps keep you alive in a fight."

'I'm sure he's referring to the fights he's never been in.'

"What about you?" the copper-haired boy asked.

"What about me?"

"When we have our spar, I'm sure to pick some tricks up from you. Well, not that hokey-pokey stuff you do with your staff, but actual skill with a sword."

"Well…"

"Ah, come on; don't be like a stuck-up adult. You're not that much older than me, don't boys our age usually want to help each other out when it comes to fighting?"

"Is that how it was in your village?" Harry asked, regretting asking it when he saw Isidro avert his gaze.

"Well… yeah, I guess. But all the kids back in my village were a bunch of weaklings anyway; they wouldn't have lasted long against me."

"…We'll see how this goes," Harry told him, feeling some sympathy for the younger boy and understanding why he was so keen on following him and Guts around.

"Ah-ha, yeah!" Isidro exclaimed. "I'd knew you'd come around eventually. When I become famous, I'll be sure to mention you, and how you helped get me to where I was going."

"Sounds great…" he made sure his head was turned so Isidro could not see him roll his eyes. His gesture of exasperation, led him to discover a knight on horseback, patrolling around the camp. The banner he carried was from the Holy Iron Chain Knights. "Oh, perfect."

"I know, right?" Isidro asked, not noticing the knight that was making his way over to them. "Legends stick with us even after we're all gone and-,"

Harry grabbed him by his arm, dragging him along and away from the knight. "-Yeah, you can tell me all about it when we get out of here."

"Hey! Don't drag me man!" Isidro complained. "That knight guy is looking this way."

"Damn!" Harry parted his way through the crowd, letting Isidro go and keep up at his own pace. His hood got knocked askew when shuffling through the crowds of people between tents. He kept walking until a soft, but firm grasp held him by his ear.

"There you are!" it was a woman's voice, and she sounded irritated. For a second, he thought it was that Farnese girl, but he was quickly proven wrong when he saw it was a young woman with long brown hair, not the twin tails of blonde that Farnese wore. She also dressed like a commoner, not some noble's daughter. "You think you can just run off without paying for your session?!" the knight was only a short distance away now.

"What's she talking about, Harry?" Isidro whispered to him. His eyes suddenly widened. "Don't tell me you used a trick of yours to sneak off and make a man of yourself with this fine woman!"

"Of course not!"

The knight stopped right in front of them. "Problem here, Luca?"

"This young boy thought he could have a session with Pepe and not pay for it," Luca explained. "I'm lucky I caught him before he could get away."

"You have the situation under control then?"

"Yes, Sir Jerome, I have it under control." The knight gave her a look before riding off further to continue his patrol. "Whew!" Luca let Harry go, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. "You played along nicely."

"Uh… you too?" Harry asked, not sure what this woman was up to. "Why did you do that just now?"

She pointed to his neck where the brand was burned into his skin, thinly concealed by the rune. "I saw that symbol on you. And there's only one person I know who has one just like that."

"Does she have black hair and dark eyes? Maybe acts like a child?" Harry asked his hopes now high.

"I don't think I said it was a girl," Luca noted. "But yes, that describes her perfectly. Who is she to you?"

"She's my… sister."

"You're sister?"

"Well, my half-sister."

Luca chuckled. "You know, I told a lie just like that not too long ago to that very same knight. Who is she to you and answer honestly this time."

"Casca is-,"

"-Casca?" Luca repeated. "So that's her name."

"Yeah, well she… she's like a sister to me I guess," Harry told the woman. "And she's very dear to a friend of mine. We found out she was missing and came as fast as we could. She isn't in her right state of mind as you probably saw, and there might be a way to help her." His thought drifted to Flora, if he could convince Guts to come to the spirit-tree, the elderly witch might be able to restore Casca to her old self.

Luca's kind eyes searched his own for any trace of a lie, and Harry returned her gaze, that was as much of the truth as he would disclose. "Your friend," Luca began, "where is he?"

Harry turned to Isidro. "Take Puck and go find Guts, bring him right back here."

"You got it!" Isidro took off, pushing past people and ducking through the crowd in search of the Black Swordsman. When he found out, Guts would be here in no time, his desire to be back with Casca would let nothing stand in his way. This sense of actual hope drove away from the feeling that something, somewhere, was watching them.

A/N: That's about it for this chapter, thank you for reading.


	33. Chapter 33

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

It was thanks to years of fighting and honing his instincts that Guts was able to keep track of Silat. The Kushan assassin was good, he moved as silently as a cat, careful to avoid attention from any in the camp, but keeping close to Guts as well. It was hard to say what the Kushan would do if he did not owe his life to Harry; Guts could at least be sure that Silat was eager to repay his debt by helping to rescue Casca. After that task was completed… Guts would deal with that when the time came. If Silat wanted a fight, Guts would accept, but he doubted it would play out in that fashion.

But thoughts of fighting were the farthest thing on Guts' mind right now. Casca was here, somewhere in this camp of refugees. How had she been surviving this long out of Godo's cave? She didn't have a rune drawn over her brand, so how?

Something Skull Knight once said resonated with Guts. "All children yearn for their parents. Even demons." His and Casca's corrupted infant had appeared to Guts before, always watching him. Could it have done the same for Casca? It was a radical thought, but when it appeared to Guts, it never acted in an aggressive way. The way that it would stare at him, it was almost like how he had once stared at Gambino. Guts found that he didn't want to think about the corrupted infant anymore. What mattered now was finding her, making sure that she was alright after all this time.

"Guuuuutsss!" a tiny blue blur flew right up to his face, stopping itself short of colliding with him. "Hey, Dro! I found him!" Puck yelled. Isidro came running.

The aspiring swordsman bent over clutching his knees. "H-hey. Harry and us… this attractive lady… she and Harry are…" he panted heavily, clearly exhausted from running to catch up to Puck.

Guts eyed him skeptically. "Harry is with an attractive woman? Well, go tell him not to go catching any diseases."

"No!" Puck shook his head. "Why'd you have to go and phrase it like that, Dro? Harry's found a woman who's with Casca."

Guts usually tried his best to ignore Puck whenever possible, but the blue elf had his full attention now. "What?"

"Well… technically she found us, but…"

He grabbed hold of Puck. "Which way?"

"Too… tight…" Puck began to pale. Guts loosened his grip. "Thanks. Anyway, follow us, we'll lead you right to 'em. C'mon!"

If there was someone in Guts' way, he pushed them aside as he followed after Isidro and Puck to where Harry and this mystery woman were. He ignored the pained shouts and curses that the people threw his way, he didn't care to hear them, and they were just like flies buzzing near his ears, something to be ignored. And then he saw them, standing outside of a tent was Harry and a brunette woman maybe a year or two older than Guts himself. Guts stopped short of the woman who seemed a bit startled by his sudden appearance.

"Er, hello," the woman began. "I'm Luca, and your friend here was telling me about Ela-er, I mean, Casca. You must be Guts, I assume?"

"Is she in there?" he pointed at the tent.

"Well, yes, she should be. Nina is watching her today, so-," Guts was already moving past her and into the tent.

When Guts did get inside, he was largely disappointed. Apart from a few blankets and cooking utensils, the tent was completely devoid of people, except for one.

Silat had snuck in through the back as the others trickled in by means of the front. "It would appear that the woman is not here. Perhaps it would be wise if-,"

"-Ahh!" Luca screamed at seeing the Silat in the tent. She reacted by grabbing the nearest thing – a frying pan and throwing it at his head.

"Yeow!" Silat yelped as the tool struck him.

Isidro chuckled. "An assassin who gets taken out by a frying pan? That's pretty lame."

"He never learned the second most important aspect of Elf Dimension Style; how to dodge," Puck shook his head sadly.

"Whoa, easy!" Harry calmed the panicked Luca. "He's with us."

Luca set down the second object she had been about throw – her shoe. "Is that so?"

"He took to sneaking around because he thought other people might have a similar reaction like yours," Harry explained. "He owes a debt and agreed to help us find Casca."

"You trust him?" Luca asked.

"I trust him to stick around and not cause trouble until his debt has been paid. After that is a mystery. You okay, Silat?"

The Kushan assassin rubbed his head where he had been struck. "Ugh. Western women. Their heads are filled with air, but they can hit."

"He's fine," Isidro translated in his own way.

Guts was not concerned if Silat was okay or not. "Where is she?"

Luca was looking anxious as well, but with a hint of disappointment as well. "Damn Nina!" she tried cursing quietly.

"Care to explain?" Guts asked of Luca.

"Nina is one of the girls working under me. We each take turns watching over Casca, making sure she doesn't wander off and keep her away from that, well, I don't even know what to call it, but it looks like some kind of child." Be glad that you don't know. "Nina tends to… slack off. I try to get her to put others first, but she's entitled. If she snuck off again, Casca might have followed."

Again. She's gone again. Why? Why when I'm so close…? I lost sight of what was precious.

"Is there anything you have of Nina's or Casca's?" Harry asked Luca. "I might have a way to track them if I have an idea about their od."

Luca was confused. "Their what?"

"It's a – well it's a way of tracking I can do. So do you have anything?"

Luca contemplated. "I might, but I think I have an idea of where Nina could have snuck off to."

"And where is that, pray tell?" Silat asked he took a condescending tone when talking to Luca. He was probably a bit bitter about being hit and humiliated. The pride of coming from a once reputable clan stood as a high point of vanity for the Kushan.

Luca eyed Silat seriously. "Not far from this camp, a stream leads to a cave of sorts. My girls and I see lots of people sneak off there a lot of times. Rumor has it that they practice pagan rituals. It's only a matter of time before those Holy Iron Chain Knights take notice and close in for the kill."

"They just seem to be all over this place, huh?" Harry rhetorically asked.

"Like a bad rash," Silat offered. "It will continue to spread until the body is overwhelmed."

"I'd be willing to show you the way," Luca offered.

Isidro jumped at the offer. "A beautiful woman with a sense of adventure? I think I might be in love."

Guts was less optimistic about Luca's good intention. "And what's in it for you, huh? What exactly do you get out of helping us out? Hell, why did you even take Casca in, to begin with? She had nothing to offer you in return."

His words seemed to have offended her a bit, but she shrugged off his negative tone. "What's in it for me? Nothing. I just did what I believed any decent person would have done. People are always praying to God to solve their problems that they forget that we all have to will to act ourselves. Mozgus and the Holy See can preach all they want about spreading the joy of God, but all they've done is torture those they think are heretics, they don't care about what happens to us. And I really don't want to be like the people up in that tower who are waiting for a miracle to make a difference." Luca looked him in his eye to further convey her point. "And by helping you I might get to give Nina a spank for acting like a spoiled child."

So, she does it partly to spite the name of God. Heh. Maybe our luck is starting to turn around. "How many people attend this pagan fest?"

Luca thought it over. "I don't know for certain, maybe a few hundred at least."

"Only a few hundred?" Silat asked.

"That's what I believe." Luca folded her arms. "But what would a western woman whose head is filled with air know?"

"Finally one with the decency to admit it," Silat shot back.

"Don't go pissing our guide off," Guts instructed Silat. "We wouldn't want her leading us to a dead end." I'm done with dead ends. If a few hundred need to die so Casca can live… so be it.

Silat eyed him thoughtfully. "As much as I can respect your fighting prowess, I currently only take orders from the young Harry."

"Listen to what he says, Silat," Harry sardonically instructed as well.

At the command, Silat gave a sardonic bow of his head. "Of course." He sounded anything but pleased.

Isidro and Puck were both growing impatient prompting the former to ask, "I thought we were in a hurry. We can save the banter for later, can't we?"

"That's the most intelligent thing you've said so far, kid." Guts looked to Luca. "You're up. Lead us to this pagan place. If Casca's there, she isn't safe."

"Of course," Luca lead the way out of the tent, sending Guts a knowing smile.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing much," Luca said. "I guess I'm just happy Casca has someone willing to move heaven and earth. There might just be hope for all of us ladies then."

Guts' desire to reunite with Casca overcame his willing response to say Luca's words were like a fairy tale. But still, one feeling was lingering along with his desire, an ominous presence that made him feel like they were all being watched. He scanned in every direction, looking to catch some glimpse of this presence. Nothing. Not a damn thing.

Serpico waited for Lady Farnese as they prepared to set out with Father Mozgus and his disciples. They and the Holy Iron Chain Knights would be conducting a raid on a supposed heretic gathering very shortly, and as an attendant, Serpico wanted to make sure his commander was ready to take charge. While it was a part of his duties, Serpico was concerned for the Lady Farnese. She had not quite acted… herself of late, not ever since the night that young wizard managed to escape from them.

Before Farnese had been sure of herself and her faith, so much so she had Serpico burn his own mother at the stake when she was accused of heresy and witchcraft. Farnese had him to that to prove his own innocence, but it showed the true limit she was willing to go to commit herself in the name of God.

Now, Farnese was clearly shaken. She was less sure of herself, always with a far-off look in her eyes like she was thinking about something she was afraid to say out loud to even herself. Serpico knocked on the door to her chambers Farnese was staying in within the Tower of Conviction. It was in the higher levels of the tower, not the lower where the torture pits were located and where Mozgus' disciples spent so much of their time.

"Lady Farnese?" Serpico asked.

Her response was a bit delayed. "…Come in, Serpico."

She was sitting on her bed, a Holy See idol on her nightstand, and a small leather bound book resting on her lap. "Is that from the library?" Serpico asked, not familiar with the cover of the text, it was clearly old.

"With Father Mozgus' permission, of course." Farnese put the book in her satchel and shouldered the accessory. "I haven't the chance to read it yet, though. I thought perhaps it could put my mind to ease, steel my faith to being what it used to be."

Serpico supposed that was what it boiled down to, faith. The Vandimion family was among the richest, if not actually the richest in all of the Holy See controlled territory. Being the youngest and only girl of the family, Farnese had been catered to her entire life, so long as the servants could handle her fits of outburst. For all of her pampering, Farnese never got what she really wanted from her family. Her three legitimate brothers were a fair bit older than her and already studying abroad to further the family interest, and both parents were busy managing family affairs to look after their daughter themselves. That left the servants to tend to a young Farnese, and the only one to stand by her even through her most violent of tantrums was Serpico, the bastard of the Vandimion family. After Farnese had been forced to join a convent, had Farnese used faith as a way to focus her tendencies.

Even if faith to Farnese was like a flickering fire, dangerous if you got close enough, it was what kept her sanity, believing that what she was doing had a meaning, that she was indeed useful. The Black Swordsman and that wizard were making her doubt herself, she was beginning to slip. If he had to…Serpico would have to deal with it, with the both of them. He hated the sight of blood, it really should be kept to the inside of the body, but he was talented with the sword, not the strongest, but he was clever.

"Perhaps God will look out for you if you carry that around," Serpico half-joked. "Priests of old used to carry other holy texts when on missionaries or calling upon God during battle."

"Perhaps he will. Come. Sir Azan is waiting by the main gate for us, if he waits for too long he will begin to bore the men with his talk of days in his prime."

Sure enough, once the pair of them were saddled up and ready to go, they found Sir Azan recounting a story from his youth to those ready to depart. Father Mozgus was there was well, wishing them a safe return and patiently listening to Sir Azan drag on as well.

"Take care, child," Mozgus said to Farnese. "Times might seem perilous, but remember that you are Commander of the Holy Iron Chain Knights, you, and all of us have the power of God on our side. And with, the faith that will shine brighter than any star in the night sky."

"You are very kind, Father Mozgus," Farnese humbled before the Holy See Inquisitor. "We will not fail in our mission."

"I know that you will not, child. For far too long have heretics and heathens infiltrated amongst the common folk, looking to defy our order. If the rumors are true, you will find the head conspirator leading this ritual. I ask that you bring them back here to face public judgment for their sins."

Farnese nodded. "Of course, Father Mozgus. Will they be burned at the stake once found guilty?"

Mozgus gave her a closed-eyed and wide smile. "Indeed they will. For all of your troubles, I will even let you cast the first torch onto that pyre. From what I understand, you are no stranger to burnings."

Serpico considered himself lucky that he had learned to mask certain emotions. Fire made him uneasy as well, it always had ever since he had to burn his mother. Fire and blood, the two things that Serpico was uneasy about, and he was part of a knight brigade that conducted heretic hunts. Truly sound logic to anyone who looks at it.

"I-erm, I look forward to it." Farnese tried to mask her questioning thoughts. It isn't getting easier for you, is it? Just what have you seen or heard to make you act like this? Farnese pushed her apprehension down, finding the will to carry on with the task at hand. "Prepare yourselves, men. This is another heretic hunt, but you all must be in your best state of performance. Sir Jerome reported earlier about having seen a young man dressed in strange garbs, and a scared man dressed all in black. Chances are they have some involvement with the heretics and both are dangerous."

It sounds enough like them to be sure. If our paths happen to cross, I must be ready. Lady Farnese has put too much of her reputation on the line to have it destroyed. If those two impede Farnese any further… I will have to take no chances with them. I really wish this does not have to end with blood, though. I can't stand the sight of it.

True to her word, Luca had led them all straight to where the supposed heretic hangout was supposed to be located. There's a strange od about this place. Harry noticed straight away. There are a lot of life forces inside of this cave, and… something else too. It almost feels like those pseudo-apostles from back at the Misty Valley.

'Perhaps there's an apostle lurking around somewhere?' Schierke guessed. 'With the tower being as old as it is, and all these people, it's no surprise that something might be out of the ordinary.'

And that just means that Casca is somewhere right in the middle of it all.

'Listen, Harry, whatever it is that's in there, just… remember to be careful. You have people with you right now, but don't forget to take of yourself too.'

Gee, Schierke, it sounds like you want to tell me something. It wasn't as teasing as he would have usually said it. The anticipation of finally getting Casca back had him feeling nervous, anxious even. He was really just saying whatever. Harry didn't even hear her respond, probably too confused if he had meant anything more than poking fun at her.

"Over there," Luca pointed to where two men stood outside the mouth of a cave as sentries. They were armed with clubs and were both stark naked.

"When you said they did pagan practices, I didn't think you meant nudism," Isidro admitted.

'Don't look at them!' Schierke shouted from inside his head. 'If you look… down there, I see it too, remember? I don't want to see that!'

It isn't a pretty sight from here either, believe me. "We have to take those two out."

Surprisingly, Silat offered his services. "Allow me. The sooner the woman is rescued, the sooner I can rejoin the rest of my clan." He pulled out a chakram, his blade-like disk, and tossed it with superb accuracy. It slit the throat of the first, and as the second went to examine the fallen body of his friend, Silat snuck up behind him and snapped his neck.

"Now that's an assassin," Puck noted.

"Pretty good, I guess," Isidro had to admit, much to his displeasure.

"Your query awaits inside, I believe," Silat allowed Guts to go first, seeing the determination in his eye. Harry followed next, then Isidro and Puck, then Silat and Luca. The cave narrowed down into a single file passage that was filled with a putrid aroma.

"Gah! What's that smell?" Isidro covered his nose.

"It was not me," Puck quickly said.

"It smells like… sex," Luca observed.

"You speak from experience, I take it?" Silat asked.

"When your profession calls for it, yes, you get a bit familiar with what it smells like." Her answer did not sooth Guts' growing anxiety.

He's getting impatient. Harry knew better than to tell Guts to try and relax. One, because he knew Guts wouldn't listen. And two, because Harry would be a hypocrite if he did. He was just as anxious as getting to Casca as Guts was, but he was trying a lot harder to suppress it. He had faith in Guts ability to save her, but faith alone wasn't going to do anything. "If wanting was enough to get what we wanted, we'd all be kings!" the words Corkus had spoken when Guts planned on leaving came back to him. Harry might not have been the biggest fan of Corkus at times, but he at least knew what he was talking about. Well, sometimes he did.

The pathway they traveled ended at a wraparound ledge to a sizeable den. A large bonfire was lit in the center, casting flickering lights of the dancers on the cave walls. All the dancers were nude, some danced around the fire, some danced together, and some even began to have open intercourse. Men got with women, women got with women, men got with men; it was a free for all down there. And overseeing the entire event was a man with a goat head, goat legs, and a snake for a phallus.

That familiar feeling passed over Harry and Guts both; they recognized the feeling as a pseudo-apostle. Harry felt a tug on his sleeve and he nearly cut the hand before realizing it belonged to Luca.

She was covering her mouth, pointing to something right by his and Guts' feet. They looked down to see a rather exhausted looking corrupted infant. Silat nearly panicked as well, drawing his katars, ready to skewer the infant, but Harry pushed his arms aside. He had never seen it like this; it looked entirely burned out, almost like it was dying. The demon infants toothless mouth began to move.

"Dan…ger…"

Down below two pagans pulled a clothed woman by her arms to stand before the pseudo-goat apostle. She had long black hair and smooth mocha skin. Her childish cries were a contrast to the ones of pleasure and ecstasy coming from all around the fire. The moment the snake phallus began to slither under her clothes was the moment Guts slide down the slope, raced past the orgy, and used Dragonslayer to cut the phallus from the rest of the body.

"Bleerrrghhh!" the pseudo-apostle cried as it fell off of the rock throne that had been constructed. Casca stared up at Guts with a myriad of expressions flashing across her eyes. Even though her memories and her personality were forgotten, she at least recognized that she was safe.

Upon hearing the goat's cries, the orgy stopped. Hundreds of sets of eyes turned to look at where Guts and Casca were. The faces of those who had been partaking in the orgy began to morph, twisting and elongating to resemble something akin to a demon. Even more pseudo-apostles.

"W-what the hell's wrong with them?!" Isidro exclaimed, not expecting the sudden change from the orgy goers.

"Something's granting them the power to turn into those things," Harry vaguely explained, he drew his sword and made ready to go down after Guts. "Isidro, you Puck and Luca stay here. Do what you can to pick some of them off."

"And how do we do that?" Isidro asked.

"There are plenty of rocks around," Harry told him. "I seem to remember you being a pretty good shot with stones."

At the mention, a devilish grin broke out on the younger boys face. "Hell yeah, I am!"

Harry turned to Silat next. "Silat, come down with me and – Silat!"

The Kushan actually seemed a loss for words as he watched the chaos and madness transpire before him. "It's just like that time," Silat recalled the encounter with Wyald. "This land is filled with these monsters."

He was sounding close to panic, and that wouldn't benefit anyone. "Silat!" Harry shouted, more forceful this time. "You want to get out of here? You can as soon as Casca is rescued, alright? But we're going to need your help. Just help to clear out some of these things, and it's basically over from there."

Silat was silent for a pregnant pause. "…I do hope that you are right about that. I would hate to have risked my neck for a lost cause." He slid down the slope, his urumi already out. The whip-like blades reflected the light from the fire like flaming waves over an ocean as they cut through a multitude of the pseudo-apostles.

Harry came down next, making use of his magic on the fire causing it to fan out in a wave-like motion, burning those closest to it. One pseudo-apostle was approaching from behind him, only to fall as a rock struck it in the back of the head. Isidro cheered from up on top of the ledge, happy that he was contributing. Any that tried to climb up the ledge had a rock dropped on top of their head, courtesy of Luca.

As Silat and Harry handled the pseudo-apostles, Guts directed his full attention towards the goat. The thing was a fast one, its legs gave it the advantage when it came to speed, it jumped from wall to wall, and then right back to him. Guts took to using Dragonslayer as a shield since the width of the blade was large enough to be considered one for a regular human. The hooves bounced off of the blade, and the process would begin again. The goat was moving too fast for Dragonslayer to hit, so Guts would have to resort to using his cannon if the damn thing would stay still long enough for him to get a shot off.

As he battled with the goat, shielding Casca as well, Harry and Silat were clearing space around the two combatants, making sure none of the orgy participants got close to Casca or Guts as he fended off the goat. "Aauu!" Casca cooed, unsure of what was going on around her, her basic instinct of fear was setting in.

Guts noticed this, only briefly taking his eye off of his opponent. "Isidro, you Luca and the elf, get down here. Get her somewhere safe."

Isidro threw a few more stones, hitting a few more pseudo-apostles, before sliding down with Luca and Puck in tow. "Yeah! Just leave it to us!"

Trusting her with someone else…

"This way, Casca," Luca tried to coerce her into moving. Casca was unresponsive. "Er, maybe, come on, Elaine?"

That one actually seemed to get some response from Casca, she looked up to Luca, who proceeded to help her to her feet, Isidro kept a handful of stones in case any more trouble were to arise. He would probably need them. Because filing into the cave were the banners of the Holy Iron Chain Knights. The startled face of Farnese de Vandimion was looking down at the scene of carnage and mayhem that was playing out beneath her.

"Not her," Harry heaved. "Why'd she have to show up now?"

"Company?" Silat sounded contemplative. "If we make an escape now, these monsters in human flesh will tear through those knights like water over rocks."

"Search for a side tunnel or something," Guts ordered, blocking another kick from the goat. "Just get her out of here. I'll buy you all the time you need."

Farnese was already giving out an order from above them. "Soldiers, slay the pagans!"

"All of you go now!" Guts yelled. "Split up if you have to, just lead them away! I've got this."

Luca, Isidro, and Puck took Casca and ran one way through the cave; Silat took one path for himself, clearly eager to get out of the mayhem. Harry stalled for a bit, but eventually took his own way as well, that left Guts to deal with the goat. He would take Silat's advice and let the pseudo-apostles clash with the Chain Knights. That was one less set of distractions for him to worry about.

"Looks like that leaves you and me," Guts said to the goat person.

"Bleeeeeghh!"

"You took the words right out of my mouth."

The goat charged at him once again, but Guts changed his stance. Trying to hit this thing by conventional methods was getting him nowhere, and waiting for it to just stand still wasn't going to happen either. So, he would put his luck on both cannon and sword. as the goat closed in on him, Guts fired a shot off straight at the incoming goat, but he put no resistance behind his shot effectively allowing the momentum of the force to spin his body and Dragonslayer in a fast spinning whirlwind.

The result was the separation of the goat's legs from the rest of its body, not even its speed was enough to stop it from getting caught from Guts swing of the sword. "Bleeeghhhhhhh!"

"Yeah," Guts rolled his shoulder, feeling where part of it had popped from the joint. "I'd figured that you would say that." Dragonslayer cut down through horn and neck, shutting the goat up before it could offer up another sound.

The rest of the pseudo-apostles were clashing with the newly arrived Holy Iron Chain Knights. The foolish knights were getting slaughtered, being the sons of nobles and other significant individuals, they were inexperienced enough as it was. Rounding up heretics who probably have never been in a fight before, but against something like a pack of pseudo-apostles, they either had to retreat or die. Guts looked up to see that girl – Farnese something or other, looking down, her face a conflicted mix of emotions. She saw him staring at her, and a desire to have him either killed or captured was visible, but she also saw her knights being torn and ripped to pieces by the strong jaws of the pseudo-apostles. She clutched at her satchel as if to recite a silent prayer, hoping some divine being would intervene.

It didn't.

"A-all forces!" Farnese called out. "Prepare to retreat! We'll seal the cave from the outside!" the knights were more than happy to comply with Farnese's order, pulling back before the pseudo-apostles could gain any more footing or claim any more of their lives. Seeing a window of opportunity, Guts took off the way Luca and Isidro had taken with Casca. Is it really almost over?

The cave had a multitude of tunnels leading in different directions if they were all natural or carved out so the pagan worshipers could make a quick getaway in case their hideout was ever discovered, was a bit of a mystery. It wasn't a mystery Harry had time to dwell on either. There were essentially four sets of people he had to reunite with, and the sooner he was able to do that the better.

Have we really done it? Harry wondered to himself and to Schierke as well.

'I don't want to sound optimistic and then have you be disappointed,' she sounded faintly happy, though.

That's the last thing any of us wants. Guts is probably already done dealing with that goat thing and Luca and Isidro should have found a way out by now. That meant that Casca was out of the place for good.

'I certainly hope that they have. Luca reminds me a bit of Mistress Flora in a way, and Isidro…' Schierke seemed to be racking her vocabulary to find a word to complement the aspiring swordsman. 'Well, he can throw rocks at any would-be attacker long enough to let the others get away. What about Silat?'

Hard to say with him.

'Do you think he took off?'

Actually, no. He's pretty prideful, he'll probably want to hear me say that he's released from his debt just to gain the satisfaction.

'Hm. You're probably right on that.'

The darkness of the tunnel gave way to the fading light of a low setting sun, he had made it out of the cave, but he wasn't quite out of the woods yet. He was now standing on a very narrow rock edge, so narrow that he had to practically hug the wall with his back, leaving him with barely enough space to walk forward like he normally would. A quick look down told him that he would need to be awfully quick with his magic if he were to suddenly fall. And that wasn't even the worst of it, Harry wasn't alone.

A slim figure stood a fair distance away, the setting sun casting his shadow on the side of the rock wall. At first, Harry thought it to be Silat, he stood perfectly balanced like a cat, but the sword in his hand was completely different from the sets of blades the Kushan carried. And he looked nothing like Silat either, this man was blonde and wore the insignia of the Holy Iron Chain Knights.

"Hello," the man, who was probably the same age as Farnese, said. "It would seem I benefitted from scouting the outside of this cave. I haven't really wanted to come across you or the Black Swordsman, but I suppose this is the ideal spot to have a confrontation."

"Look, I'm not really looking for a fight."

"Neither am I. But here we stand." The sunset a little farther, the light cast of their drawn blades slowly diminished as well. "Your name is Harry, correct?"

"What of it?"

"Mine is Serpico, the personal attendant of Lady Farnese."

"Is that a job you volunteered for? She seemed pretty forceful when she wanted to talk to me."

Serpico gave a half shrug of his shoulders. "While I was conscripted at a young age, the choice to stay was my own. Despite her flaws, Lady Farnese is the one I owe my life to. And you made her quite distressed."

"I told her a few hard truths, yeah," Harry admitted as much. "She needed to hear them. If you care about her wellbeing, I'd assume you'd want her to think for herself instead of walking around like a mindless drone."

"That is the furthest thing from what I want for Lady Farnese. But she has become distracted herself from what she truly wants to do. I quite dislike the sight of blood, but if ending you will help bring her peace of mind… I will just have to stomach the sight, I suppose." Serpico sank a little deeper into his fencing-like stance.

Harry's sword arm was aimed at Serpico, but his back was against the wall, swinging would be a hindrance. And with his staff in his other hand; Harry would have to pivot his body to perform the proper movements, something that was severely restricted in this setting. Serpico really picked a good spot for an ambush.

Serpico made the first move, lightly gliding forward with a jab aimed right for Harry's eyes. He had to act fast to bring his sword up to knock Serpico's attack aside. Harry felt his shoulder get cut on the rock behind him because of it. Gah! He mentally hissed.

Stepping back, Serpico waited before gliding forward again, this time aiming his strike at Harry's leg. Instead of blocking this one, Harry let the strike follow through. Before the blade made contact, Harry bent his leg at the knee, stopping Serpico's blade. "I would have at least tried to evade it." Serpico pulled his blade back, expecting to see Harry buckle, or even bleed, but he stood his ground. "Huh?"

"I guess having a brace covering my leg can be useful in fights too." Harry would have to thank Rickert and Godo the next time he saw them. Harry was quick to jab forward while Serpico's guard was down. The attendant stepped back, evading the attack.

"Clever trick," Serpico praised. "It would seem you're capable even without using your magic."

"Guess so," Harry kept an icy tone. I don't have time for this! This guy isn't budging an inch!

'It's about evenly matched,' Schierke noted as well. 'If you could get around to his back, that would give you the advantage.'

Yeah, but I don't really see how-, actually… Harry did a move which had Serpico look at him oddly; he rested his staff against the wall and dug into his satchel. Harry pulled out one of the talismans and tossed it at Serpico's head. As expected, he ducked under it.

"That was a rather… unique strategy," Serpico kept his closed gaze on Harry.

"I guess. But if you got to choose the battleground, I might as well give myself an advantage."

"I don't quite see what you-,!" Serpico's senses picked up that the thing Harry had tossed at him was starting to change. The talisman was growing, taking up the space available to it until it became a four-foot tall, rocky golem. Serpico was trapped between Harry and the golem now. "Oh."

Harry retrieved his staff. "Not really a fair fight, but I don't really care at this point. I'm in a hurry, and you're keeping me from getting there."

Serpico knew that he was beaten, Harry expected him to curse out or something, but instead, "Well it would appear that I've lost. Oh well."

"You're not going to go on about how you're going to uphold Farnese's honor or something?"

"That would fall on deaf ears, wouldn't it? No, I know when I'm beaten and I commend you on your resourcefulness. But I must be going now." Serpico sheathed his blade, jumped from the ledge, but quickly reached out to grab it before he fell to his death. He was crawling along the side, pulling himself up behind Harry and disappearing into the tunnel where Harry had exited.

'He moved… almost like the wind,' Schierke noticed. Harry couldn't agree more, but there were more pressing matters to attend to. He continued along the narrow ledge, following it until it eventually slopped down to even ground.

What he found at the end was Isidro, and to a lesser extent, Puck locked in battle with a Holy Iron Chain Knight. Isidro was doing a good job of ducking at dodging the incoming attacks, but his flimsy sword was doing a piss-poor job of actually landing an effective hit against his opponent.

Harry was about to intervene, but a fast-moving shape had beat him to the punch. Silat drove one of his blades through the back of the knight's head; he pulled his blade out and used the knight's surcoat to wipe the blood off.

"Uh…" Isidro was stunned at having been saved by Silat. "Thanks, I guess."

Silat regarded him. "Perhaps if you were competent with a sword, you wouldn't have to extend your gratitude."

"Geez. You can just take the compliment, you know. Greasy bastard."

"Getting along, I see." Harry made his presence known to the both of them.

"Of course," Silat said. "We're practically old friends."

"I can do without the sarcasm," Harry said. "Isidro, where's Luca and Casca?"

"Guts isn't back yet, is he?" Isidro asked almost nervously.

"Where are they?" Harry asked again.

"Well when we ran off into that one tunnel, Casca wandered off, Luca went to bring her back, but when we got out we saw Casca being nabbed by some of those knights. They're taking her back to the tower!"

No. It's happening again, just like that time.

"Uughh…" her eyes flickered open as a faint source of light came into her line of vision. What is this place? I remember going after Casca when she had wandered off. Then… I must have fallen down some side tunnel. But what is this light? "Urgh!"

Luca rubbed at the back of her head feeling where a bruise was starting to form. She rubbed at her eyes next; the faint light was still there. Good to see that I'm not going blind. Thinking that it might be the setting sun, Luca walked toward the faint light. It wasn't the sun like she had thought, it was a candle. Don't tell me there are more of those pagan worshipers around. She had no means of defending herself on hand if there were any more of those hooligans running around.

She heard something shuffle across the ground, felt a pair of eyes on her. "So long since something living came here. But I've never minded the quiet, the isolation has been with me for my entire life." Something scurried around in the dark. "How long have you been at the tower out there? I've been my entire life, always watching, keeping an eye out on the comings and goings. But I had to be careful not to be seen. When people saw me, they got frightened, they would throw things at me, call me names. I took refuge at the base of the tower; the world above me provided me with food as dead bodies would roll down to where I was."

Luca was aware of a rounded shape lurking in the dark, just behind the candle, before it scurrying away again. "And the corpses started to pile up higher and higher. I was trapped, suffocated beneath the weight of the world above me. But that all changed when I met the angels. A sacrifice was needed, but I had none to give. I was just a boy with nothing to give except for my life and the world that I knew. My sacrifice does not have to be bound by another's flesh, but my life for a new world."

A spider-like leg poked out of the darkness followed by another one, and another one. Ten legs in total, all attached to the body of an orange egg-shaped thing with various facial features scattered all over its body. "The Egg of the Perfect World, they called me." She stood there, stock still watching the egg crawl along; in one of its legs, it held a totem of the Holy See. "You listen well." That was probably due to the fact she had no idea what to say even if she could find her voice. "It was nice having someone listen, and-,"

"A fitting shape for you to have taken."

A new voice from behind Luca. She tilted her head to see a tall, imposing figure with his blade drawn. His armor was skeletal and his glowing eyes seemed to regard both her and the egg. Her voice started to come back. "D-death?"

"Stand behind me, woman."

She was probably going crazy, taking an order from Death. "A-alright."

"So, they have promised you apostlehood in exchange for your own life? How convenient that they would grant it to you who once dwelled beneath that tower. A fitting response given its history."

Luca saw the egg start to panic, it lashed out toward Death, but the blade he wielded was faster. Two of its ten legs came flying off, dark blood-stained Death's blade. It whimpered as it scurried past, moving past them both and further down the tunnel.

"A fast one." Death scooped her up, carrying Luca back to his steed which was just as bony and skeletal as he was. "I shall continue my pursuit." He spurred his horse on, and the underground labyrinth of tunnels seemed to fly at an almost impossible speed. Luca's eyes fought to adjust to all of what was being rushed past her, and she became distinctly aware that they were now outside of the sprawling cave.

She gripped the back of Death's cape. Despite the speed, Death's horse is surprisingly gentle. I guess that's a good thing. Maybe it means I've been good during my time alive. It makes me wonder what the other side will be like. "Um, excuse me, Death, where exactly are we going?"

Death slowed his horse to a near stop. "You are not dead."

"Oh." Well, that's good news. "Well… thank you for saving me then, Death. Or do you prefer to be called by another name?" if I'm not dead, I might be losing my mind. Here I am having a conversation with Death about his name.

"That is irrelevant." Death told her. "My mission is similar to that of the Struggler and the Wizard."

Does he mean Guts and Harry? "Then you aim to rescue Casca as well?" Death must be feeling generous today.

"The path of that woman will lead them right back to the tower. Look for yourself." Death pointed to where the Tower of Conviction was pitched against the backdrop of the now set sun. a great amount of commotion seemed to be going down outside and even from the tower itself. Great masses of red blobs like blood were swarming inside and out. The tower must be overflowing from the inside as the top of it caved inward.

"That look like…" from her position on Death's horse, the tower looked like an open palm of a hand. Four distinct shapes began to manifest in the "palm" of the tower. "What are those?"

"Imitations of the real things," Death informed. "And there are but four of them present."

"And Casca is there now?"

"The ones you traveled with are making their way to her as we speak, towards an imitation that seeks to change the world you reside in."

"Will you bring me to them at least?" Luca asked. "I wish to see Casca safe and secure."

Death's glowing eyes regarded her. "A kind heart beats within you. Treasure your own life as you do others." Death set his gaze on something behind Luca. He dismounted and pulled her down as well. "Go if you will, but do not linger here."

"Er… what do you mean by…?" from up above a pair of great black wings propelled an even greater mass towards the ground to stand opposite of Death. It was a towering black behemoth with large goat legs, a tail, a lion-like face, and a single large horn on the right side of its head. The left one was just a bony stump. The slit eyes of the beast landed on her before regarding Death.

"How am I not surprised to find you here, Old Rival."

"Zodd, your presence is expected. You guarded the gate during the Eclipse, it seems only fitting that you appear for this imitation."

Zodd? Nosferatu Zodd, the legendary mercenary? Luca looked between the two. Zodd's gaze landed on her once again. He's looking at me. "H-hello…" she gave a haphazard wave.

"You find a voice to speak? Impressive. You are not a warrior, and yet address me plain as day. Heed my rival's advice and be gone."

No need to tell me twice. A quick look at Death told her that she should heed Zodd's words, and she was quick to take off, leaving the two of them to themselves.

"Feeling nostalgic? It isn't like you to show mercy when on a battlefield."

Zodd huffed and snarled, exposing his fangs. "If I came here for a battle perhaps it would have ended differently."

"Oh? Are you not here to live up to your reputation?"

"You only need to take a look at the top of that tower. There are only four imitations present."

A/N: That's it for this chapter. Next one things will come to a head to finally save Casca. Thank you for reading.


	34. Chapter 34

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Malfoy Manor

To say that things at Hogwarts had been hectic as of late would be a gross understatement. Draco was glad to have been getting a letter from home expressing how his presence was requested back at the manor during this Hogsmeade Weekend. Let it never be said that Draco Malfoy didn't enjoy watching the drama unfold, but even he had his limits, although he would certainly never admit it to anyone not of Slytherin House, of course.

The Triwizard Tournament was a large part of it to be sure, but not for the obvious reasons. Ever since the drawing of the champions and Rita Skeeter's following article, all talk had been about Potter. Potter this and Potter that, where is Potter? Other champions, who are they? We want answers, and we want Potter. Honestly, what do they expect? A few idiotic Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors were entirely convinced Potter had snuck into the school in the middle of the night, put his name in the goblet, and then disappeared just to cause a scene.

Morons, Draco thought disdainfully. There's no point in slandering a person if they aren't there to hear it. If Potter was present, that would be a different story. Would Draco praise Potter, or call him a cheat like a small portion of the school? Hard to say, that would depend on what house Potter would be sorted in.

Then there was the teaching situation. Professor Moody, or, the "real" Moody was found locked in his own trunk, his imposter long gone. While Moody was being treated at St. Mungo's, a temporary replacement had been called back; the werewolf, Remus Lupin.

The old fool was really starting to slip, calling a half-breed back after he got sacked. The place really is going to the dogs. And that, of course, led to the action every student of every house, and even some of the visiting students seemed to hate. Minister Fudge saw fit to appoint his undersecretary to Hogwarts.

She monitored every class, took note of everything, and Fudge had even managed to convince (bribe) Ludo Bagman into letting her become a judge for the tournament. Umbridge was a Ministry lackie through and through, and given Draco's father's standing within the Ministry, she was civil towards Draco and most other Slytherins, but that didn't mean that he enjoyed her presence. So, yes, visiting the manor for a weekend would be a good way to get away from the toad of a woman.

Dobby the House Elf greeted him in the main foyer upon his arrival. "Young Master Draco, may Dobby take your luggage?" his large green eyes stared up at Draco.

"Bring them to my room," Draco ordered. "I'll be up there shortly."

"Mistress Cissa asked Dobby to tell young Master Draco that she would like to talk to you in the dining room." The elf fidgeted on his feet, rocking back and forth on the ball of his heels.

"What for?" Draco asked. "She can talk to me in the study or my room. It isn't time for dinner yet."

"She did not say, Master Draco. She just told Dobby that it was urgent. Master Lucius is with her as well."

Father too? I thought he'd still be at the Ministry. "Bring my luggage up, Dobby," Draco reaffirmed his order. "I'll be up after I see what this about."

Dobby bowed his head, his large floppy ears bent with his head. He grabbed Draco's bags and disapparated with a pop! He was fidgety today, Dobby usually walked when carrying out an order, something had seriously spooked the elf.

Draco made his way through the manor, spotting his mother, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, outside of the dining room, the doors closed behind her. For some reason she seemed a bit off as well, not looking as comfortable in her own home as she should.

"Mother," Draco greeted, lacking the usual drawl and superior tone that he carried while attending Hogwarts.

"Draco." She seemed rather eager to pull him into an embrace.

"What's this all about?" Draco asked, prying himself away from his mother's grasp. "You look… anxious. Has your cousin decided to step down as the head of House Black?" if that were the case, Draco could claim inheritance through his mother to take up lordship of House Black.

"No, Draco, he has not." She fiddled with one of the rings on her fingers. "We have some rather important guests."

"Guests?" Draco parroted.

"She nodded slowly. "Your father is waiting inside. He didn't want to begin without you."

Father wanted him to attend? He would occasionally take Draco to Gringotts to learn how to deal with the filthy goblins and how to handle finance, but he wouldn't postpone meetings on Draco's behalf. The owl Draco had gotten from home had been very vague as to what was going on, and this only added to the suspense of it all.

"Then it's best not to keep father waiting." He made a move to enter but felt his mother place her hand on his shoulder. She had a rather surprisingly strong grip.

"Draco," she sounded… almost pleading, "just watch what you say."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Of course."

Pushing open the doors, Draco stepped inside, he instantly recognized a few faces in attendance, he went to Hogwarts with some of their children. There was Nott Sr. Crabbe and Goyle Sr. Avery, a bunch of his father's old acquaintances from over the years. His father was not seated at the head of the table like a proper host, however. Lucius Malfoy sat at the edge of the head, to the left of a handsome, dark-haired man. He was a man whom Draco had never seen before, but as he made eye contact with the man, he saw a pair of red eyes looking back at him; red eyes with slit pupils.

Draco instantly froze in his tracks. It, it can't be. All these people in attendance, the sense of unease that had been filling the manor, it was all because of this man. He looks nothing like how father and the stories described. Apart from the unnerving slit pupils and red eyes, no part of this man resembled a snake. If anything, he looked the epitome of how a pure-blood lord should look.

When he spoke, his voice was powerful and cold like sharpened ice. "Ah, this is your son Draco, Lucius. He looks very much like you."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"That was an observation, not a compliment, Lucius." The Dark Lord drew his wand, pulling a seat out next to Draco's father. "Come, Draco, we've saved you a seat."

Draco's legs seemed to move on their own accord, walking toward the drawn chair and sitting down. He's actually back. I'm meeting with the Dark Lord. For all of Draco's boasting within Slytherin House about how his father was an invaluable Death Eater during the war, Draco had never thought that he would be meeting the Dark Lord. Father would deny it now, but he was always unsure if the Dark Lord was dead or not. No one except for the Dark Lord knew what happened that night at the Potter's cottage, so it was impossible to say for sure.

"You're speechless, I see." The Dark Lord's lips curled up into a half-smile.

A pang of fear brought Draco back to reality. "Er, thank you… my Lord." I'm calling him Lord already.

"You need not speak much, Draco, just listen and answer honestly. I will know if you lie." The Dark Lord laced his long fingers together. "Tell me, has your father ever told you how he first became a supporter of mine?"

Draco eyed his father from his peripheral vision, waiting to see a discreet nod of the head to indicate he could answer. "He, he told me about your vision for our society – a pure-blood one, as it should be. If muggle-borns keep flooding in they would destroy our society and culture. My father," he eyed his father before continuing, "he believed what you stood for, plucking weeds from the field." Why is my throat going dry already?

The Dark Lord eyed him calculatingly. "Plucking weeds from the field? A fitting metaphor, Draco, you're quite the wordsmith." It was impossible to tell if he was sarcastic or not. "Yes, Lucius was quick to grasp the correct philosophy of this world when I started speaking it. But has he ever told you of his involvement at school? At Hogwarts? You see, your father was quite useful, always ready to pass along any valuable recruits for initiation. You admire your father, Draco?"

"I- of course, my Lord."

"That is good to hear, Draco, very good indeed. As it stands, I believe you can be very much like your father, influential amongst your peers. Would you do it, Draco? Would you help your classmates, the more reputable one's of course, like your father once did for so many of his?"

So that's what this was; an introduction of sorts. He had just walked into the meeting that would turn him into a Death Eater in the making. It was a career that he had considered once or twice based on the stories father had told him, but to actually have the opportunity presented to him, that was something else. Ask any student in Hogwarts and they would say that he was the most staunch supporter of pure-blood rights and privilege in the entire school, he should be well suited this task. But if I fail? If he is displeased with my performance, what will he do? The Dark Lord was powerful, Draco could practically feel another level of energy radiate off of him, and he had heard the stories of what happened to those who disappointed him. The Dark Lord hadn't said it out loud, but the threat was still present in his tone; a gift a true Slytherin could utilize.

"I-I know some of my classmates feel the same," Draco cautioned himself. "I'm sure if I talked to them, they'd be willing to support you."

Much to his relief, the Dark Lord smiled a calculated smile, not a malevolent one. "Excellent. See that, Lucius? Your son is already working on fixing the wrongs on your end." The Dark Lord is displeased with Father? "Let them know, Draco, let them know that their Lord awaits them when they are ready. But the issue of my most devoted followers takes priority at the moment. Once they are free, they will get their reward."

Back at the Tower of Conviction and the surrounding town of St. Albion, things were in complete disarray. The presence of three people bearing the Brand of Sacrifice had unleashed a wave of utter turbulence and chaos. Creatures taking the form of bloodied blobs banded together like a red sea of bloody madness. As they spread from inside the tower and town of St. Albion to the camp outside, they gained in number and size with each person that they consumed. The fire proved to be the most effective way of repelling the bloody blobs, but once a torch died out, so did the one holding it.

With his magic, Harry was able to cast a ring of fire around Guts and his party, the flames working on repelling the dark entities as they pushed forward to the wall surrounding the tower and St. Albion. That was where Inquisitor Mozgus stood with his disciples; Casca was tied to a pole as dry wood was placed at her feet. Harry didn't have thought transference with Guts like he did with Schierke, but the swordsman's anguish and frustration were palpable enough for them all to feel it.

A desperate cry of, "Hey!" made Harry temporarily pause, spotting Luca running up to the protective circle of flames. Harry dispelled the ring of fire temporarily, allowing Luca to join them before casting the spell again.

"Where were you?!" Isidro hounded once she was safe. "I thought that you fell and died!"

"Well, I did meet Death," Luca told him. "He's the reason I'm still here."

Skull Knight, Harry instantly realized. What's he doing here? If he was here, then there was the chance that he might help them out, he had done so before in order to rescue them during the Eclipse.

"You Westerners have such a strange set of metaphors," voiced Silat. He seemed more on edge than before with the appearance of these accursed spirits, both of his blades were drawn, but looking unsure if they would be of any use against these nightmarish things.

The nearer they got to the wall, the thicker the crowd and congestion of the sea of blood became. It was as if all the fear, desperation, sickness, ugliness, and negativity had all gotten together to make this thing as strong as it was; a monument to all of peoples sins.

From atop the wall, Mozgus rambled on, sprouting the glory of God. "This time of sorrow is nearly at an end! The witch responsible for this monstrosity has been caught and she will burn for her sins!" Mozgus spread his arms, looking like he was ready to receive some divine blessing from Gog above.

As it turned out – he did.

A large pair of angelic wings sprouted from his back. 'Harry, he's a pseudo-apostle!' Schierke's mental voice was frantic.

Just like that goat-man. Mozgus' pale eyes spotted Harry's group within the traveling ring of fire. "There! Further proof of the sorcery that plagues this land! They seek to stop the execution of this witch!"

Some Holy Iron Chain Knights led by Sir Azan tried pushing their way toward the group, but Harry increased the intensity of the flames encircling them. It doesn't look like Farnese or Serpico are with them. After his brief scuffle with Serpico, Harry wasn't too eager to see what other slippery tricks the blonde attendant could pull.

The gate leading into the town of St. Albion was visible now. Like the rest of the place, the gate was a congested mess of those bloody blobs. "Please, allow us to deal with this, Father Mozgus." Mozgus' disciples sprouted the same angelic wings as their teacher and master. "You have taught us well, you took us in when no one else would, allow us to repay your kindness. We will exterminate these pests for you."

Mozgus smiled fondly at his one disciple. "Committing yourselves fully in the name of our one true God… may he aid you in your coming struggle. Whatever the result may be, you may all rest knowing that you have a seat in the divine heaven above." Mozgus dismissed his fellow pseudo-apostles, and down they flew – straight down for Harry and the rest.

Acting fast, Harry dispersed of the fire ring surrounding them, lifting the restrictions of movement. "Go!" Harry yelled to Guts. "Get Casca! Silat and I will handle them!"

Guts didn't need telling, he was basically sprinting forward the moment the fire disappeared. Dragonslayer worked wonders as it cut through the cluster of accursed beings, allowing Guts to continue on unperturbed.

"What about us?" Isidro asked, referring to him and Luca.

"Go with him," Harry instructed. "If Mozgus puts up a fight, you get Casca out of there."

Isidro and Puck gave a salute. "Consider it done, man!" they, as well as Luca ran after Guts, following the path he was carving with Dragonslayer.

"You must have a lot of confidence," Silat told him as the disciple pseudo-apostles landed in front of them.

"Guts'll come through, believe me," Harry said with certainty.

"I meant in you and me," Silat corrected. "Those… things are clearly beyond human."

There were six of them in total. A disfigured set of twins each held a long, curved blade of a modified wood saw if they were to put or trap someone between the two… it made for an effective weapon for a set of twins like them. There was an imp, wielding two sets of pliers; they were just the right size to pluck people's eyes from their sockets. Next was a tall and gangly one with a large underbite and a dead look in his eyes; he held some iron hooks attached to some rusty chains. After him was a behemoth of a man, covered in rippling muscle and hefting a large wagon wheel with him, the spokes of which were covered in deep red stains from previous tortured victims. Leading them was a slim figure covered completely in a red leather outfit and wearing a mask of a birds face; he carried a long spiked choker, and even with his feet now resembling talons as a result of his pseudo-apostle transformation, he seemed the most normal out of the bunch.

The avian-looking one was also the one to speak for the assembled disciples. "You seek to stop the burning of your fellow witch." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, that's about right," Harry didn't try to keep a civil tone. "You could be helpful and step aside, birdbrain."

"I help only God, Father Mozgus, and the true followers of the Holy See doctrine." He twirled his choker around. "You will go no further."

"With these creatures closing in, no one is going to be going anywhere," Harry readied himself, as did Silat. "If your god is willing to let these people die, what does that say about you and your precious faith?"

"The Lord works in mysterious ways," the disciple replied, his wings reared back. "But one thing is for sure; once that witch burns, this mess will be over."

The pair of stunted twins were the first to make their move, each holding their own part of the split bladed saw, they looked to trap Harry and Silat between them. Silat reacted by tossing one of his chakrams at one of the twins' wings. The bladed disk struck true, cutting one of the tendons of the wing, limiting the flight both the twins were trying to maintain. Harry followed that up by sending a concentrated blast of lightning at the other twin, shocking him, causing the pair of them to drop like flies.

Before either could hit the ground, the rest of the disciples were already making their advance, their wings carrying them faster towards Harry and Silat.

The twisted little imp gunned straight for Harry and was soon right in front of his face. Having already avoided a second blast of lightning sent out by Harry and ducking under the swing of his sword, the imp was ready to make his attack. "Geeheehee!" the imp cackled as he flew up to Harry's face, his pliers ready to pluck Harry's eyes fright from out of his sockets.

'Gah!' Schierke yelped as Harry barely craned his neck out of the way in time, the pliers struck his glasses instead, cracking the lens.

As Harry worked on fending off the imp, Silat was battling with the tall and lanky one. The whip-like blades of Silat's urumi were crashing against the chains of the disciple he was facing. He focused on using one urumi to keep the chain at bay, while the other worked at cutting away at the wing to guarantee that flight was not an option.

"Such a sloppy technique," Silat mocked the disciple. "Are you truly the best your master could send?"

"Raaghh!" the big, rippling behemoth came charging with his wagon wheel held in front of him. Silat didn't have enough time to evade the charge from the giant-like man and the Kushan found himself pressed against the wheel. But the behemoth of a man didn't stop there; he kept running until he slammed into Harry as well.

Harry let out a near comical, "Oof!" as both Silat and the wheel slammed into him, knocking them both down and knocking the air from their lungs.

'Get up! Please, get up!'

Working on it. Harry saw the behemoth lift the wheel high above his head, ready to bring it down and crush the both of them.

"You shall not disgrace the name of Father Mozgus or God any longer!"

Harry raised his staff, pointing it directly into the face of his and Silat's assailant. "Lumos Maxima!" a blinding flash of light emanated from his staff, catching the disciple off guard and blinding him.

"Aagh!" the disciple dropped the wheel, both Harry and Silat rolled out of the way before it fell right where they would have been.

"Try not to piss these guys off any more than they are," Harry told Silat. "They already hate us enough as it is."

Silat drew his katars. "Very well. I'll make short work of this one then." With the behemoth still stunned and blinded, Silat began slicing away at the man's vital areas and tendons. By cutting both Achilles' tendons, the behemoth fell, giving Silat the opportunity to slit his throat.

Harry was about to resume his battle with the imp – when he felt cold, sharp steel sink into his forearm. The tall, gangly disciple had blindsided him. With a tug, Harry was once again pulled off of his feet. The disciple pulled him forward before knocking him back with a powerful kick to the midsection.

With the steel of the chain still sinking into Harry's arm, the disciple pulled him back just to toss him around some more. He seemed keen on living up to the reputation of the torturer's mask he wore. 'Please tell me that you have a plan.'

I have a plan; it's just a bit rushed.

Feeling like his arm was about to ripped right out of its socket, Harry tossed his sword at the disciple who held him at bay. As expected, the disciple was able to sidestep the projectile, the sword landed behind him. The steel sank deeper into Harry's arm as he cried out, "Accio sword!"

The discarded blade came flying back to meet Harry, but encountered an obstacle directly in its path; the body of the disciple Harry was fighting. The disciple simply looked down at the blade protruding from his chest; blood began to trickle from the corners of his mouth as he released a dying gurgle. Harry yanked the chain hook off of his forearm, seeing as most of it was now raw and bleeding, but still able to function. Puck has his work cut out for him after this is done.

Indeed, the fight appeared to be nearing its end, Silat had taken up fighting the imp. The disciple was evading Silat's chakrams easily due to his enhanced speed, but he could not get close to Silat with his urumi creating an almost hurricane-like barrier around him, occasionally nipping away and pieces of flesh if the imp got too close for comfort. That just left the-,

'Feathers!'

A sudden barrage of feathers shot toward Harry, who barely had enough time to cross his arms in front of his face to keep the projectiles from hitting his face. It was a good thing too – some of the feathers that struck him were sticking out of him like pins in a pincushion, they were like knives. Before Harry could even register what had even fully happened, a gust of wind shot past him and he felt two sets of talons wrap around his head, two of which pierced his cheeks.

The disciple in the red leather suit and bird mask was perched atop his head like a falcon ready to take flight. "You fight well," the disciple spoke down to him. "My brothers… they did not need to die, but… they reside with God in his kingdom now, that is more than most can ask for in their lifetime." Harry felt the talons tighten, sinking deeper into him. "I can take comfort in knowing that you and the rest of your heathen group will be consumed along with the rest of the sinners."

The bloody forms the accursed spirits had taken were closing in on the site of the battle, having been kept at bay by Harry's previous ring of fire, nothing was stopping their progress now. Do something! Harry mentally urged himself, trying to angle his staff arm up at the disciple on top of his head, but the moment he tried to do that the disciple twisted his body, forcing Harry to move as well or else wind up with a snapped neck.

"Your magic against the power bestowed by God is a cheap trick," the disciple analytically said. "Perhaps you can atone for that in your afterlife, pagan." His talons began to sink deeper, but a curved blade of a chakram cut across the disciples' bird-like feet, causing him to flinch and release Harry from his grasp.

The imp lay dead at Silat's feet, the body a twisted and mangled heap of meat that had been sliced many times over by his urumi. Silat twirled the other chakram with his finger. "Sorry, but I can't have you going and killing the one who I am indebted to. If that were to happen, I'd be forced to swear my allegiance to his next of kin."

He sounds so enthused.

'You realize you have to thank him for that.'

One thing at a time.

"And it seems like I, the one with the shortest life of my brothers is the last to stand," the disciple said mournfully. "Rest in peace, my brothers." His eyes glowered behind the glass lens of his bird-like mask. "I will fulfill Father Mozgus' request on your behalf."

He charged Harry full speed with his spiked choker held out in front of him like a knight with a lance. He has the length over my sword, Harry realized. But if I… the disciple closed the gap between them fast. Harry felt a cold stinging sensation poke at his throat, and he twirled his staff so the blade end was pointed forward, and thrust it straight toward the disciple.

Blood began to leak from the cut dealt to his throat, and the disciple fell to his knees, the grip on his choker starting to loosen and Harry let out a gasp, relief filling his lungs. He yanked the choker off of him, tossing it down next to the dying disciple beneath him.

"I'm sorry… Father… Mozgus… gak! I… I see… the sun…" even with the glass lens in the way, Harry could see the disciples' eyes go cold, his body now limp.

Silat crossed his arms, looking down at the dead disciples. "They died for their god, a shame. Since when have gods been known to accept failures?"

"You can save any talks about God," Harry told him, rubbing his throat where the cold metal of the choker had poked into him. "I'm about sick of hearing about him."

"I'm in agreement with you on that," Silat said. "This land is nothing but a slim hole for the corrupt and monstrosities."

Harry cast his gaze up to the wall where Father Mozgus was. "No argument there. Come on then. I'm sure you're anxious to be free of your debt." Feeling tired from the fight with the disciples, Harry was able to summon a fraction of the fire he had before, enough for him and Silat to carve a path through the closing accursed spirits, the goal of rescuing Casca was near complete.

Almost there! Almost there! Almost there! Those were the words Guts was repeating over and over again inside of his head, the drive to rescue Casca propelling him forward past these accursed spirits that were completely swarming the entire area of the Tower of Conviction and St. Albion. Dragonslayer worked as a substitute for fire, surprisingly, but more than once tiny pieces of the creatures would land on some of his exposed skin, causing a tiny burn to appear from where it touched the flesh. It stung, but it was bearable, it was similar to receiving the Brand of Sacrifice, but with less consequence involved.

He was vaguely aware of Isidro, Puck, and that Luca woman following behind him and the path he was carving up the stairs and to the top of the wall where Mozgus was with a bound Casca. He cleared the final step, now on level ground, and one last obstacle standing in his way; a wave of the bloody blobs was high enough to leer over the wall, and two Holy Iron Chain Knights tried fending it off. As he neared them, he saw it was their commander – Farnese de Vandimion and her one attendant.

Farnese spotted his approach, eyes wide, but she made no move to try and stop him, she just seemed concerned with surviving the bloody mass that was seeping its way up the wall. Once the "head" of the thing cleared the rampart, Guts cleaved the thing through with Dragonslayer, not bothering to look back at the stunned knights behind him, his goal was within literal sight.

Casca was still bound to the stake, looking around curiously like she had no idea what was going on, or aware of the danger that she was in. Inquisitor Mozgus held a flaming torch, ready to drop it on the dry wood that lined Casca's feet.

"And so ends the terror and witchcraft that plagues the land of St. Albion. God, let your flames burn the heathens and their practices, for we are the people of your grace." Mozgus recited a text from the Holy See Doctrine.

Dragonslayer closed the distance between Guts and Mozgus. "Don't you fucking dare!"

The angelic wings folded down, taking the brunt of Dragonslayer's force, and propelling Mozgus back a fair distance. "Aauuu!" Casca whined.

"It's alright," Guts tried to assure her, even though she was incapable of understanding what he was saying. He worked at getting her bonds undone. "You're getting out of here. You don't have to-,"

Something slammed into Guts, hard. It felt like a pillowcase filled with stones hit his side. Even with armor, Guts felt the impact of that blow. He groaned as he looked to see what had caused it. Father Mozgus was back on his feet, his angelic wings curled at the end to resemble fists, but they were now a much darker color, the color of stone. In fact, Mozgus' entire body was now covered in those stone-grey feathers.

"Thank you, Lord, for bestowing this gift upon one unworthy as myself. I swear to you, God, this man will pay the price of interference."

"More talk about God?" Guts spat at the feet of the full pseudo-apostle Mozgus. "Get over yourself."

The stone-like face of Mozgus twisted into one of pure fury. "You dare to make a mockery of God in this sacred land?!"

"So sacred that you have all these monsters running around?" Guts rhetorically asked. He scoffed, "Some God."

"Have at thee!" Mozgus yelled in fury, charging towards Guts, his wings acting like fists and swinging down at Guts. He raised Dragonslayer to act as a shield of sorts to block Mozgus' onslaught, but he felt his knees buckle after the first initial set of blows.

Damnit! He's actually pretty strong! Guts pushed back against the barrage of winged punches, breaking Mozgus' series of attacks. He's strong, but he doesn't know how to fight, he's left himself wide open. Guts swung Dragonslayer at the hip, looking to cleave Mozgus in two, but was surprised when the blade didn't sink all the way through.

"Thank you, God!" Mozgus praised. "Thanks to your gift, I can continue to fight this man and deliver onto him your judgment!"

"Will you shut up?!" Guts roared, ready to attack again, but Mozgus took advantage of Guts' distraction.

A wing hit him in the midsection, causing him to double over, and then brought both wings down on his back, slamming Guts to the stone battlement. With his regular arms, Mozgus grabbed Guts by the hair and directed his gaze over the side of the battlements.

"Look! Look at all the people down there! See their sadness and despair, see their lives end to this horrible fate! Would you sacrifice all of their lives, the lives of God's children, for the life of just one witch?!"

Guts reared his head back, slamming into Mozgus's face and breaking the hold. "Yeah. I really would."

"Heathen!" Mozgus yelled, his face contorting more than it had been previously. "Heretic! Pagan! Undesirable cur!"

"You're just repeating yourself now," Guts taunted. "And you should put your fire to some real use; you're not burning a witch today." They really came through. Isidro and Luca were finishing up undoing the bonds that tied Casca to the post, helping her down, Isidro even flashing him a quick thumbs up.

Harry and Silat were racing over to them as well, looking a little worse for wear, but still driven for their own reasons and desire to see this through to the end. Farnese and that Serpico guy were close behind them, standing a distance away, but not making any threatening move.

"Commander Farnese!" Mozgus shouted. "Your timing is impeccable, do your duty and slay these heathens!"

Farnese stared wide-eyed at Mozgus' new form. "F-father Mozgus… you…"

"You really need to shut your mouth!" Guts pointed his arm cannon right at Mozgus' gaping maw. KABOOM! The cannon blast filled Mozgus' mouth with smoke and fire, he began to undergo a series of intense coughs, his feathered chest rising and falling, creating a gap at his breastbone. Guts drove Dragonslayer into the gap, leading the impaled Mozgus over to the ramparts.

"G-God…"

"If you see God, tell him to leave me the hell alone!" Guts raised Dragonslayer and tossed Mozgus from the top of the battlements, the body of the inquisitor falling down into the red sea of blood below.

"Father Mozgus…" Farnese was left staring. "Were you really…?"

A tidal wave of blood, the largest one yet began slithering its way up the Tower of conviction, seeking to cover it completely. The backwash of the wave was seeping onto the ramparts of the wall they were all on now, even Dragonslayer wouldn't be enough to hold it all off.

Harry was quick to gather pieces of wood from the unused pyre and began lighting them as torches, passing them around to everyone, even to Farnese and Serpico – albeit reluctantly. Farnese seemed to be in the middle of praying.

"Hey," Guts addressed toward her. "Don't pray, you won't have any free hands."

She looked down at the torch in front of her, Serpico already holding his. "A light that I can grasp onto." She reached out and took the torch. For the next few hours, they stood as an impenetrable wall, something the one around St. Albion couldn't do.

"It hurts, it hurts so bad." The cuts the Skull Knight had made to the Egg of the Perfect World had yet to heal, his legs had not grown back, but he was alive. Or rather, he was alive for the moment. His time was near, he knew this to be a fact, so he had chosen to see the old world from the best vantage point that he knew – the top of the Tower of Conviction.

The sight was morbidly grandiose, fire and death were everywhere, a spectacle for the ages, and he would spend it like he had spent his life; alone. Was this what he wanted, to die alone? No one knew or cared who he had been in life, they certainly wouldn't miss him in his passing.

"Auu." The faint squeal caught Egg's attention. It was a baby, or rather what a baby should look like if it were still in the womb. It looked… weak. Dying, much like him in fact.

"Hello, little one, where did you come from?"

"Au."

"You're tired. Your flame is all but burned out. I can relate. My time is short as well, the price to pay to bring about the new beginning of a perfect world." He scooted closer to the demon baby. "Do you want to spend your final moments alone as well?"

"Auu."

"Neither do I." he scooped the demon baby into the crook of one of his legs. "Let us make the most of this occasion." He placed the demon infant in his mouth, and closed it, a content smile on his mouth as his facial features began to rearrange themselves to form a concrete face. He closed his eyes as he began to cry tears of blood. He would bring about the perfect world, it was coming soon, he could feel it, an almost soaring feeling deep inside of him; it was ready to take flight.

Hours passed until the sun finally rose, and with it, the disappearance of the bloody blobs, and the end of the Tower of Conviction. Having already been compromised, the structure of the tower finally gave way, and it collapsed, taking down a portion of the wall with it. Isidro was slumped against the battlements; Puck was running around as a medic for all of the injuries that they had all sustained, even for Farnese and Serpico.

"That's… it," Isidro huffed. "I've got no more fight left in me." Harry gave him an arm to lean on as Guts led the way back to the ground level, Casca by his side, having wrapped his cloak around her.

"Does that mean you're going back to your village?" Guts asked, not taking his eye off of Casca who was catching a snowflake on her tongue, the first snowfall of the season.

"As if!" Isidro exclaimed. "Trying to get rid of me that easy before you and Harry show me some of your moves, not a chance!"

"His perseverance prevails," Puck sat on top of Isidro's head, exhausted as well from using so much of his dust.

"Yeah, well just make sure that-," a rumbling sound put them all on edge again, thinking that perhaps some fragment of those bloody blobs had not disappeared with the rising sun and were about to come busting out of the ground at any moment. Instead, it came busting through the wall, but it was no blob.

It was a behemoth covered in black fur with a tail, goat's legs, the face of a lion, and singular large horn on the right side of the head, the left one was just a bony stump. "Suuuurraa!" Casca pointed in fear and wonderment at the appearance of the monster.

"W-what the hell is that?!" Isidro asked one last boost of energy kicking in.

"Zodd," Luca said, surprising both Guts and Harry.

"How'd you know?" Harry asked, not looking forward to confronting the apostle.

Luca pointed to the top of the battlements. "I met him with Death." The Skull Knight was indeed present, but he made no move to intercept Zodd, and Zodd made no move to fight with Guts or anyone else. Both of their attention was directed somewhere amide the smoke and rubble from the leveled Tower of Conviction.

Zodd lumbered forward and… bent his knee? Nosferatu Zodd, the supposed strongest of the apostles, was kneeling. Zodd's head was bowed as well, and a pale hand reached out to stroke the thick black fur.

No.

'Harry?'

It can't be…

The pale, flawless, and naked body stepped from the rubble. Long flowing white hair blew gently in the breeze and a set of startling blue eyes regarded Zodd and all in attendance; eyes that had slits for pupils.

Griffith had returned.

The reborn Griffith stepped into Zodd's paw and was lifted up onto his back. The familiar pair of wings sprouted from the apostle's back and Zodd kicked off from the ground, the beat of his wings were the only source of sound to be heard.

One look at Guts' face told the whole story; it was deep in disbelief, almost statuesque. His body seemed to move on its own, strapping the crossbow onto his arm and taking aim at the ascending Griffith and Zodd.

"Auuuuuu! Haaaaa! Waaaaa!" Casca let out a series of her wails as she watched Griffith depart on Zodd, drawing Guts' attention to her and not the apostle and Griffith. His face softened to some degree, picking up his fallen cloak and draping it over Casca once more.

"…Guts?" Harry asked after a pregnant pause.

Guts was silent for a moment, before saying, "Let's get the fuck out of here." No one was inclined to argue with him.

Back outside in what remained of the camp was where the survivors had all gathered. With the addition of Guts and Harry's part plus Farnese and Serpico, there had to be less than a hundred in total. Guts had taken Casca aside, almost inspecting her, checking for any injuries that might have been missed.

Silat approached Harry. "The woman is safe?"

"She is," Harry was less enthused than he should have been, like Guts, seeing the return of Griffith made this a bittersweet victory.

"Then I have your word that I am released from my debt?"

"You do," Harry affirmed. "I don't want anyone traveling with us who doesn't want to be there, and you clearly have other motives."

"Just the survival of my clan, and seeing what a true shit hole this country is, I doubt the Bakiraka will ever find sanctuary here. With Emperor Ganishka however…"

"You say you want the survival of your clan, but joining with the invading force isn't going to get you anywhere." Silat eyed him dangerously. "You saw what just happened; you saw what your emperor is up against. Can you really say that your clan is capable of fighting something like Zodd, something like… him?"

Harry thought that he had pushed the Kushan too far, that Silat might suddenly attack, but, "And what would you recommend? Sit back and be hunted by both forces after the dust settles?"

"Maybe just watch," Harry advised. "You're plenty cocky in a fight, you know that. When the emperor loses, and he will lose, see what kind of a winner… he will be like. Then maybe one day we can count on the Bakiraka to help us take him down."

Silat stared at him, analyzing him. "My debt to you has been paid. I'll be taking my leave." As he was ready to set out, he paused, half turning his head to regard Harry. "I'll bring it up with my clan, but don't expect anything from us; we owe you nothing." And like a cat, he made his silent exit.

Harry walked back over to where Guts was with Casca, Luca had since joined them, and she pulled Casca in for a hug. "Goodbye, Elai-er, Casca. It won't be the same without you peaking your head in every now and again."

"Hey," Guts addressed Luca. "Thanks, for looking after her."

"Don't thank me for that," Luca told him. "Just make sure she's taken care of, but even I'm not worried about that." She watched Casca play with the hem of Guts' cloak. "Something tells me she's in good hands."

"Luuuccccaaaa!" a young woman's cries caught her attention.

"What is it, Pepe?"

"We were searching the tower for any survivors, and we found all of this!" Pepe showed Luca a handful of gold and other jewel pieces. "The tower was full of it! There's enough to pass around to everyone! We even have enough to open our own inn in a city!"

"The treasury room was full of donations to the faith," Farnese spoke for the first time, approaching the group, Serpico not far behind her.

Harry became wary. "Are you planning on arresting them?" he asked. "After all that happened, are you actually about to-?"

'Did she just…?'

Even Serpico was staring wide-eyed as Farnese cut her blonde hair to fall just to her chin. "I saw. I saw that you were right, I served the Holy See blindly, only clinging to it because it was the only light I could see clearly in the dark. But you and the Black Swordsman, you defied odds, you made your own path when people like me were content to just follow orders blindly." Farnese took a knee. "I want for the both of you to show me the light, show me the true path."

Guts regarded her. "The true path is the one you make for yourself. If you plan on following, you're going to see more of what happened last night, no guarantee you'll live."

Farnese took a minute to steel her nerves and resolve. "I- I know this, and I accept. I want to see what path I can make for myself." She looked to her attendant. "Will you follow as well?"

"I follow you, Lady Farnese," Serpico overcame his shock of her cutting her hair. "If you willingly choose to follow these two, then I will let bygones be bygones." Serpico walked over to Harry, extending his hand. "I'm willing to set aside any grievances of you are."

Harry eyed his hand before shaking it. "Yeah, sure. Just please don't go sprouting anything about God; I've heard enough of that."

"Oh! Of course," Farnese was quick to agree. She reached into her satchel. "I suppose I should dispose of this then." It was a small, but older leather-bound text. "Father Mozgus gave this to me, it's supposedly written by the founder of the Holy See, but if I'm to leave my old identify behind-,"

"-Actually, can I see that?" Harry asked, retracting his previous statement.

"If you wish," Farnese handed him the text. "I've yet to read it myself."

'A text actually was written by the founder,' he had Schierke's full attention. Curiosity getting the better of both of them, Harry opened the text. The first three pages were blank and were made of rather brittle pieces of paper. The following pages contained neat handwriting detailing the set of morals and rules the Holy See would conduct, but the name Holy See was never mentioned, the name must have come after.

This just seems like a first edition copy or something. Harry speed-read through the rest of the pages, finding nothing of significance, until the very end. A few pages seemed to have been tucked away with care as to preserve them from the sand s of time, and they were written on much fancier pieces of paper. It was a letter.

To Supreme Emperor Gaiseric,

I bid you greetings, my travels, and exploits in the southernmost region have been of great benefit to the empire that you have built. While I am aware that you have neglected to hear my counsel, I do not blame you for your march on the Vanhal River. What I and many others do not condone is your taking of slaves. They dig the ditches, fight in your arena, and work continuous hours in the sun, dying from exposure. I recognize the necessity for such a practice, and I know that you offer many of them their freedom, but it still a rather uncomfortable topic of discussion, and not the predominant source of which I write.

This empire is yours, but not without its flaws. I realize that my voicing of this opinion was seen negatively by you in the last war room conference, which is strange considering the continent is all but united. Perhaps that was the first time a rift was created between you and your advisors.

However, despite how I might feel on the matter and your decisions of late, I do truly wish your sons, Huneric and Gento, good fortune; they are not to blame for the sins of their father.

But back to the matter at hand, I am feeling conflicted as of late. Perhaps it started when this whole campaign began. While in war, morals are fleeting, lives even more so. All that death, all that suffering; is that why you insist on wearing that mask of yours into battle? To feel that you are amongst the dead so that you may come out victorious? Mine is not the mind of a warrior.

No, my talent lies in exploring and maintaining a balanced empire while you seek more territory to conquer to suit a primal need of bloodlust. You are talented at many things, but understanding how a complex series of people all living under one united banner is not one of them.

Given our last face-to-face interaction, before you set off, I know that my time in your court is short. My life, I will spend the remainder of it locked up and tortured in the Tower of Conviction, a monument I helped to build. My life ended in the place where I dedicated my life.

I am sure that you will continue to consult with that witch of yours while I am incarcerated. Despite how I feel regarding that witch and her primitive ways, perhaps she can talk some sense into you as I ponder how things could have gotten like this between the two of us. That question will plague my mind alongside another since I happened across that red bauble from the old soothsayer, and its one I believe you should consider as well.

You have never been a religious man, but please, consider it as I have. All of us in this world, we look for someone to blame our problems on when things go astray, and whose name is it we curse out when that happens? Yours? Mine? No, the name of God.

People believe in God because they do not know their own fate and seek to explain their existence to him. If that is true, did God create man, or did man create God?

And within this world, is the destiny of mankind controlled by some transcendental entity or law? Is it like the hand of God hovering above? At least it is true, that man has no control, even over his own will.

You can send your men after me; they won't find a fight waiting for them. No, instead they will find a tired man, tired of living in an empire whose emperor threw away his morals for more battles to fight. They will find a man ready to serve whatever punishment you see fit. I regret it had to come to this, my brother.

Sincerely,

The sign of a six-fingered hand preluded his name.

High Advisor Gunderic

A/N: So that's it for this chapter, I hope the build up to the Holy See founder was worth it, and while it probably isn't canon, and might not ever be fully revealed, it was something I got to thinking on. And because I'm a history major, the name Gunderic and Gaiseric were actual historical figures who were brothers and a key to the downfall of Rome, and if Kentaro based his character off the real Gaiseric, could a Gunderic be out of the question? But the Gunderic here is the brother to Gaiseric and is quite the brainiac. Thanks for reading.


	35. Chapter 35

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Snow had fallen fast in a short amount of time after they all departed from the Tower of Conviction, or rather, what was left of it. In less than a day, more than a foot of snow covered the ground. Puck tried to cheer and liven up the mood by saying the winter would be short because the summer had been short as well. Harry was pretty sure that wasn't how nature worked, but he had other bigger things on his mind right now.

There was just the simple feeling of relief that they had been successful in rescuing Casca and knowing that the struggle had not been in vain. While Casca still retained that child-like mentality, she had become quite fascinated by one of their newest traveling companions – Farnese. Currently, Casca was playing with Farnese's cut blonde bangs.

"Yes, yes, you like my hair. I- ow! Please don't pull." Farnese pulled Casca's hands away from her hair.

Serpico studied curiously. "You seem to have an admirer, Lady Farnese."

"I suppose, but- ow! Please, Casca, no pulling."

"Auu," Casca mumbled in her indistinguishable manner.

Harry faintly smiled at the scene. Casca was back, but not "back." Her mind was still deeply broken and traumatized after what happened during the Eclipse. Just thinking about that brought to mind a rather concerning matter, one that was deeply troubling Guts as well, the seeming rebirth of Griffith.

The Griffith they had seen then was not the tattered and frail broken body of Griffith before he became Femto. This Griffith looked how he did before his imprisonment and subsequent torture. Rather, he had looked graceful, the definition of male beauty incarnate. But it was his eyes, those slit pupils let Harry know that he was not truly Griffith, just Femto disguised as his previous human form.

While Casca was toying with Farnese and Serpico, trying to catch snowflakes with her tongue, Isidro and Puck were talking fighting technique, Harry spoke with Guts. "What are you going to do about him?"

Guts opened his satchel, looking at the behelit that he carried. He closed it. "I still plan on helping Casca, I've left her alone for too long. But for Griffith… there's no more hunting to be done. He's in a world where I can kill him."

He didn't say how he would go about doing it or even when, but the desire was still there, still waiting to attack like a wild and rabid dog.

Harry did not fault Guts at all for this, it seemed the logical and rightly justified natural reaction that he would give. It might not have been the best time to bring it up, knowing how Guts feels about the Godhand, but Harry told him about what he had read in that old book. Guts was silent for a moment, letting the information process.

"So that's who he is. Tch! He would be the type to prattle on about something like that, wouldn't he?" he could have been referring to either Skull Knight or Void. "That bonehead owes us some answers the next time we see him."

Harry was in full agreement; there was a lot that happened in the past that they did not know about and the only direct links that they had were the Skull Knight and Flora. And speaking of the spirit-tree…

"How far is it?" Guts asked.

"Maybe just a few weeks journey," Harry roughly guessed.

"Hm." Guts contemplated, looking over to where Farnese was reigning in Casca before she could wander off. "And this witch can help her?"

"I trust her magic more than I trust my own." Given how far he had advanced from talking to snakes, which was saying a lot.

"Really?" Guts scratched at his chin. "Alright then. If you say that's the best way of healing Casca, I'll take your word on that. We'll stop back at Godo's along the way to rest up. I want to see what the old man can do for my sword."

Harry looked and saw what Guts was referring to. The Dragonslayer was starting to develop cracks and chips along its surface; collateral damage from what Guts had been using it to kill. It was likely the old blacksmith would have a heart attack once he saw the state his largest creation was in. Rickert and Erica would have to help him to turn the blade in the forge.

'It'll be nice having you back at the spirit-tree,' Schierke told him. 'Mistress Flora will be happy to see you again.'

How are Flora and Ivalera, then?

'Ivalera is still sleeping and Mistress Flora is currently warging right now. I told her about that man who rode off on Zodd, she seemed worried. She's keeping track of his whereabouts.'

Why would she do that? I'm grateful and all, but what does she expect to see?

'Because his presence here in this world is not without consequence. Whatever power he has, it is too great. He comes from a deeper astral layer, and now they're starting to overlap.'

How?

'Creatures long believed to have been myth are returning. Trolls have already raided Enoch Village.'

Wait, trolls? If magical creatures are coming back, what about elves like Puck and Ivalera? They were here before all of that happened.

'I wondered the same thing, but Mistress Flora told me that there are parts of this world with ties to the astral; they wandered into ours. For other magical creatures like unicorns, centaurs, and even dragons, they were either hunted to near extinction or dismissed as myth when the Holy See gained a following. Without belief, they had to migrate elsewhere.'

It sounds like Gunderic wanted people to be cut off from the astral world. Have you asked Flora more about him?

'Of course, she told me that she was close with both him and Gaiseric and that he was the one responsible for the fall of Gaiseric's empire.'

So Gunderic wanted to separate people's connection to the astral world, but as Void, he was okay with Griffith being back even if that meant the worlds were going to start overlapping? That made no sense. What could be gained from taking the connection away only to bring it back through Griffith, who wasn't even born when Gaiseric and Gunderic were around?

Unless…

There was another force at play. One that was tied to Gunderic and his turn into a Godhand that caused the fall of Gaiseric's kingdom. If an Eclipse happened every two-hundred-sixteen years, the first would have been around the time of Gaiseric and Gunderic. But there were no Godhand members back then, something else had to have been at play, perhaps the thing that gave the Godhand their power, the same that made the behelits, to begin with. Whatever it was, Gunderic believed in it, believed it was God of some kind, maybe it was. But how would they fight against that? The Godhand were basically untouchable as it was; what did that say about the source of their power? And if Guts were to actually kill Griffith, would another be chosen to take his place? How deep does the abyss of this mystery go?

Did she say anything else about the astral layers? Anything about the deeper layers?

'Just that the only wizard to have crossed physically between the layers was Merlin. And according to Mistress Flora, that was after the time of Gaiseric.'

That's right; Flora had admitted to knowing the famed wizard as well. Harry would have to make a mental list of all the unknowns. This just keeps going deeper alright.

'I wish that it didn't. Apart from that text and letter, there is almost no record from Gaiseric's time. All the more reason to bring that book back to examine it fully.'

Thanks for the help, but don't forget to help yourself too.

'You say that after all the near-suicidal stunts you and Guts pulled? Compared to you, we're safe here at the spirit-tree.'

I know that. But how much sleep have you been getting? The Tower of Conviction and the Misty Valley were all non-stop, and you've been here ever since. Be honest.

'Well… I might have lost a few hours of sleep, but its nothing too serious.'

Well, you won't be a help to anyone if you're barely standing.

'I don't always have to be standing to do magic. But, I promise to retire soon.'

"Hey, Harry!" Isidro ran up to him.

"What is it?" asked Harry.

"I was talking with Puck about my technique, how about that spar?" he asked with pure enthusiasm.

"Harry heaved a sigh. "Sure. Just one quick round."

He heard Schierke speak once more. 'Rest can wait. I want to see this.'

They opted to use sticks they found littering the ground in place of live steel. It was probably for the better because Isidro would be sporting some rather nasty cuts if they did. "Ow!" Isidro rubbed his head where Harry had smacked him, again. "Damnit, man, that hurts you know?!"

"You didn't even try to block it," Harry observed. "Of course it'll hurt if you get hit."

While Isidro had a lot of passion and drive, he lacked the finesse with skill, and that just wouldn't do. If he really intended to follow them around, then he had to learn to find a style that better fit his habits; and one that did not consist of throwing stones.

"You have speed on your side, but you only use it for charging straight ahead."

"Yeah, that's what I saw Guts doing," Isidro explained. "It worked for him."

"Yeah, well, Guts also carries a sword bigger than you are," countered Harry. "Don't go and start copying everything you see just because you think it looks awesome."

"How long have you been training, then?" asked Farnese. "Not with magic, with actual weapons."

"Uh, three, four years," Harry recalled.

"Nearly as long as I have, then," Serpico said. "Impressive given that you're a few years my junior, and still managed to hold your own in our little scuffle."

"What about the Black Swords- er, Guts?" Farnese wondered. "Have the two of you traveled together for long?"

"I guess so, yeah."

"Once I build up my strength, do you think you can put a good word in for me to see if I can use that sword of his?" Isidro asked, which earned looks of exasperation from all.

Puck shook his head. "You have a far way to go, my disciple."

Few other antics ensued as the group led by Guts continued on to Godo's mountainous sanctuary. No more snow had fallen, seemingly making the journey easier, however unlikely that seemed. By the time they neared the outskirt bit of forest surrounding the isolated settlement, the sun was about to start its decline.

The image of a young girl about ten or so became visible near the tree line, carrying a basket and collecting wood for a fire; she hummed a tune to herself as she went about her work. Guts was able to approach her, unnoticed.

"You got taller."

Erica made a weak, "Eep!" but her shriek of terror was quickly turned to joy when she saw who it was that had addressed her. "Guts! You're back!" she spotted Harry next. "Harry's here, too?!"

Harry offered a lopsided grin and a wave. "Hey, Erica. It's good to see you-," despite being tiny, Erica nearly knocked him over as she hugged him.

'Aw, that's nice.'

Go to sleep already.

Erica released him from her pint-sized bear hug when she spotted the other member of the Band of the Hawk. "Casca!" she quickly ran to embrace the woman. "They found you! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I should have watched you better!"

As usual, Casca did not understand what was being said. Instead, she just fiddled with Erica's hair like she had done with Farnese previous. The newcomers watched curiously as the scene played out, not sure what to say or do in this situation.

"Erica!" a new voice called out. "Where'd you go?"

"I'm over here, Rickert!" she called back. "Come see who's here with me!"

A second youth joined her. Rickert had let his hair grow out long enough to be tied back in a low ponytail, and his skin seemed to have gotten tanner; probably a result of working in the forge with Godo.

"What is it, Erica? Who else has shown up-?" Rickert dropped the pile of firewood he had been holding.

"Hey, Rickert," Guts greeted. "Working hard I take it?"

"Holy – Guts! Harry! You're back – and you have Casca too!" in his excitement, Rickert shared a handshake with Harry.

"Good to see you too, Rickert."

Isidro whispered to Farnese and Serpico, "Am I the only one who feels like an outsider right now?"

"There is a history that is unknown to us," concluded Serpico.

"How did you find her?" Rickert questioned Harry. "She wandered off when we let her out of the cave to get some fresh air."

Harry scratched at his messy black hair. "It really is a long story."

"Well, you have to tell me all about it now!" Rickert insisted. "I bet it tops what I've been up to over all this time. C'mon, I'll show you."

"Go on," guts told him. He remained with the others as Erica played a game of peek-a-boo with Casca. "We'll catch up. Go spend time with your friend."

Their boots crunched the snow beneath them as Rickert lead Harry past Godo's home/forge and mining cave, and over to a nearby hill and Cliffside. Along the way, Harry told Rickert a very, very condensed version of events showcasing his and Guts' travels and subsequent adventures. All the while Rickert remained attentive, listening to all that had to be said, although it looked like he wanted to interject at several points to offer some form of commentary.

"You weren't kidding, that does sound like a long story," Rickert conceded.

"That's barely the half of it," Harry told him. "But what about you? You mentioned earlier that you were up to something while we were off."

Rickert nodded. "Yeah, it's right up here."

The Cliffside hill Rickert led Harry began to shine with the light of the sun. Harry thought that the light was reflecting off of the bright, white snow, but his eyes quickly adjusted to what they actually were; swords. Hundreds of swords, if not close to a thousand, were protruding from the ground like sharp flowers. A Hill of Swords.

"Rickert… you made this?" Harry stared at the expanse of swords.

"Working as a blacksmith's apprentice, I had the material." Rickert rubbed his arm modestly. "I meant for them to be graves. Y'know, for everyone we lost that day. Just a way to never forget."

Feeling a swell of pride, Harry clapped Rickert on the shoulder. "It looks great, really. They deserve to be remembered."

"Well now that you and Guts are back, we might have a chance at starting the Hawks up again."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry. Footsteps behind them let him know Guts and the others were approaching.

"He arrived just before you all did," explained Rickert. "I could hardly believe it was him at first. I thought you said he died that day."

Standing there at the end of the hill was a figure clad in white; white cape, a new set of white armor, and billowing white hair. He blended right in with the snowy setting around him. Although he smiled, his lips didn't quite match the coldness of his blue eyes.

'It's him.' Schierke's voice wasn't enough to prevent the chill that ran down Harry's spine; a chill that had nothing to do with the current environment.

"Isn't it great?!" Rickert asked, ignorant to what happened that day of the Eclipse. "With Griffith, we can – Harry?"

Harry's sword had left its sheath and was now in his hand. He felt an od next to him, recognizing it as belonging to Guts. The Black Swordsman had Dragonslayer drawn as well, a look of utter disbelief written on his face.

"You still think with your sword first, I see," the Neo-Griffith spoke. His gaze turned to Harry. "You've acquired a staff. You must have progressed far in your studies."

Anger began to build. "Don't act civil," Harry nearly spat. "Why are you here? Did you come here just to torment us?"

The Neo-Griffith was unnaturally composed. "I merely came by to speak with Rickert and to see if my feelings would be obstructed by either of you." He regarded them both, barely acknowledging Casca who was reaching toward him, only being restrained by Farnese and Erica.

"Nothing has changed. I am free to pursue my objective."

Everyone could hear Guts grit his teeth. "Fuck you. You say that like nothing matters. How can you say that after sacrificing all of us?! After what happened with Casca?!"

"All that matters is my dream; nothing else."

"Aarrrghhh!" Guts' eye rolled over white with rage as he charged the Neo-Griffith.

Harry channeled a concentrated burst of lightning from his staff, shooting it straight toward the Godhand member in disguise.

But neither Harry's lightning or Guts' sword hit their target. A new od signature joined the fray, blocking both with an overly large sword and ax combo. The hulking human form of Nosferatu Zodd stood protectively in front of the Neo-Griffith.

Zodd's smile was toothy and feral. "Hello, Black Swordsman, Wizard. I look forward to this."

"Out of my fucking way!" Dragonslayer clashed with Zodd's sword.

Zodd applied more force behind his and Guts' lock of blades, pushing Guts back a distance. "What a fine sword you have," Zodd admired the Dragonslayer. "It is much better than the one I possess. Kushan made; I killed the man rather quickly, hoping that I would get to use it against you."

Their blades clashed once again, Guts swinging Dragonslayer with quick and fluid motions that defied the logic of how a sword that big could be handled in battle. However, Zodd was matching his strikes on par, each seemingly equal when it came to skill with a sword.

With Zodd's focus on Guts, Harry advanced toward the Neo-Griffith. He aimed the end of his staff straight at the faux version of their once friend and leader, ready to cast a bone-breaker spell first. He didn't know if it would even do anything to the Neo-Griffith, it certainly wouldn't kill him, but if there was the chance that it would have some effect… Harry hoped that it would hurt.

Before the incantation could leave his mouth, a shadow – no, a whirling blur came soaring through the air looking to cleave a piece of him off. Harry took a step back before the large ax could take his arm off. Zodd had tossed the weapon at him and was now making a bee-line straight for Harry, a mad smile plastered on his face. Zodd picked up the ax, and Harry swore he felt his legs were going to shatter when he blocked a hit from the demon warrior.

"You blocked well," Zodd said, almost appraisingly. "Show me, are you as proficient with your sword as you are with your magic?" Zodd kicked Harry's legs out from under him, ax raised high in the air, ready to chop him like a pig.

Snow covered Harry's eyes as he rolled out of the way of Zodd's ax, the large weapon nearly splitting the ground in half. He rolled to a safe distance before using a combination of spells. The first being to create a strong gust of wind, and the other being upturning the ground from under Zodd's feet.

The latter had little effect on the almost immovable Zodd, but his vision was partially obscured from the torrent of ice and snow-strewn up by the wind. Harry charged, blade extended out, looking to inflict a fatal wound on the beast of a man, but Zodd had anticipated this move. The apostle yanked one of the many swords from out of the ground and attacked Harry; Zodd's proving much more successful than Harry's.

"Hsst!" Harry winced as Zodd's attack cut across his fingers, down to the bone. Red droplets stained the once pristine white snow.

"I meant to take your arm off with that," Zodd observed the damage done. "How sloppy of me. Between you and the Black Swordsman, this is the best challenge I've had in a while." Speaking of Guts… with Zodd distracted by Harry, Guts was making a break toward the Neo-Griffith. "Hmmph. That won't do."

Zodd kicked Harry, sending him tumbling in front of Guts, tripping him up in his attack. Zodd was treating them like ragdolls and having the time of his life by doing so. The apostle stood in front of the Neo-Griffith once again, a challenging smile danced in his eyes.

"Get ready to make a break for him again," Guts reasoned through his anger. He charged Zodd again, Dragonslayer dragged along the snow-covered ground, and tossed a screen of white obstruction in Zodd's sight; the demon warrior still managing to block Guts' following strike with his sword.

"Excellent use of your surroundings," Zodd said to Guts as he leered at him through their lock of swords. "You both have progressed far since our last encounter."

Harry was already darting past to where the Neo-Griffith was calmly observing the fight unfold, not seeming disturbed in the slightest. Once again, Harry was cut off before he could cast a spell or swing his sword. Zodd had grabbed the back of Harry's cloak, and slammed him down on the ground, the breath leaving his lungs as Harry started seeing stars as well as the faint outline of Zodd's sword raised above him.

Dragonslayer intercepted Zodd's strike, Guts forced the other large blade away. With Guts' blade being of the finer make, he began to systematically target the imperfections in Zodd's sword, forming chips and cracks with every new swing of his blade. It bought Harry enough time to push to his feet. He was faintly aware of a wet substance weigh down his hair in the back, and he felt like the world was spinning from under his feet.

There was no way either of them was going to get to the Neo-Griffith as long as Zodd was in the fight. Zodd had praised Guts for using the environment to his advantage; Harry would have to work with that as well. He twirled his staff, pointing to as many of the swords that were within his range, and raised them from the ground with a levitation charm. With a flick of his wrist, they all pointed straight toward Zodd.

"Depalso Maxima!"

Dozens of blades went soaring through the air toward their intended target. Guts ducked under one of Zodd's swings and the apostle's eyes took in the sight of the dozens of blades hurling toward him. True to his reputation as a beast swordsman, Zodd was able to swat many aside with his own blade, even breaking some of them clean in half.

But there were others that managed to make it past Zodd's defenses. They sunk into his broad shoulders and tree trunk thick arms. He grunted in frustration.

"Raah!" Guts ran forward with a strike, sinking the tip of Dragonslayer into Zodd's shoulder. Harry capitalized on the situation as well, cutting Zodd on his leg, dark blood now staining his sword.

Zodd trembled, but it was not out of exhaustion or fear – on the contrary. He was laughing. It was a deep hearty laugh that an adult would give when a child would do something amusing, but this one was stained with the implication of coming dread. "Excellent. Both of you. Quite imaginative with your magic, as expected. And you, Black Swordsman, it would appear you are on par with me with the sword." Zodd's smile was filled with a fiendish frenzy. "There is no more use for me to hold back then."

Smoke began to envelop Zodd's already hulking figure until a much larger form took his place. The glowing eyes of Zodd's apostle form glittered manically as he barred his razor sharp fangs and claws. Although his left horn was missing, Zodd seemed to have enlarged his right one, making him as ferocious as ever.

"Raaaaghh!" Zodd roared. "Let me test your mettle against my full might!"

Zodd used his tail to sweep the ground, catching Guts and Harry off their feet, sending them both flying. Guts was able to slow his momentum by digging Dragonslayer into the ground, glaring at the mighty apostle form of Zodd. Harry was able to mutter out a few charms that helped to lessen his impact across the ground; the snow really did not make it any lighter.

Both were barely on their feet before Zodd was on them once more. He blocked Guts' Dragonslayer with his horn, snarling alongside Guts. Harry reached into his satchel to retrieve a talisman, but Zodd caught Harry in his enormous paw.

"H-hey, jackass!" Isidro yelled from where the others were watching. Serpico had his sword drawn, but he was helping to keep Casca restrained with Farnese and Erica, although he looked like he might have to end up joining the fray as well. Isidro picked up a handful of stones, ready to toss them in Zodd's direction.

"Don't do it!" Harry yelled to the other boy. If Zodd saw others interfering, then he would see it as a challenge and attack them as well.

Harry felt like he was about to dislocate his shoulder as he wiggled his arm free of Zodd's grasp, tossing the talisman at the apostle. The talisman grew into a ten-foot-tall golem that was able to wrap its arms around Zodd's neck, forcing him to release Harry.

Zodd stood to his full height, dwarfing the golem Harry had employed. The apostle ripped the stony arms from their sockets, freeing him from the grasp. Using his horn, Zodd impaled the golem, lifting it above his head and tossing it aside, top and bottom halves were now littering the ground.

"A nifty trick," Zodd regarded Harry. "Use as many as you wish, I will rip them to pieces and scatter their remains into the wind!"

Guts went rushing Zodd next, but the apostle caught the blade between his large paws, seemingly smiling as he did so. Guts used that development to his advantage, letting go of the Dragonslayer and pointing his prosthetic at Zodd's exposed midsection.

BABOOM! The cannon went off, catching Zodd unaware.

While Zodd was stunned, Harry consulted his magic once more. "Fresce ilparment!"

A magic formed icicle shot forth toward Zodd. Seeing this new attack coming, the apostle went to swat it away, but Guts' previous attack had slowed his movements. The icicle shot through Zodd's paw.

"Raaaaghh!" Zodd's roar was as much angrier than it was due to pain; letting the adrenaline from the fight and his wounds take over his rational and senses. His large, goat-like hooves kicked up some snow as he pounded the ground, squaring his shoulders and moving his head from side to side. He was going to charge.

Both Harry and Guts dived out of the way as the behemoth form of Zodd barreled past them – straight toward where Casca and the others were.

"Go! Get out of the way!" Harry didn't even need to shout it; it was evident what would happen to them if they were to remain stationary. Serpico quickly dove to knock them out of the way as Zodd shot straight toward them, his size and strength carried him straight through the rock wall of the mine.

"Auu! Auuuu, waaa!" Casca was already up and attempting to walk toward what she must have perceived to be Griffith.

"Casca!" Guts yelled as Zodd shot back out of the mine, sending boulders raining down.

Harry was ready to use his magic to stop the fall of the rocks, but they all seemed to already land in a circle around her like an invisible force field had been installed around her. No – not a force field; a white-clad figure stood next to Casca, his cape wrapped around her. The Neo-Griffith stood, Casca staring up at his face, reaching to touch it.

"Don't, Casca!" yelled Guts as he ran toward her, but once again, Zodd stood in his path, ready to continue the fight.

The Neo-Griffith quickly pulled away before Casca could touch him. "Come, Zodd," he ordered. "We're done here."

Zodd growled, clearly displeased that he would not be able to continue the fight, and he begrudgingly lumbered away from Guts and Harry, snarling as he walked away. He lowered his paw, allowing his new master to climb on him. The pair of wings sprouted from Zodd's back as he prepared to take flight.

"Rickert," the Neo-Griffith called as Zodd kicked off the ground. "Even if you come to hate me, there will still be a place for you in the new Band of the Hawk." Zodd took flight.

"Auu!" Casca whined as the apostle flew off.

"Get back here!" Guts yelled as he strapped his crossbow to his prosthetic, firing bolts off. Harry created a few more icicles, launching them at the flying form of Zodd and his rider. But both of their attacks seemed to be off target, some force keeping them from hitting their mark.

On Zodd's back, the Neo-Griffith brought a hand up to his chest. He had saved Casca. The last time his emotions had gotten the better of him, Griffith had been imprisoned, his dream in shambles. Now, he could almost hear something. Bathump! There was a solution to that too.

Back down on the ground, Guts was still staring angrily at the fleeting form of Zodd as he and that Neo-Griffith flew off. Harry flexed his fingers from his one injury while fighting Zodd. I should consider myself lucky I just got cut instead of losing any fingers, huh? He waited for Schierke to voice her thoughts on the matter, probably to tell him to not make a joke about something like that, but he heard nothing.

Schierke?

He paid close attention to the hand Zodd had cut, it was the one where Schierke's hairs were tied – or, at least, where they used to be tied. Her green hairs were scattered around in the white snow, blowing away with a passing breeze.

Oh. Harry found that he could really use the witch's words about now, maybe to get his mind on track after that fight. Her presence had been a welcome one since his departure from the spirit-tree; now that was at an end until he returned back there with Guts and the others. He had an inclination he was going to be in for it when he returned.

The others approached the two of them; looks of disbelief and awe were present on each of their faces, especially Farnese. She looked like she had had another epiphany or revelation about the truth of the world. Before either of them could speak, a loud, tired voice called out.

"What the hell is goin' on out here?!"

"Papa!" Erica cried as she went running to hug the leg of the approaching form of Godo. The aged blacksmith was looking more wizened now than he had before. His white hair and beard and grown out, his wrinkly, leathery skin was still tan, and more lines were apparent on his face. He walked with a cane and was hefting a crossbow in his other.

Rickert was next to overcome his shock. "Master Godo! You shouldn't be out of bed! Your health-,"

"-My health can't exactly get any worse," Godo coughed, taking notice of the newcomers. "So, you two fools are back, eh?"

"…Yeah," Guts answered, casting a look to where Zodd had flown off, now no longer in sight.

"It's good to see you too, Godo," Harry said, his voice lacking a friendly greeting.

"Hmph!" Godo snorted. "That's the greeting I get? I thought you thought more warmly of me than that."

"Look, papa!" Erica led Casca over to where Godo was. Casca instantly started pulling on Godo's beard.

"You found here then?" it was a rhetorical question. Godo pulled his beard out of Casca's grip. "Why don't we take her inside? Wouldn't want her catching a cold from the two of you."

The fire from the forge provided a welcoming embrace from the bitterness of the snow outside. Erica and Rickert helped ease Godo down into a chair seated closest to the forge, Rickert ran off to go and grab some more chairs for everyone. More swords and arms decorated the walls around the forge, but otherwise, it remained unchanged.

"Thank you for extending your hospitality," Serpico thanked their host. "Your home is quite quaint."

"If by quant you mean cramped, I ain't going to argue with that." Godo lifted his leg up onto a stool provided by Erica. "I've had all sorts of folks come to place orders, none of them paid any kind of complement to what kind of home I've got, no need to start now."

"Papa!" Erica scolded Godo. "Be polite, please!"

"Eh," Godo shrugged.

"So, uh…" Isidro searched for something to say. "You work here, Rick?"

"It's Rickert, and yes. Harry gave me a run-down of what you were all up to, but I don't think we could have expected what happened out there."

"Yeah," Godo coughed, stroking his long, grizzled beard. "Care to fill me in on why there's a giant hole in my mine, boys?"

"You want the whole story, or just that it was done by a monster?" Guts asked.

"Monster, eh?" Godo contemplated. "That white-haired man didn't look quite right when he stopped by. Had that dead look in his eyes."

Farnese looked between Harry, Guts, and Rickert. "That man, he was Lord Griffith of the Band of the Hawk, was he not?"

Isidro perked up. "Griffith? I heard about that guy! I thought he was dead."

"He is," Harry said, earning a strange look from all except Guts.

"You told me that before you and Guts departed," Rickert recalled. "If that's true, then who was that just now?"

Harry looked at Casca who was playing a childish game with Erica. "Hey, Erica, can you take Casca somewhere to play? I think she missed playing with you."

"Uh-huh!" Erica took Casca by the hand, leading her to the upstairs of the small home/forge. Once she was gone, Harry gave a very brief description of what had happened; only giving details about the start of the Eclipse and the brand that was engraved onto the three of them.

"You actually were in the Hawks?!" Isidro asked, looking to a disinterested Guts with awe. "No freaking way! I heard all sorts of crazy stories about the Raiders."

"I took you for the mercenary type," Serpico told Guts. "But I never would have guessed you were with the Hawks. Your exploits certainly did well for Midland."

Farnese nodded. "Yes, my father made quite a profit by loaning money during that war. He mentioned your band quite a few times, when I saw him, at least."

Guts wasn't in the mood for remembrance. "The past is the past. That stuff doesn't matter now."

"Ha!" Godo laughed before a fit of coughs overtook him.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, concerned for the old smith.

"Am I alright with dying?" Godo asked. "I've made my peace with it."

"You're not dying," Rickert assured him.

"Well, you're not as old as I am. I'd love to see what you'd say when you reach my age. You learn to accept things as they are, and that's why I find what that idiot said so funny." Godo coughed again. "You say the past doesn't matter, but that has been what was driving you this entire time; wanting to protect that girl and avenge your comrades. All of that happened in the past, you mean to say that doesn't matter?"

"You know what I meant," Guts told the smith.

He nodded. "You're right, I do, and I'm just making sure you understand it yourself. You're a good customer, but you got a lot to learn before you're time is at an end as well. You can't go losing sight of what's important to you."

"I haven't," Guts assured the old man. "I've done that once before, I don't plan on letting it happen again." Godo studied him before giving a curt nod. "By the way, I was wondering if you could take a look at this."

Guts laid Dragonslayer across his lap, letting its creator see his work. "What have you been doing with this?" Godo asked, sounding like his heart might give out. "You've had this for what, two, three years? It shouldn't look this way even after ten. What have you been using it for, killing actual dragons?"

"Yeah," Guts plainly said. "Something like that."

"And you want me to repair it?" Godo asked. "You can't ever be satisfied with a normal sized sword, can you? Bah!" he stood up on wobbly knees. "Rickert! Go get the stirrups; we're gonna need them."

The fires blazed as Godo had the help of Guts, Harry, and Rickert in turning the blade over in the fire. The steel of Dragonslayer glowed as it was placed in the fire. Farnese, Serpico, and Isidro had gone off with Erica to entertain Casca upstairs, leaving the four of them to work down in the forge.

"So what is your plan?" Godo asked Guts. "Once your sword is finished, once you set out to heal the woman, what will you do? Will you kill that man?"

What would he do? "One thing before the other," Guts answered. "Casca takes priority, for now, anything else can wait until after that."

"Bah! Just another way of saying there is no plan," Godo fiddled with the straps. "I didn't have a plan when I took Erica in; I was just an old man who saw a girl with parents, all alone in a cruel world."

"Godo…" Rickert trailed.

"What? You didn't think Erica was mine, did you? She's ten, I'm… well, too old to be having kids, you do the math in your head. But I had no plan when I took her in. I could have been the biggest shit-father on this earth, and wouldn't have known. All I knew for my entire life was how to smith. My father was a smith, and his father before him, and I was drawn in by the sparks. They're like… little hopes and dreams, drifting off into the wind. Maybe mine was one of them, no plan, just going along."

"Don't say that!" Rickert told his teacher. "Erica loves you, looks up to you, why are you saying these things?"

"I'm old," Godo said like that would explain everything. "I say what's on my mind, and right now it's a bit jumbled. Besides, maybe there's a lesson to be learned." He looked directly at Guts. "I thought you were an idiot when I first met you. I thought you were an idiot when you went off to do god knows what, leaving that woman here locked up in my mine. Now, I still think you're an idiot, but not as big an idiot as before. You found it. That dream, or spark, you found it. Never let it go; think, if not for yourself, for her, for those that follow you."

An uncomfortable silence filled the air, only being broken by Godo turning Dragonslayer with the help of the stirrups. "Steel can be re-forged, folded over again until it becomes sharper still. It will come out stronger, but there is something stronger than anything that can be made in this forge. When you figure that out, be sure to keep it to yourself, you might learn something."

It took longer than it should, but by the end, Dragonslayer came out looking brand new. Guts saw it only for a brief moment, but it looked like Godo smiled at his finished craft. The best blacksmith in Midland passed away later that night.

Out of all the ways to go, this was tame. Asleep in a warm bed while a loving daughter sat by through to the end. Guts didn't pity Godo, it was more than most people could ask for, but one that he deserved.

Erica had, of course, been distraught over the passing, seeking Rickert for comfort. Even Casca seemed to sense her distress and patted her head in a curious manner. He, Harry, and Rickert dug the grave outside of the forge, marking it with a headstone of his favorite hammer. You were a blacksmith up until the end.

The only one to give any sort of eulogy was Rickert, Guts, and Harry opted not to because they could basically hear Godo's voice saying, "I'm dead. No need to spread the word."

Erica didn't seem to mind them not saying anything though, she was just grateful that they were in attendance, her usual cheery demeanor was lacking. "You're leaving again, aren't you?" the way in which she said it, she wasn't asking.

"Yeah," Guts told the small girl. "We are."

"We'll still be here," Rickert informed. "I'll never be as good as Godo, but I can still keep the forge running. And I'll be looking after Erica too."

Guts nodded. "Take care of yourself then, Rickert. You too, Erica." He made a move to go and lead where the group was standing, waiting to depart when he felt a hand grab hold of his cloak.

It was Erica. "Guts… when you get back from making Casca better, are you all going to come back? You all can come back here. We can fix the mine so you three can be safe at night, we could all live here together, right?"

She makes it sound like a happy ending. "Sure," he agreed. "Why not?" But this isn't a fairy tale. A happy ending… that's just a spark floating in the wind, isn't it, Godo?

Mass Breakout from Azkaban Prison!

By Rita Skeeter

You sadly read that title correctly, dear reader. Earlier this morning, sources reported that twelve, yes, twelve high-security prisoners from the infamous wizarding prison, Azkaban have been confirmed as missing. This reported managed to secure a quick interview with Auror Dawlish, and this is what he had to say on the matter, "We're still getting all the details together, but we haven't ruled out an inside job. Rest assured, investigations are being put into place as we speak."

Out of these twelve high-security prisoners, the escapees include the Lestrange brothers as well as the cruel Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black, known for her unfaltering loyalty in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!

Minister Fudge has yet to make a statement, but that is to be expected when such an important event as the Triwizard Tournament is being held, but I, like you, should put our complete trust and faith into our Minister and give him the support he deserves to deal with this crisis.

The motives of these prisoners remains largely unknown, but being some of the most devout Death Eaters during the war, it seems likely that many muggle settlements might fall victim to their terror. Or perhaps they aim to find our missing savior, Harry Potter and exact revenge for their fallen master.

It also goes without saying that if you see or hear any information regarding these escaped prisoners; please contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement straight away.

To say Neville was in a foul mood when he read that was an understatement. Bellatrix Lestrange… she's really free. The Death Eater who responsible for the torture of his parents and driving them to insanity was on the loose. The dour mood he was in seemed to have spread to the entire hall. No one was even talking about Cedric taking first place in the first task by getting the golden egg from that dragon, they all had a copy of the Daily Prophet.

From up at the staff table, the teachers seemed to be composed well enough, sans Karkaroff who was quite pale and sweaty. The other exception being the Ministry appointed judge and High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, Dolores Umbridge. She sat up there like a toad, eyeing the students for any signs of misbehavior, a habit she had since her first day and when the Fred and George spiked her morning drink with a puking substance they had been working on.

The consensus at the Gryffindor table was filled with all sorts of conspiracy theories flying around, courtesy of the rumor mill headed by Pavarti Patil and Lavender Brown. The Slytherin table seemed its usual composed self, Malfoy, of course, looked like he was on the in of some sort of joke, but did he look happy about it?

Maybe Neville could ask Tracey after potions. The two of them never talked in public due to the house rivalry and such, but she was at least one Slytherin he knew who was civil toward him and might tell him what was going on.

Not wanting to be surrounded by the talk of his parents' torturer, Neville packed up his belongings and made to exit the great hall. As he did, he passed by the Ravenclaw table, hearing a clink! A spoon had dropped from the hand of one Luna Lovegood.

Luna wasn't exactly the most popular girl in school, even within her own house, but Neville had spoken with her on a few occasions and didn't think she deserved the scorn and bullying that came her way. Neville wasn't going to say that she was normal, but that was not a bad thing. It just made her… well, it made her Luna.

"You dropped this," Neville said, handing her the spoon so she could go back to eating her favorite food – pudding.

She was unresponsive. Luna just stared off into space, fixated on something outside one of the windows of the great hall. "Luna?" Neville asked, lightly tapping her on the shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"She was never alright," another Ravenclaw – Marietta said, snickering to some of her friends.

"Do you not see it?" Luna asked Neville, not looking away from what she was staring at.

"See what?" Neville followed her line of sight, not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

Her next words were perhaps the strangest Neville had ever heard out of Luna, and that included the Wackspurts. "The Black Lion is riding into battle with the White Hawk."

Back in Midland, the Kushan invaders had pushed even further into the land; their newest point of conquest being Sonia's small town. Any men who could fight were killed by the sheer might of the invading Kushan force, and the women and children were put in chains, Sonia included.

The Kushan had a funny way of speaking, but Sonia guessed that Midlanders probably sounded weird to Kushan. It all had to do with what was the common language. She might not have been able to understand what the Kushan were saying but one of the women chained in front of Sonia had a pretty good idea.

"They mean to take us as whores," the woman whispered to her. "We will bear their children and give birth to more soldiers for their army! The Emperor will surely do that to the princess, we shall be no different to his soldiers!"

A Kushan soldier yelled over at her, the jist being quite clear, "Shut your mouth!"

"They seem like nice guys," Sonia said, quite calmly.

"How can you say that so carefree?!" the woman asked.

"I don't know," Sonia shrugged. "Just a feeling, I guess." She had a lot of feelings about things. She had a feeling about that one boy with the scar and that Black Swordsman who had passed by this town on separate occasions. Her mother told her that she was a born medium, being able to see and feel things that most others could not. That medium sensor had gotten even stronger as of late; it was like… a veil of sorts had been lifted, she was seeing more things than she could before. And right now her feeling was telling her this was not going to end well for the Kushan.

One of the Kushan officers spoke with two of his subordinates, giving out an order when all of a sudden-,

Phweeee! Thunk!

An arrow shot straight through all three Kushan's heads, they were dead before they even hit the ground. Everyone's eyes traced where the arrow had come from. Upon the roof of one of the homes, a lone figure stood, a quiver of arrows spread out at his feet, and a large bow contrasted his lithe frame.

"Is that…?"

"I believe so. It's Sir Irvine!"

Sir Irvine, a solitary hunter who was a legendary archer. His arrows always hit their mark, no matter what. The more Sonia looked at him, the stronger her medium sensor was going off. There's more to him than just a hunter.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The wall surrounding their town all but collapsed as the tallest man Sonia had ever seen came clad in silver dragon armor with a heavy shield and giant war hammer. The Kushan barely came up to his waist as he decimated ten in total with a single swing of his hammer.

"Sir Grunbeld?"

"What is he doing here?"

"I heard that he held a single castle against three-hundred enemies."

"Step forth," Grunbeld challenged. "Who is mighty enough to face death by my hammer?"

Galloping footsteps rang out across the land, the leader of these newly arrived lancers was clad in an exquisite silver armor, his lance, like Irvine's arrow, impaled multiple targets at once. This was Sir Locus, otherwise known as the Moonlight Knight from the otherworldly shine of his armor.

The Kushan were in a panic at this point, looking to flee instead of fighting the most renown knights of the Western territories. A dark shadow fell into their ranks, Sonia couldn't see much of this one, but she could feel him. A collective cry went out from the Kushan, they might have recognized the figure.

"Rakshas!" they screamed. "Rakshas!"

And then the most ferocious of the bunch came riding in, picking off the stragglers. He was a massive man even not on horseback. A jagged scar ran over the left side of his forehead and he carried a large sword and ax.

"He's a painter," Sonia said as she watched all the red liquid go flying through the air following the hacking and slashing of his attacks. He slaughtered them faster than the blink of an eye. There was no need to ask who this man was, almost every child knew of the most dangerous mercenary to ever live.

Nosferatu Zodd, the Black Lion, cut a clear path for another figure. Although blood went flying in every direction due to Zodd, this figure remained untainted by the red liquid, or maybe Zodd was just that good where he sent blood flying. By the time Zodd reached the main square of the town, nearly all the Kushan had been killed, only a handful of Kushan remained alive. Seeing no other alternative, they threw down their weapons, kneeling before the arrival of the beautiful man in white.

"It can't be… Sir Griffith?!"

At his arrival, all the knights, citizens, and even Zodd took a knee. Many looked down, but Sonia stared straight at him, her medium sensor going off more than ever at him and Zodd. It's like… I can see something behind him. I think… I think I see a castle. But as Sonia blinked, it was gone. Aw. I wanted to see it again. It felt someone was watching me too.

A/N: So there was a lot of Zodd this chapter and both Neo-Griffith and Voldemort have got more followers on their side. Thank you for reading.


	36. Chapter 36

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Finally, after nearly fourteen years of being locked up in Azkaban Prison filled with soul-sucking Dementors and the soulless husks of those who had been kissed; Bellatrix Lestrange was at last free. And her recently acquired freedom could not have come at a better time.

Bellatrix still remembered the feeling that night, the night that she felt the dark mark on her arm burn and bristle against her pale skin. That feeling was the happiest she had felt since her incarceration after her torture of the Longbottoms; it was a feeling that no dementor could suck out of her.

Her Lord and Master had returned at long last.

Picking up on Bellatrix's ecstatic mood, she was paid visits from a multitude of dementors who all sought to leech off of and deprive her of her sanity (not that she had much of that to begin with). But her unfaltering loyalty to the Dark Lord made it all bearable. Just the thought, the very idea that she might be reunited with her Master was a feeling that could never be taken away.

And how was her faith rewarded? By a visit from a man she thought long to be dead; Barty Crouch Jr.

A powerful disillusion charm had been cast over the former inmate – much too powerful than a wizard like Crouch could have cast. But Crouch was not alone. Thirteen muggles were under the disillusion charm as well; a dead glazed over look clouded their eyes, a clear indication of the imperious curse at work.

Dementors cannot see, rather, they feel. They detected thirteen people entering Azkaban, and by the time Crouch was done, they sensed thirteen people leaving. The human aurors who visited the isolated prison would not notice that a dozen of their prisoners were missing until it was too late. When they did, Bellatrix suspected it would be front page news; with wizards like Antonin Dolohov, Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange, Mulciber and Travers, and Augustus Rookwood now on the loose once again.

Once they were a safe distance from the island prison, Crouch took them by a side-along apparition to their Masters new base of operations. Un-strangely enough, they arrived outside of her brother-in-law's manor.

Lucius? Bellatrix thought with more than a hint of contempt. What has he done to deserve this honor? I will gladly offer my own if it were to please the Dark Lord.

Upon entering, the House Elf – Droppy, or something like that, bowed his head nervously to all of them; his large green eyes filled with fear.

"Good evening, honored guests," the elf addressed. "Master Malfoy and his most… esteemed guest awaits your arrival in the dining hall."

"Out of the way then." Bellatrix was already rushing past the short magical creature, eager to reunite with her master for the first time in years.

She was familiar enough with the layout of Malfoy Manor having been invited to parties by Lucius when he was courting Narcissa and when Death Eater meetings were held in secret, away from the prying Ministry investigations. The others followed behind her in suit; not as eager as her, but still willing and wanting to see for themselves.

Crouch was the one to open the dining room doors for them, licking his lips in anticipation as the newly escaped Death Eaters filed into the room. Instantly, the smell of food hit them. Plates and silverware had been set for them and a wide variety of food lined the length of the table. There were roast duck and pheasant, baked and mashed potatoes with steamed carrots and beans, three whole chickens with buttered rolls, sliced ham served with pineapple, and pudding for dessert. Compared to the dull grey slop that they had been served in Azkaban, this was a feast worthy of royalty.

Bellatrix could tell that her fellow Death Eaters' mouths were watering at the sight of the feast set before them. They could have it, food could always be replenished, she was here for one reason and one reason alone.

And at the head of the table was where he sat. he was different from how Bellatrix remembered him, but his appearance was not an unwelcome sight to behold. Between the full head of dark hair, the sharp features, and calculating eyes, the Dark Lord appeared more comely and healthy than ever before.

And that feeling of raw magic radiating off of him… it could be no one else but him. Bellatrix always knew that her master was powerful in the dark arts, but this felt entirely unreal. Perhaps this new power has something to do with his new appearance.

"Good evening, my friends," the Dark Lord's voice was smooth. "Please, take a seat, enjoy the food. Lucius' House Elf has prepared all of this for you all; my most faithful followers."

Bellatrix went to his right, taking a knee instead of sitting. "My Lord," she bowed her head. "It is an honor to see you once more. I am not worthy to be in your presence, you who fights for the preservation of the pure-bloods and our way of life."

The Dark Lord gave a dry chuckle, but not one that inherently cruel or malicious. "I would expect nothing but that amount of loyalty from you, Bellatrix." The Dark Lord extended a hand to her, helping her to her feet. His skin felt soft but structured, almost invulnerable. She liked it; the feeling made her lord and master all the more powerful, he looked how he felt; regal.

"My Lord," she said in an apologetic tone.

"Come, sit, all of you. You've grown much too thin while locked up in Azkaban. Help yourselves to the food; it is a luxury only the loyal and most devout of my followers should enjoy."

The loyal and most devout? Bellatrix played the words over in her head. Master recognizes our work as important. Such an honor.

She sat and helped herself to the food provided. Normally, she would have dived in damning the silverware; but she was in the presence of the Dark Lord, she could not let the primal need of hunger let her make a disgrace of herself in front of him. The others didn't seem to mind too mind, taking the Dark Lord's words at face value and stuffing themselves muttering words of, "Thank you, my Lord!" as they feasted.

The Dark Lord was silent as they ate, opting to just watch them feed themselves. Bellatrix was more focused on the Dark Lord more then she was on her meal. She studied him, memorizing every angle of his handsome face, every strand of hair, and the glint in his red eyes; the slit pupils giving him an otherworldly gaze that had not been present even in his old state. Like many of the Death Eaters, Bellatrix often wondered how much dark magic the Dark Lord would have studied to appear the way that he had; now, she was wondering what he had done to achieve this new form. Much seemed to have happened since her incarceration in that accursed prison, time spent that could have been used serving the Dark Lord was spent having the happiness sucked out of her. She had to do something to make up for all that lost time.

"Something on your mind, Bella?" the Dark Lord asked, using her nickname, it was something she would only allow her sister to call her. "Is the food not to your liking? Perhaps torturing the elf will make up for it?"

"It is all delicious, my Lord," Bellatrix bowed her head in thanks. "It is a great honor to be hosted by one such as you."

His red eyes stared into her own. "You have many questions, Bella. You are curious as to how this is possible." As usual, he knew, he always knew.

"It is rather unbelievable, my Lord," Bellatrix chose her words carefully, knowing the famed temper the Dark Lord possessed; she didn't want one of the happiest moments in her life to be squandered by the torture curse.

"It is, isn't it?" the Dark Lord asked rhetorically. "Having been locked up in Azkaban these past years, the times are bound to change. It took time, yes, but the payoff was well worth it. Your Lord Voldemort is stronger now than he was before, surely you can feel the power that I now possess."

"Yes, my Lord. Of course, my Lord." Bellatrix was quick to affirm. "You may appear different, but there is no denying that it is you. I would know if it wasn't."

"I don't doubt it, Bella." The Dark Lord eyed the rest of the assembled Death Eaters. "You all, my most loyal of followers, you have endured fourteen years of torment in that prison while the cowards and slime were set free." A few boos and hisses went around the table. "Yes, I was stuck with the likes of Wormtail to look after me in my weakened state."

Wormtail?! That rat would have only returned out of fear, nothing more! Where is the coward anyhow? Perhaps Nagini ate him.

The Dark Lord continued. "You all know me. You know that I am a just lord; purging our society of those mudbloods who would change our ways and traditions, for that, they deserve no mercy." Would they be conducting a raid soon? Bellatrix certainly hoped so, it had been far too long since she had properly tortured a muggle. "But to those who remain loyal, who followed my will even after I disappeared, to them I am a benevolent lord."

"Yes, my Lord," echoed from each of their mouths.

The Dark Lord nodded. "And out of all my followers, who more loyal than those gathered around me tonight? While I was in hiding, I still managed to hear the talk of some of your works. The torture of those Longbottom fools, very well done." Those blood-traitors deserved every bit of it! "To compensate you all for your most noble work and sacrifices, I intend to reward the lot of you." The Dark Lord examined his hand. "This new body of mine, it has more than a fair share of perks. Who amongst you would like to be the first to receive a… pseudo sense of my power?"

As soon as the Dark Lord asked the question, Bellatrix was already out of her seat, kneeling before her master. "My Lord," she said, almost pleadingly. "I would be greatly honored if you would bestow it upon me first."

"Ahah!" the Dark Lord laughed and lightly clapped his hands. "Excellent, Bellatrix! I should not be surprised that you would be the first to volunteer. Your dedication has never been called into question before. I was considering Crouch for this first, but his inability to deliver the Potter boy to me cost him that honor."

"My, Lord, I will not fail in that task," Bellatrix promised her master. "With the power that you give me, I will chase the boy down until the ends of the earth so that he may be delivered to you."

The Dark Lord smiled. "I admire your drive to impress, Bellatrix, but the beings responsible for my current state have promised that Potter will come to me when the time is right; we merely have to oversee preparations on our end for it to happen."

Beings? What beings? Who could have bestowed this body to the Dark Lord? "I will still accept, my Lord."

Rising from his chair, the Dark Lord stood in front of the kneeling form of Bellatrix. "So be it. Let the desire in your heart be fulfilled as you experience a portion of this power."

He caressed her pale, gaunt face before moving his thumb to her forehead. He started rubbing circles and a heated sensation began building up at his fingertips seemingly channeling into Bellatrix's mind and body. It was like a hot liquid was being poured over her head and her vision became hazy, the only thing she could distinguish clearly was the sight of her master's eyes. His eyes… they almost seemed to glow. Her body felt like it was everywhere and nowhere, instead, it almost felt like the pseudo power was engulfing her from every side. It felt powerful, she no longer felt malnourished from her time in prison, she felt…almost like a goddess.

Guts and the others departed from Godo's after the funeral was done. Erica had given goodbye hugs to all of them before retreating back inside to mourn the passing of the man who had been a father to her. Rickert was a bit more composed, giving them a parting gift as well. It was something he had been working on with Godo before his passing; miniaturized explosives. They were a welcome addition to his arsenal considering how long it took to reload his cannon prosthetic after firing a shot.

Isidro had been excited at the concept of the explosives, offering to carry some to "ease the load." It was a complete garbage excuse, but if they got into another fight along the way on the way to this witches tree (and Guts strongly suspected that they would) it wouldn't hurt for the kid to have something he could use considering his sword skills were shit.

It was around midday now and they had stopped along a stream to rest for a bit. Guts had wanted to push on, but traveling with so many others now, it wasn't like going it alone; there were people who needed time to rest. Serpico, the sly attendant had managed to catch some fish from the stream and Farnese was attempting to cook.

"Perhaps I should do the cooking, Lady Farnese," Serpico offered. "I used to prepare some of your meals back at your house."

"I know that Serpico," she told him. "But, if I am to travel with them, then I need to learn to contribute as well." Farnese set up the frying pan and other cooking utensils easily enough, but for the cooking…

"You have to de-scale the fish first, Lady Farnese," Serpico instructed.

"Ah."

"And de-bone it as well."

"Of course."

By the time it was done, Farnese distributed portions to all of them, waiting for them to tell her how it tastes. "It's ah…" Isidro and Puck looked at each other with pinched faces, clearly not a fan of Farnese's cooking.

"I like it," Harry told her.

"Truly?" Farnese asked, looking like a naïve barmaid.

"Uh, yeah. It's ah, chewy. It's… different."

"I didn't undercook it, did I?" she asked.

"No, no. I meant different in a good way."

What is it with that girl? Guts wondered. She went from arresting and whipping Harry and wanting to capture him to wanting to assist them and acting like a housewife. Whatever it was that was going through Farnese's head, as long as it didn't become a hindrance, it was bearable.

"I agree with Harry," Serpico offered his support. "It does have a very unique flavor to it, even without any seasoning added." He was by far the most convincing, but even Guts noticed the flinch at the corner of his mouth when he bit into it.

"What about you, Guts?" Farnese waited for him to try as well.

He took a bite. "It tastes fine." It was far from the worst thing he had eaten, he was not a chef by any means.

Farnese took that as praise, and let Serpico handle the cooking of the other fish he had managed to catch. "Excuse me, Harry?" she asked. "If you don't mind me asking, what can we expect once we reach this, what did you call it? A spirit-tree?"

"It's where I learned it all," Harry told her. "Or, most of it anyways."

"Huh? I thought people were always born with magic," Isidro mentioned. "The stories about magic were always pretty unclear back in my village."

"Well, my parents might have had magic. When I first learned I had it, it was because I could talk to a snake and understand what it was saying."

"Seriously?!" Isidro exclaimed. "So you're telling me if I find a snake, you can talk to it?"

Harry shrugged. "I suppose so. I haven't really tried in a while."

"I talked to a bird once," Puck added. "It was not a pleasant conversation."

"I can't imagine why" Guts muttered.

"Being able to understand an animal? That sounds quite useful." Serpico said from his cooking. "It really raises the question of what they must think of us humans."

Farnese looked thoughtful. "But, it is possible for people to learn magic then, even if they aren't born with it?"

Harry eyed her curiously. "From what I understand, yeah. Why do you ask?"

"I was just curious," Farnese told him. "Before I even joined up with the Holy Iron Chain Knights, I… participated in a number of witch hunts." Serpico briefly stopped his cooking. "If this place is the only place where people could learn witchcraft without being born with it… how many people…"

"Oh!" Serpico exclaimed. "The fire is dying. I'll have to go and gather some more. Guts, would you accompany me?"

"Sure," Guts agreed, rising from his spot near Casca who spit her piece of fish out in disgust. "Watch her while I'm gone, Harry."

"Of course."

The two of them walked a bit into the nearby woods to gather what wood they could for the campfire. "I think that we found a fine batch," Serpico said after a few moments of gathering. "Surprising that we managed to find this much given the snow. Wet wood is never good for fires."

Is that all he was going to say? "That it?" Guts asked. "For a minute, I thought that you brought me out here to kill me."

"What? Oh no." Serpico shook his head. "I've no quarrel with you as it stands; while it was my previous duty to try and capture you, I've agreed to let bygones be bygones. However, I did wish to speak with you."

"Yeah? About what?"

"About Lady Farnese," Serpico said.

Farnese, huh? He doubted it had anything to do with her lack of culinary skills. "I'm listening."

"You see, I've been Lady Farnese's attendant for quite some time since we were both children. I lasted longer than any other of my predecessors and have gained an understanding of how Lady Farnese thinks and acts. She's changed in these past few days; cooking, looking after another person, those are all things that would be a foreign concept to her. I strongly suspect it has to do with you and Harry. You both showed her a reality to cling to beyond what she was taught and brought up on. And if that encounter with Zodd and that Griffith character was anything to go by, this reality is not going to be a kind one."

"I never said it would be," Guts reminded. "She chose to walk it anyway; if you want her out, drag her kicking and screaming."

Serpico shook his head. "No. Lady Farnese can be quite stubborn once she's set her mind on something. I cannot stop Lady Farnese from walking the path she chooses, but I can keep an eye out for her. Which is why if she should perish along the way…" Serpico's blue eyes opened fully, "I would have to avenge her."

"So, you plan to kill me if that happens?" Guts crossed his arm.

Serpico closed his eyes once more. "I sincerely hope that I will not be put in that situation. After seeing you cut through a horde of those things at the Tower of Conviction, defeat Father Mozgus, and fight on par with Nosferatu Zodd, I don't think I would stand a chance. But as it said, I prefer to let bygones be bygones. I just thought I would let you aware of my intentions if we are to travel together."

Guts made a sound between a snicker and a laugh. "You're something alright."

"If you say so," Serpico said. "Ah! We should perhaps be getting back to the camp. As much as she means well, Lady Farnese still has much to learn in the culinary arts."

Guts watched as the attendant walked back to the campsite. "Weirdo," he said before taking his leave as well.

It was later that night, having packed up their camp they continued along on their journey and making good time with it at that. They kept off of the main road and stuck to the forest. With the war going on with the invading Kushan, the roads would be a hot spot for raiding bandit activity.

Setting up camp once again for the night, Serpico agreed to take the first watch. Isidro had offered initially, but he was exhausted by the time they were finished unpacking.

Guts began to drift off as well once he found a comfortable tree to lean against. This is different from all that time on my own. The talisman drawn over his brand could allow him a pleasant night of sleep. Harry had even drawn the symbol over Casca's as well, not wanting a repeat of the Tower of Conviction. Maybe, sometime soon…

His thoughts lessened as sleep overtook him.

There was darkness. A thick fog seemed to stretch as far as he could see. This is a dream. It has to be. Here, Guts was missing his prosthetic arm, his armor, and Dragonslayer.

He was no stranger to nightmares, he had experienced them ever since Donovan had violated him as a boy and especially after the Eclipse. This sensation, however, it felt like the darkness was taking shape behind him, breathing down his neck like a hungry wolf.

It spoke to him.

It is a dream, a nightmare of yourself. You cannot control it – control me for much longer. I will get out. You will let me out.

Shut up! I got enough to deal with already.

Yes! Get angry! The angrier that you become, the more you feed that darkness.

You're just a fucking dream. You're not real.

No. Not yet. An image of Casca was visible through the fog. Neither is your dream for her. She is a broken woman. These weaklings that you've surrounded yourself with, they are holding you back. Give in to me, and they will not slow you down. Give in to me, and make Griffith suffer. That is all that matters.

Shut up, already!

He awoke in a sweat, his sword hand stiff. Guts had to flex his fingers to get the blood flowing again. Running that same hand through his short, dark hair, Guts let out a sigh of relief. The others slept on peacefully, Isidro and Puck snored and a bit of drool was hanging out of the side of Casca's mouth.

Guts grabbed Dragonslayer, laying the massive blade across his lap, bringing a strange comfort along with it. Just a dream, nothing else.

"Gah!" Isidro yelled as he slapped at another fly. "Hey, Puck, you're small and can fly, can you keep these things away from me?"

The morning had come and the party had ventured off further into the woods surrounding Enoch Village as soon as they were all up and ready to move. The further in they went, the denser the forest seemed to grow, and the wildlife became more apparent. It was a familiar sensation to Harry, having spent the better part of two years in these woods with the two witches who dwelled within. Maybe it was just his imagination, but Harry could swear something was off about this forest now.

Schierke had told him that since the rebirth of Neo-Griffith, the layers were starting to cross and overlap. If he was betting, Harry would put gold on that being the root of the problem. The forest was deeply rooted with the astral layers, after all, it wasn't too far out of the question to assume that this spot would be one of the first to experience the aftermath of an event like that.

"As a creature of nature, it would go against my moral code," Puck denied Isidro's request. "You must learn to respect the land, my pupil."

"So you're a pacifist now?" Guts asked the elf.

"I'm not like you; I don't see a need to fight when I get annoyed."

"You've been annoying me for two years, I haven't killed you yet."

"I thought I was your friend."

Isidro slapped away another fly. "Something tells me you shouldn't press your luck, Puck."

"Who is the student and who is the master?" Puck asked.

"The scenery of this forest is so unlike anything that we would see in Vritanntis," Serpico looked at the canopy above. "Quite the sight."

Farnese was trying to watch her footing, careful to not trip on any exposed tree roots or moss covered rocks. "I feel it would be better on horseback, though."

"Aaah! Auua!" Casca caught a butterfly, closely examining the pattern of its wings as it crawled along her finger.

"The path disappears pretty early on into these woods," Harry reminded them. "But, it should even out soon. I'm recognizing some of the scenery, we're getting close."

"Good," Guts nodded. Although his face remained stoic, a hint of anticipation could be heard by both Harry and Puck, having known him longer than the others, sans Casca, of course.

The relative peace and tranquility of the forest were shattered by an almost blood-curdling cry. "Aaarggh!"

"W-what the hell was that?!" Isidro looked around nervously, expecting something to jump out at any moment.

Serpico drew his blade, standing protectively in front of Farnese. "Who else besides us would have business this far into the woods?"

"No one," Harry said, his sword drawn as well. "I'll check it out; there should only be two other people this far in."

Guts followed after him. "Alright. Let's see if this is one of those witches."

Harry doubted it, the scream sounded nothing like a woman's.

Isidro watched nervously as the two of them went to investigate. "H-hey, anyone else feel we should follow after them? They are the two that kind of pull this team."

Serpico remained composed. "True, but that also means that they're capable as well. I'm confident any danger that they encounter, they'll be able to handle."

"They do seem to know what they're doing," Farnese agreed. "It makes you wonder how long that they've been at this." She sounded like she was… admiring them.

"Yeah, can't argue with that, but what about us?" Isidro asked. "One of them could've stayed."

Puck plopped down on top of his head. "Just remember your training, my disciple, and all will work out."

"You keep saying that, but-," krik. "What was that?" if it was just a squirrel or something, he was going to feel really put out. Something was creeping around the tree, and it was no squirrel.

"Get your sword out, and keep behind me," Serpico advised, his eyes trained on the strange creature that was advancing toward them, and it wasn't alone. Several others were emerging as well, all looking the same, but some carried bone clubs or farming tools.

"Keep back, you freaks!" Isidro swung his sword at one of the creatures. The monster caught the blade in its mouth, biting down on it. "Hey! Let go, you hairy bastard!" Isidro yanked the blade away, but he only pulled the hilt of the sword away; the rest of the blade broke off.

"Aw crap!" Isidro eyed his broken blade in worry. He was pretty much done for now. The freakish creature got ready to lunge at him and – a berry was thrown into its mouth?

Yeah, Isidro saw that correctly, a berry had flown straight into its mouth. The creature swallowed it and instantly started to hack and cough like the berry was toxic. Several more berries went flying toward the creatures and they began to flee as soon as they caught a whiff of the fruit.

"Huh?"

A short figure dressed in purple clothing and a wide-brimmed purple hat brushed past him, walking in a circle to encompass the group. Serpico spotted this figure too but strangely did not bother to stop the new arrival. Whoever it was, they were making a circle of salt around them. And they were carrying a staff like Harry's too. Well, not exactly like Harry's, but similar enough.

Isidro realized that it was a lady, one of the witches that they were on the lookout for. She was chanting something in a language he didn't understand, but it seemed to be working. Those… whatever the hell they were, they were retreating, running away with their short tails tucked between their legs.

"Huh! Ha! Hahaha!" Isidro laughed, watching the creatures run off. "Yeah, that's right! You're not so tough!" he supposed he should thank whoever it was that just saved their asses. "Hey, you, witch. Good job with that-," he stepped to give a handshake, tripping over an exposed root." Whoa!" to stop his fall, he grabbed the witch from behind, his hands accidentally landing on her front.

What's this? They don't feel saggy like some old woman's.

That was when she turned her head, and Isidro was able to fully see her short green hair and green eyes. She was probably just a year younger than Harry. "Hey, you're not an old lady."

Her face beet red and a sense of impending dread filled Isidro as her staff pointed in his direction.

Harry cut through the foliage with his sword and staff, Guts following not far behind. "Help!" the voice yelled again, it was definitely a man's voice. "Please, somebody!"

Lying on his back was an older man in his late fifties or sixties. He had a bit of grey stubble growing on his face – a face that was morphed into terror at the creatures closing in around him. They were short and covered in black hair. Their legs were stout, but their arms were long and they held various bone instruments as well as a few farming tools. Their noses were large and held a few whiskers; large teeth were visible from their lipless mouths, giving the appearance that they were grinning.

Trolls, Harry remembered Schierke saying something about how they had raided Enoch Village. They looked nothing like how stories would usually depict them; there were very little human qualities about them at all.

The trolls caught sight of the new arrivals, forgetting about the old man that they were harassing. With a twirl of his staff, Harry conjured up the tree roots to spring from the ground, wrapping around the furry trolls. Some were crushed instantly from the force being applied to them, others were clawing and trying to gnaw their way to freedom.

Harry cut them down before they could do that, Guts taking out multiple trolls with Dragonslayer. "You alright?" Harry asked, helping the older man to his feet.

The man coughed as Harry helped him up. "Well, you sure are sight for sore eyes, lad."

"Do I know you?" Harry asked.

"I suppose you wouldn't remember me," the man dusted himself off. "You stopped by my town some time back, asking about these woods."

It took him a few seconds, but he was able to put a name to this man's face. "Morgan."

"That I am."

"What the hell are you doing out here, old man?" Guts asked, eyeing the stranger warily. "An old timer like you should know better to go off without a weapon."

"Well, my business was about these trolls here. We all thought they were stories; we were wrong."

"So what? You decided to go hunt them alone?" Guts asked, not impressed.

"Oh, no. I'm too old to be fighting battles. I was seeking the witches favor. She helped me when I was just a boy if anyone could clear these trolls out, she can."

A flash of light briefly lit up the forest behind them. Magic. Harry was making his way back to where he and Guts had left the others, Morgan following not too far behind.

The sight awaiting Harry was not one he would be forgetting soon. Isidro was crouching on his hands and knees, his arms were coated in red-orange hair, and the sides of his face were as well. But the strangest thing of all was the tail that he had suddenly grown. He had been partly transfigured into a monkey.

And the figure standing with a heated face could be the only source.

She was obviously agitated over something, and from the conversations they had regarding Isidro, he knew that she did not think too highly of their traveling companion. He should probably say something now to maybe calm her down.

"Uh, hey, Schierke. I don't know what he did to get you angry, but it was probably something stupid." She lowered her head, her purple hat obscuring her eyes. "That was, uh, some creative magic just now." She wasn't answering. Taking a chance, Harry reached a hand out. "Schierke?"

Whack!

"Ow!" Harry grabbed his mouth where he had suddenly been hit by the end of Schierke's staff. "What was that- ow!" she hit him again. "C'mon, stop- ow! Knock it off!" she kept hitting him. "Knock it off, seriously! What did it I do?!"

"Stupid!" she yelled at him, hitting him again. "You stupid idiot!"

"How am I stupid?! Ow! Stop hitting me already!"

Ivalera flew out from under Schierke's hat, flying in front of his face as he covered the top of his head, Schierke's target striking area apparently. "Shame on you!" Ivalera snapped. "I've got a bone to pick with you!"

"What for?" Harry asked over Schierke's insults.

"You've got some nerve!" Ivalera floated with her hands on her hips. "Making Schierke think you were dead only to show up again perfectly fine! Shame on you! Do you have any idea how worried she was?!"

"What are you talking ab-ow-out? Wait? Do you mean with Zodd-?"

"Yes!" she shouted. "When I saw that fight and our connection get cut, I thought that you died, idiot!"

"I didn't mean to worry you," Harry felt her strikes begin to lessen to some degree. "I was expecting a verbal assault, not… this."

Schierke still appeared cross, but the faces of the onlookers were just baffled. Isidro (who was still part monkey) scratched himself in confusion. Serpico had a finger on his chin looking thoughtful. Farnese looked a bit worried but dared not say anything. Casca was fascinated with a ladybug crawling on her palm.

It wasn't until Guts grabbed Schierke and lifted her with one hand, did she finally relent in her attack; now looking rather nervous at the look Guts was giving her.

"What's this?" Guts asked. "You're not going around breaking girls hearts, are you?"

"No, of course not." Harry rubbed at some sore spots where Schierke had struck him. "Just a misunderstanding." Damn! She may be short, but she can hit hard.

Guts eyed Schierke closely. "You let it all out, short-stuff ?"

She avoided his gaze in a shameful fashion. "Y-yes. I apologize for my behavior." Guts set her down. "This isn't how I imagined our meeting going, but it is nice to meet you in person, Guts. I am Schierke."

"The one witch of that spirit-tree or whatever," Guts recalled.

Schierke nodded. "Yes, my mistress and I were expecting you to arrive because of Harry." he would have to ask Puck for some dust later. "We would be pleased to welcome you as guests to our sanctuary."

"So we're all good now, right?" Isidro asked, his tail twitching. "You can change me back now, right?"

"It'll wear off in a few hours," Schierke told him.

"It serves you right," Ivalera backed her friend.

"Hey, I didn't mean to grab your… uh, you know. It was an accident, honest."

Schierke considered it. "Well, I might have gone a bit-,"

"-I mean, there wasn't much to really feel anyway." Isidro should have left it alone. A short spark of lightning flew from the end of her staff, making his fur stand up on end. Guts didn't bother restraining her on that.

Puck had gotten wise and flown away from Isidro and over to Ivalera. "Hey, you're an elf like me!"

"Please don't annoy me," Ivalera asked the other elf.

Morgan stood watching the exchanges going on. "If I can beg your pardon, Miss. Witch," he greeted as politely as he could, "you wouldn't happen to be the same witch I met in these woods fifty years ago, would you?"

Schierke composed herself again. "I'm sorry, but that was not me. You refer to my mistress and teacher."

"She took on an apprentice, truly?" Morgan scratched at his stubble. "I've visited these woods many times since my first encounter with her, I was never able to find her home again."

Guts spoke next. "You said that you were expecting us, are you going to take us to this mistress of yours?"

"That is why I was patrolling the border, yes," Schierke agreed. "If you were all agreeable to it, I will escort you to our sanctuary."

Guts studied her some more before saying, "Alright. Let's meet your teacher then."

Schierke led the way through the woods, the rest following behind her. Harry and Guts followed the closest. "I really am sorry for worrying you like that," Harry apologized to the other mage.

"Fine," she replied.

"I get how it must have looked, fighting with Zodd and all. And I really do apologize, even though it wasn't entirely my fault."

"I know that. It was just… it was scary, that's all." She pointed her staff at his face, and Harry feared another whacking, but instead, "Oculus reparo." The crack in Harry's glasses mended themselves. "You're glasses were broken." He had never gotten around to fixing them after the fight at the Tower of Conviction.

"How'd you know about the fight with Zodd?" Guts asked. "Some kind of magic or something?"

"Thought transference," Harry explained. "With it, she could hear my thoughts and see what I was."

"That's why I said it was nice to meet you in person," Schierke explained. "I saw you through Harry's perspective, not my own."

Guts looked like he was considering how that was possible but just accepted that magic was the simplest answer there was. "Hm. I see. That saves introductions on our end."

"There is still Mistress Flora," Schierke reminded. "She wants to meet with you as well. I'm sure you have many questions that you wish to ask her about… everything."

"You don't need magic to figure that out," Guts said as the trees began to thin, giving way to the clearing that the spirit-tree resided.

"Whoa!" Puck exclaimed as he took in sight of the tree." You live here?!" he asked Ivalera.

"Of course!" the other elf almost bragged. "There's no finer spirit-tree in all of Midland." Harry didn't bother to correct her that it was pretty much the only spirit-tree in Midland.

"So this is where witches live?" Farnese asked, taking in the sight. "It is so organic like the house was built around to cater to the tree."

Morgan took a bit longer to catch up, but his eyes shone with a boyish sense of adventure when he beheld the sight. "It is just as I remember. It hasn't changed a bit."

Schierke continued to lead them forward, opening the way to the ever familiar smell of wood and sage that the interior of the mansion provided. More plants and jars of ingredients lined the shelves decorating the interior since Harry made his departure, that being the only noticeable change.

They came to a stop outside the double doors of Flora's study, Schierke giving a polite knock before hearing a voice respond from the other side. "Come in."

Flora sat in her seat, working the spinning wheel, and smiling kindly as they all entered. "Ah, Harry! How lovely to see you again. And you've brought companions along with you. Marvelous!" she didn't sound too surprised at all. "I am Flora, the Mistress of this spirit-tree. How may I be of assistance?"

Windham, Capital of Midland

The Kushan had taken the city; taken the castle. Princess Charlotte found herself a prisoner of the invading Kushan, and was now being kept in an isolated cell; the very top of the Tower of Rebirth, a complete opposite to where Griffith had been locked up by her father. And unlike the lowest level, the top of the tower was quite cozy, being equipped with a four-poster bed and an adjacent room for her handmaiden, Anna who had been taken along with her.

She had been locked up her for a few weeks now, hearing only brief mentions of what was going on in the city itself. Apparently, a small resistance band led by Sir Laban and Minister Foss had taken up in the underground of the city, Sir Owen had escaped, looking to muster allies to retake the city from the Kushan and the occupying Emperor Ganishka.

The Emperor had seen to her living arrangements himself, allowing her to live her in comfort for a price of course. And Charlotte had a feeling that he was here to collect his payment tonight as he entered her chamber.

"Princess Charlotte," Emperor Ganishka addressed in his accented voice as his large form approached. He was a tall man, fitting for an emperor. Like all Kushan, his skin was a healthy bronze and had dark hair. His beard was exceptional, having it grown out and styled, curling it upward at the ends. It was so thick that his mouth was completely obscured by the dark, thick hair. Multiple rings coated his fingers, each decorated with rubies and sapphires. "It is an honor to see you again."

She swallowed a lump in her throat. "Greetings, Emperor Ganishka. To what do I owe your presence?" she had an idea; she hoped to god that she was wrong.

"Have you thought over the offer I proposed to you?" he asked. "You do not want the slaughter of your people to continue now, do you?" how could she answer that? If she gave an answer he would invoke his right. "You Midlanders continue to resist my divine right of conquest. But if you were to become my bride and bear me an heir, the invasion would hardly be illegal. What is your answer?"

"I… I have not decided. I need more time to-,"

"-You have had a significant amount of time," Ganishka almost bellowed, his voice like a rising storm. "You live here in luxury while your people die. You mean to tell me that you have not made up your mind by now?"

He advanced toward her. She backed up to the bed. "S-stay away from me!" the fear taking hold of her, the same she had felt the time her father had tried to… "Please! Keep away!"

His large hands grabbed her petite shoulders. "Save countless lives by making a sacrifice of a ruler. The blood of rulers old runs through you; our child would have a divine right to inherit this world, inherit the Kingdom of Gaiseric, your ancestor."

"Stop!" the fabric of her dress was ripped and the cold air hit her exposed front. She backed away until her knees hit the bed. She fell back onto it, crawling back from the advancing emperor, his eyes as dark as a hurricane.

Her hand fell on the only thing that littered her cell, one of her embroidery designs. She held it up like a shield, her eyes closed in fear. And she felt nothing. Opening one eye, Charlotte saw that the emperor was no longer advancing toward her, his dark eyes fixed on her design; the emblem of the Band of the Hawk.

"So," Ganishka stroked his royal beard. "You are affiliated with my arch-rival." His voice was low like a rising storm. He turned on his heel, exiting her chamber. "The White Hawk, it had to be him."

Before the door could shut, her handmaiden, Anna, rushed into the room. "Princess!" Charlotte dropped the embroidery design and buried her face in the other girl's shoulder. Anna wrapped a blanket around Charlotte, covering her from Ganishka's assault.

"Stay please," she asked her handmaiden, not wanting to be left alone tonight. Anna obliged her request, stroking Charlotte's dark brown hair until she tired and fell asleep, but Charlotte remained awake.

She picked up the embroidery set again, studying the design. She often dreamt of Griffith, and the Band of the Hawk, hoping beyond measure that somehow that they were still alive and out there, maybe even coming to rescue her from this tower. But that dream was just that; a dream. The only other way she was getting out of here was if she fought her way out, and for a descendant of Gaiseric, she was no warrior.

There was a sound of a thunderstorm brewing outside and Charlotte hazarded a glimpse. What she was not a storm, but a… Did cloud touch down inside of the nearby City of Windham? The cloud was as tall as the castle, and it seemed to have a human form to it. A snowy white beard and storm-blue eyes; it almost looked like Emperor Ganishka. A strong gust of wind was blowing as well, the shutters of the windows began to open and slam shut repeatedly.

She forced one of the shutters closed as a blast of the lightning shot from the humanoid cloud and at a target below in the city. Even with the shutters closed a bright light was occupying her cell. But… this light, it wasn't from the lightning. Something had entered her cell.

A voice spoke from behind her. "Good evening, Princess Charlotte."

That voice. I know that voice. But… I must be asleep.

Turning to face the man, her heart almost stopped beating. It was like nothing had ever happened to him, no imprisonment, no torture, and no nothing. He looked better than ever actually. Dressed in a new set of white armor and his white locks as rich and pure as winter snow.

"L-lord Griffith?"

"Are you frightened?" he asked, studying her with his blue eyes. Are his pupils slit, or is it a trick of the light? "I hope that I'm not intruding at an inopportune moment."

"Are… are you truly Griffith?" she asked, taking a tentative step forward. Her hand reaching out to touch, to see if what she was seeing was solid and real.

"I must look different since the last time, but I assure you, I am who you suspect me to be. You helped to rescue me from my cell, it is only fitting that I rescue you from yours. Outside, my cohorts distract the emperor, allowing my person to be here."

"Cohorts… the Band of the Hawk? They live?" that lake of blood, that was the Hawks, so did some truly survive?

"A new Band of the Hawk that I have been recruiting, but yes, they follow me as the old one did."

Charlotte's hand touched his white armor. It's real.

"Do you wish to leave this place, Princess?" Griffith asked.

"You will free me, truly?!" she asked. He nodded.

"Go to the bed and hold on," Griffith instructed, waiting until she had done as he asked. He clapped his hands, and the tower seemed to shake.

Charlotte gripped the banister of the bed as the roof of the tower was torn off and a behemoth looked down in on them. It was nearly sixteen feet in height, and a single massive horn grew from the right side of its head. She would scream if she could, but a part of had seen that creature before; back then when that whirlwind and the lake of blood appeared, this had been the creature flying overhead, she was sure of it.

The creature lowered a paw and lifted Griffith onto its back where a pair of wings grew. With both paws, it lifted the bed from the room and took flight into the night. Charlotte held on for dear life, but the flight was very smooth, no wonder Anna was still asleep.

Griffith… what is this? This… demon? How is this serving you? She didn't want to admit it for fear that it was too late, but she was wondering if she should have stayed in that tower. Is this really you, Griffith?

A/N: So happy Valentine's Day or Single Awareness Day as is is better known. Both Voldemort and Griffith conducted a jailbreak. Thank you for reading.


	37. Chapter 37

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

The old woman sitting in front of Guts looked nothing like how he would expect a witch to look. Her apprentice – Schierke, looked the part more than she did; the younger girl dressed in purple robes and her outfit came complete with a wide-brimmed pointed purple hat, all she was missing was a broom and she would have looked like children's stories of how a genuine witch would look. This woman – Flora, looked and dressed just like any other elderly woman Guts could find in Windham or outlying village. A blouse, long shirt, and bonnet were hardly what anyone who dreamed of witches would have considered an appropriate attire. The more Guts studied the woman, the more he noticed the dead giveaway was in her eyes.

Those eyes of hers were filled with a curious intelligence that exceeded her time on this earth. There was an odd sort of twinkle that shone as well, making Guts feel like she knew everything about him already; like she could look inside of him to further evaluate his self-worth. It was off-putting, but her almost grandmotherly smile helped to put that anxiety away. Harry had spent the better part of two years studying under this woman, and if he trusted her apprentice enough to let her into his head, that had to say something about this woman's character.

"How may I be of assistance?" asked Flora, her almost twinkling eyes passed over each of them, seemingly looking into all of them to gain a better understanding.

"So you're the witch then," Guts didn't bother phrasing it as a question.

"Did Harry not tell you about me?" Flora asked in a teasing tone.

"He told me some," Guts answered. "And with your apprentice over there watching our travels, I would think that you would know why we came here."

"Schierke has told me much, that is true," Flora gave a gentle nod of her head. "You seek to cure this young woman of the damage inflicted upon her mind." Her gaze drifted over to Casca, who was curiously eyeing all the decorations across the room. "And along the way you've managed to secure a few more traveling companions. Isidro, a young boy from a mountain village who seeks to become a legendary swordsman."

Isidro had begun to revert out of his transfigured monkey-state and back to normal but still had a tail protruding from the base of his spine. Puck sat on top of his head. "Your legend has already begun, my pupil."

Flora looked to the two blondes. "Farnese de Vandimion and her attendant, Serpico. Once members of the Holy Iron Chain Knights, this young woman seeks a truth beyond what she was taught, and he follows her faithfully."

Farnese avoided the old woman's gaze, looking ashamed almost. "You… are a true witch then?"

"You feel guilty." Flora did not say it as a question, and her tone had shifted to a more understanding one. "During your tenure with the Holy See, you participated in a number of witch burnings." Farnese's silence was more than enough of an answer. "You wish to atone for your prior actions?"

"Those people who I burned… I thought I was doing good, doing good by God…"

"You did what was expected of you, what you were told. Perhaps you enjoyed watching the fire consume, but you are not beyond redeeming yourself. When you live as long as I have, you realize that there have been far worse done by far worse people."

Farnese looked quite surprised, to say the least. "T-then you are not angry with me? I thought for sure that…"

"You might have enjoyed watching those flames, they might have ignited a passion inside of you, but even now those internal fires burn away at what you once perceived as truth; your mind, Lady Farnese, is as open to change as anyone as young as yourself. If you continue to dwell on the past and all the wrongs that could have been avoided, you'll become old before your time." The old witch said that without as much as a twinge of displeasure.

This woman… she's lived longer than she looks. To Guts, Flora looked to be around seventy, but the way she spoke… it would take more than seven decades to not hold a grudge against a person who made it their life mission to hunt other witches.

Farnese seemed to be at a loss for words as she mulled over what Flora had just told her, leaving Serpico to answer on her behalf. "Thank you, Miss. Flora." He gave a polite bow of his head. "You're acceptance is much appreciated. For as long as we are guests in your humble abode, you will receive nothing but hospitality from us."

"My, such a polite and well-spoken young man. That must have come as natural to you as the wind in a grassy plain." She seemed to be thinking to herself about something when she said that.

"All of you have something that you seek, some easier to obtain than others." He saw Flora's eyes linger on Casca for a brief second. "From what Schierke has told me, helping to heal this young woman's mind takes current precedence."

"Can you do it then?" Guts asked, wanting an answer as soon as possible. "You can heal her to how she was before?"

"I am no King of the Elves, but I have studied the mind arts. That one other wizard who stopped by so long ago even taught me a skill in the magical mind arts. Do you remember what it is called, Harry?" Flora asked, quizzing her one student.

"Uh… oh! Yeah, you said it was legitimency." Harry answered.

"Legilimency," Flora corrected, "but close enough."

"What is it?" Guts asked.

"Well, Harry and Schierke will know what I mean when I say that it is like a more advanced kind of thought transference. Instead of seeing and hearing thoughts and events, legilimency is the practice of going through a person's mind and viewing their memories. In more extreme cases, it can even be used to plant visions or illusions of certain events – not that I plan on doing that to this woman." Flora quickly added that last when she noticed the suspicious glare Guts was giving her. "What you must understand is, the mind is not just some book to be open and read at will. It is a complex maze that is unique to every person."

"But… would it work?" Guts asked the old witch. "How could you going through her mind help?"

"It would be difficult," Flora was honest about it at least. "This child-like mentality that she currently possesses, it is a shadow of what she used to be. No matter how bad a mind was damaged, it has a way of protecting itself. The key to restoring her lies deep within her subconscious." As she spoke, Casca became fascinated with a caterpillar that was crawling along the wooden floor. "I will help where I can, but," Flora looked Guts dead in his eye, "the only way she will be truly healed is if she is willing to come back herself."

Willing? Why wouldn't she be willing? To be the woman she used to be, the one who could handle a sword and fight in battle, to be able to give orders to followers, that was who Casca is. Or… does she, actually like being like that… Guts really did not want to consider that possibility. The former seemed the better option than the current state Casca was in now, but, was he really the one to decide that for her?

What had happened to Casca at the Eclipse… Guts knew that feeling. His aversion to human contact, his attitude, it could all be traced back to those three silver coins Gambino had accepted. Afterward, Guts had been in near catatonic state for most of the morning after. Not saying anything, not bothering to move, he had shut down then, not sure how to cope. Is that what Casca was doing now? Wandering around in her own mind because she wasn't sure what else to do?

"If you say that it has a chance of working, do it," Guts told the old witch. "Even if Casca doesn't want to come back to how she was, at least she knew that she had a choice."

It was unpleasant to think about. Casca was the strongest woman that he knew, and he knew that she was somewhere inside of her current state. Even if she wasn't capable of recognizing it now, or maybe she was, maybe the real Casca was able to experience everything this one was capable of experiencing. That would be the thing that was presented to her that she had full control over; her choice.

"Hm," Flora smiled fondly. "The choice is indeed hers to make, no one else's. I will assist where I can, but, I would ask your assistance with something as well."

"What?" Guts asked. If this was the price or deal he would have to strike up, then so be it.

Flora's gaze shifted to the temporary newcomer that they had picked up in the woods, the old man named Morgan. "You are from Enoch Village, are you not?"

Morgan took a few tentative steps forward, a child-like smile on his wrinkled face. "Indeed I am. You may not remember me, but I found this place back when I was just a boy."

"Oh, yes! You're that sweet little child who was looking for medicine for your mother." Flora recalled. "It's been at least fifty years since then, you've obviously grown."

Morgan chuckled. "If you don't mind me saying, but you look exactly as I remember you, nothing about you seems to have changed."

"You flatter me so, but pleasantries are overshadowed by a more pressing matter at hand. Trolls have been attacking your village, have they not?"

Morgan nodded sadly. "They have. They've attacked twice already, running off with livestock, tools, and women. Poor Hannah lost her husband before getting carried off."

Flora turned to Guts again. "That is what I would ask of you; to rid these woods and this man's village of this troll swarm."

"Troll slaying, huh? That's your price? Fine. The ones back there went down easy enough, they can keep coming, they'll meet the same end."

"Thank you for your agreement," Morgan thanked, "but, if I may ask, how is it these trolls have begun appearing? People in the village all believe them to be myths and legends."

"The world has recently undergone a shift," Flora explained. "Different layers of reality are beginning to overlap with each other. The one of darkness, Quilphoth has begun to manifest itself in this forest. All of it stems from a certain reincarnation ceremony."

Griffith.

"Schierke, would you so kind as to show some of our visitors around the mansion, perhaps even show them some items that will help with the troll slaying? I believe that these two," she looked at Harry and Guts, "have some further questions to be discussed."

The little witch bowed her head. "Of course, Mistress. Follow me please." The apprentice led the five others back out the way they had come previous, leaving the older witch alone with the two of them.

"How'd you know we had questions?" Guts asked. Had she used that legilimency, or whatever it was called on them? If she had, then he hadn't even felt it happen.

"Well you just asked a question right now," Flora pointed out. "And it makes sense that after all this time; the two of you wouldn't have any questions about what is going on. Even if you have walked different paths, the end goal has always been the same."

Harry looked to Guts. "Uh, why don't you go first? If you have any questions about Casca, then I get it."

"This magic mind art, you were talking about, will she feel it?"

"Most likely, no."

"'Most likely?'" Guts parroted. "Meaning…?"

"She will be asleep when I conduct the spell. That will make it easier to traverse her subconscious mindscape. Dreams have a way of showing our deepest desires. Normally the subject would have to be awake so eye contact could be established, but there are other methods to circumvent this."

"How long would it take?"

"Time has no concept in dreams," Flora told him. "Depending how far into the mind, possibly a day, even more. Once I reach a certain point, the rest will be up to her."

The way she's saying this, not missing a beat… it sounds… possible.

"I just have one other question then," Guts reached into his satchel to pull out the green behelit he had got from that slug-count. "Do you know anything about these?"

"I know some." She didn't sound as cheerful as she had been previously. "May I ask how you came about such an object?"

"It wasn't mine at first; I got it from a man who stole it from an apostle."

"The behelit is a fetish of darkness. It is different from the one I have seen previous, but the function is still the same for each; power in exchange for a sacrifice. And they always have a way of finding the person they were meant for. If that is you, or someone else, that remains to be seen."

More or less what I already know. "Alright." He put the behelit back in his bag. It may not be mine then, maybe… maybe I'm just a ride for it then, waiting until it comes to the right person. "That's all I wanted to know for now."

Flora fixed him with a curious gaze, looking like she was expecting more. "Oh, that's all for now? Here I was expecting you to ask if I was fully qualified to undertake this task."

"You're not about to start doubting yourself, are you?" Guts asked. She probably meant it as a joke, but anything that concerned helping Casca wasn't to be taken lightly. "I've seen firsthand the things your two students can do, if reading minds are one of those things, it would be far from the most ridiculous."

"Hm. Well, I assure you, your faith is well placed. I will do my best. It will not all be legilimency, some other magic will be involved, but it should yield the same results." Guts begrudgingly nodded. "Now," she looked at Harry, "I assume you have a fair share of questions as well?"

"Less about Casca, but yeah, I do." Harry reached into his own satchel and pulled out that book he had gotten after the whole Tower of Conviction fiasco. "Do you recognize this?"

Flora took the book, flipping through the pages and an almost nostalgic look in her eyes. "The first copy of this doctrine," her eyes were fixated on the text instead of them. "Schierke told me you came about this at St. Albion."

"She told me you said he was the one responsible for the fall of Gaiseric's Empire."

Her wrinkled fingers touched the note at the back of the text; slowly trailing down the parchment-like she was reaching into the past. "Brothers may not always see eye to eye, but Gunderic did care for the Empire the two of them had built."

"So it made sense for him to want to tear it all down," Harry missed the logic in that statement. "He sounds like a real good brother."

"You are familiar with the Brand of Sacrifice, it worked the same with him as it did for the others; what is sacrificed must be valuable, you have to care for it. Gunderic was the architect of the empire, seeing his work come to an end that he put time and effort into, along with all those who looked up to him." She paused. "I remember when I came upon him mapping out a part of the expansion, he said, 'It's as if planning this city is in collaboration with time. I've experienced the sensation of feeling as if you've seen something before, but this is entirely different. It is almost as if the design was planted in my head, waiting to be tilled. I can see and know what's behind every corner.'"

"He sounds like a pretentious snob," Guts remarked. Harry had read him that same letter and he had a pretty good idea who this Gunderic turned out to be.

"A bit," Flora didn't bother to deny. "But there were those he truly cared for. His nephews being among them as well as the citizens of the empire."

"Well, what about the falling out with his brother then?" Harry asked. "If he cared so much, what could have driven him to destroy it all?"

Flora ran her fingers along the parchment again before shutting her connection that that part of the past. "No one factor can be singled out for that. As you've read, Gunderic was strongly opposed to the social system of slavery. Both he and Gaiseric were the sons of a tribal chieftain and a slave woman; it was a status that followed them all their lives until Gaiseric took lead after their father's passing. He conquered more tribes, and then a country, and eventually a continent. It was around that time that I met the two of them."

If she's for real, she's almost a millennia old.

"So even if he was the son of a slave, Gaiseric kept the system?" Harry asked with clear disapproval in his tone.

"Make no mistake, he hated it as well. But for all skills with a blade, he did have a larger plan in mind. Slavery at that time was present in every tribe and land, to eliminate the trade right away would start a civil war, so Gaiseric devised a system to slowly weed it out over time, usually having the slave men take wives and fight for their freedom in an arena. Gunderic saw this as barbaric and wanted to end it all together."

"So what happened?" Harry asked, wanting to know more. "It sounds like they both wanted the same thing."

"It also came down to how they viewed magic and the world around them. Like with the troll situation now, magical creatures were common back then. If someone could perform magic, it was seen as a favorable sign. Gaiseric saw the potential for magic, and I didn't quite make the best first impression when I met him and Gunderic for the first time." Harry opened his mouth to ask how but she quickly said, "It was quite embarrassing, that's all."

"Gunderic was more suspicious toward the practice, but he accepted it easily enough." The nostalgic smile she had begun to fade. "And on one of his expeditions, he came across that red behelit, given to him by an old soothsayer. He claimed to start being plagued by night terrors, visions of endless destruction, and the only way to stop it was to follow the light from a white hawk."

It was as if his ears had just popped as a numb sensation began spreading across his body. "How is that?" Guts asked before Harry could. "Griffith was after all of that."

"Time is not a circle, but more like a spiral. The reason for Gunderic's visions has played out and up to that man's rebirth. Gunderic's desire to separate the worlds of reality come to fruition now."

"So… he separated people's belief from the astral layers until Griffith would be reborn?" Harry summarized.

"Remember, there is power in belief, that is how faith is formed; that is how magic is utilized. If people of this time who have had no prior experience with the astral world see a man who can unify them against an invading force, how would he be perceived?"

"They would love him," Harry concluded. "Before, he was always a master of getting people to believe in him; and now that he's a Godhand… that would only make them stronger."

"It sounds too convenient," Guts said, a bit of anger present in his tone. "How could a guy nearly a thousand years ago see that far into the future? Even if he was the first Godhand, this was before all of that."

"You both carry the brand, you've encountered him then; surely he mentioned something called causality?"

Causality? When Griffith's behelit had activated, Gunderic – now Void had talked about being anointed by fate; like it had all been planned out ahead of time.

"Yeah," Guts bitterly recalled. "He said something like that."

"Did anyone else survive the fall of the empire then?" Harry asked his next question.

"Apart from me, Gaiseric's two sons, Huneric and Gento were away at the time of sacrifice. I never got a chance to see them again, and their father continued to fight, eventually bleeding out in his own armor."

"Did he stay dead?" even though it was asked as a question, there was a little secret to what Harry actually meant by that.

"Gaiseric's body decayed like all else to the sands of time, but the fighting spirit he possessed, something like that is much harder to kill." She had a coy smile on her wrinkled lips.

Sounds like a real bonehead.

"Alright," Harry seemed to process everything that had been told to him, thinking of what else he might ask the aged witch. "What about the other wizard then – Merlin? How exactly does he fit into all of this? He would have been after Gaiseric, but you confessed to knowing him."

"That I did. The world that he traveled from, it was one that was similar to this one before the split of the astral layers; it was one where magic was intertwined with the mundane; an ideal world of a sort."Traveling worlds? She makes something like that sound easy. Magic, I guess. "He came here after winning a great victory in his land, hoping to prevent further conflict. An acquaintance of mine-," Two guesses who. "- discovered him upon his arrival and escorted him to me so that we might meet."

Harry looked like he was expecting more than that. "Did he do anything else? That just seems vague."

"He stayed to travel around Midland, to learn more about the people and customs, and also to find out more about the astral layers of which he managed to traverse. He possessed an inquisitive mind with a thirst for the unknown. The more he ended up learning, the more he became convinced that the worlds should remain separate."

"But, magic is largely linked to the astral worlds," Harry said, confused. "Why would a wizard be opposed to something like that, it was how he got here in the first place."

"Think of what is happening right now with the trolls," Flora reminded. "The people today and even back then after Gaiseric had lost most, if not all their belief in the supernatural. Think about your one friend who was recently reborn and the beings he is a member of. If the deepest and darkest part of the astral layers were to become available to traverse, imagine what would happen then."

A world like that… with Griffith as he is now, the rest of them too… "Hey, witch, are you saying the Godhand would walk the earth?"

"That is a straightforward way of viewing it, but, yes, you would be correct to assume so. Of course, Merlin did not leave without taking precaution, he left the very object he came with, in my care in the hopes that it would be of use one day."

"What is it?" a curious Harry asked, leaning forward like a child.

"I showed you what was down in the treasure trove before, did you not see it?" she was smiling, meaning she wasn't going to give him the answer on this one, she wanted to see if he remembered. Clearly, he did not.

"I… remember that armor, but not much else."

"Hey," Guts interjected. "It seems to me that you're just telling him all this stuff now. Why'd you wait so long if he was your student? Why not have your other apprentice tell him through that thought whatever you called it?"

"Well…" Flora began. "I suppose I felt I owed these explanations in person. A firsthand account is a treasure in of itself, and I've seen many things in my life, more than I should have in the time allotted to me." She rose from her seat. "It isn't that I distrust Schierke, but knowledge earned is better than just asking for the whole story." She proceeded to the door. "Unless you have any more questions, I believe we should be joining the others."

Neither of them raised any other queries at the moment, and the Mistress of the Spirit-Tree led them to where her first disciple was gathered with the rest of their group.

They found Schierke with the others gathered around the dining room table, an assortment of objects was pooled together for them to observe. And from the looks of it, Isidro had found one object that caught his fancy.

"There you guys are!" Isidro noticed their entry. "Come check some of this stuff out for the troll slaying!" he held up a dagger that seemed to glow with an inner fire. "With some of this stuff, those trolls don't stand a chance."

He skimmed the dagger across some moss that lined the wood lain wall. It caught fire instantly. Isidro took a nervous step back, leaving Schierke to extinguish the flame before it spread.

"Careful with that!" she lightly berated the aspiring swordsman. "That dagger you're holding is a Salamander Dagger, it's blessed with spirits of fire."

"S-seriously?!" he held the dagger a nose length from his eye, looking to see if he could spot tiny fire spirits surrounding his new weapon of choice. If he wasn't careful with it, he was going to end up burning himself. But… on one hand, pain could make for a good teacher aside from Puck. Isidro might have to learn the hard way on this one to not go poking that dagger around all willy-nilly.

"Excuse me, Miss. Schierke," Serpico spoke. "What are these?" he held up an emerald green cloak and a thin blade – if it could even be called a blade – that looked extremely fragile in Harry's opinion. It seemed like one good swing would break it in half.

"Those items are blessed by sylphs," answered Schierke. "The spirits of the wind. The blade is a feather from an eagle, and while fragile, it can cut by utilizing the wind. And the cloak will allow the wearer to be like a gust of air."

"Hm." Serpico gently handled both. "This world of magic is new to me, but if we are to combat supernatural forces, I will oblige. If the sylphs would have me, I will accept."

Farnese meanwhile took interest in a burlap bag. "Pardon, but what is inside of here?"

"Those are some of the berries that I used earlier," the young witch answered. "Creatures such as trolls are repelled by their scent and taste. You're welcome to take them for further protection."

Farnese peeked inside the bag, counting how many there were. "Thank you."

"Are you going to take anything, Guts?" Harry asked, but he already knew the answer.

"I'll stick to what I have." He patted Dragonslayer's hilt. That sword seemed almost an extension of Guts now than it was just a sword.

"A wise choice," Flora seemed to agree. "When I look at your sword, I sense its own od signature. If that blade has been killing those not of this physical world; then it could very well harm beings of both physical and astral."

Harry didn't have to know how to read minds to know what Guts was thinking at that moment.

"I wish to offer something to everyone as well," Schierke announced. She held out her hand which contained a few strands of her green hairs. "If everyone could tie these around their fingers, it will be possible for us to keep in contact through thought transference. With it, we'll be able to establish a mental connection, and visualize where we all are in case one of us gets separated."

"Truly?" Serpico asked as he took a strand of her hair, tying it around his finger. She distributed them to Farnese and Isidro as well but paused when she got to Guts.

"Pardon me, Guts, but do you need assistance tying yours?" on account of his metal arm, it would be a challenge. And Harry knew if she had been paying close enough attention before their connection was broken, she would have noticed that Guts did not exactly enjoy having other people touch him.

Guts sole eye stared down at Schierke with a neutral expression. Eventually, he extended just one of his fingers. "Do what you need to already." He didn't sound mad about it, just a bit hesitant.

Schierke quickly tied the green hairs around Guts' finger before moving over to Harry. "Try not to lose these ones."

"Promise." He accepted the hairs. "If I do, you might end up going bald."

She didn't laugh. "You're not funny, you know."

Even though he received no gift or thought transference, Morgan still thanked his hosts. "I cannot express how much your assistance is going to help. When do we strike back against the trolls?"

"We can stay the night here at the spirit-tree," Schierke offered. "The troll attacks have been happening during the day, correct?"

Morgan scratched at his stubble. "From what all of us witnesses have gathered, yes. It makes it easy to spot those hairy bastards. I would have thought that they would be out at night."

"Normally they would, but if they start getting more confident, they'll come at just about any time."

"Why not show them to their rooms, Schierke?" Flora suggested. "They have a long day ahead of them tomorrow and need their rest."

"Of course, Mistress. Follow me this way."

Schierke led them to the upper level of the spirit-tree mansion, Farnese went to wash up, taking Casca with her to hopefully wash out the other girl's hair. Serpico unpacked both his and Farnese's equipment, and Isidro and Puck claimed one of the rooms as their own, crashing right away. Harry was granted the room he had before on the bottom level of the mansion, and Guts was given a room to himself.

As he stripped off his armor and into his smallclothes, he rested Dragonslayer adjacent to his bed, the comfort of knowing that his sword was always within his reach brought him a small comfort that went a long way knowing he would always be ready.

He had not had much time to really reflect on it before, but with the rune in place over his brand, and staying in a mansion guarded by magic; this could be a night of sleep where he did not have to be ready to fight for his life. It probably wouldn't last, nothing was guaranteed. The last time he ever felt content was back with the Hawks. He probably would have forgotten about it, but it was just one of those feelings that stick with you even after they have passed, something to hope to cling to in order to experience it again; almost like a firefly that had fluttered into his room. Its light would go on and off, again and again, and always flew before it could be caught.

After tracking the firefly with his eye, he began to tire, the promise of a safe night's sleep brought a tempting offer that he wasn't going to pass up.

And Guts did not dream of death that night. But why… why does it feel like there's something breathing down my neck? In that realm of dreams, he would look, but he would only find himself.

While they all slept, Flora waited in her study, listening to the door slowly creak open, almost unheard. Someone else had joined her.

"How long have you been here? You didn't bother saying hello when they arrived."

"I have been here for some time. I was following along behind them on their journey."

"Were you perhaps hiding out in the cellar?" Flora asked. "Feeling nostalgic, my old friend?"

"There is nothing nostalgic about what you keep below there. But I was examining it."

"Do you intend for him to wear it as you once did?" Flora asked.

"He is a struggler, he will fight as he has always done. But if he is to don that accursed armor, it will be at the price of his humanity."

"Yes, he is a struggler indeed. I could instantly about that young man, his life has not been a pleasant one; you're right, he will struggle and fight. He reminds me very much of you in that regard. And Harry with that curious and creative mind of his, he reminds me very much of how the other sorcerer had been when he visited."

"You speak as if events are circling back around."

"Oh no, not circling; spiraling. You both left something behind with me that I've been keeping safe." Flora looked out the window at the moon. "My time here is short. When I pass, those relics will be passed on. When that time comes, can I ask a favor of you, old friend?"

"What is the favor you speak of?"

"When the time comes, will you fight on my behalf? The White Hawk knows about the existence of this tree thanks to our mutual acquaintance; he will not let this stand. Will you fight?"

He kept silent, but she knew what it meant. she had known him long enough to discern one silent treatment from the other. His silence now was answer enough; she needn't even ask to begin with.

She smiled. "Thank you, my friend."

There looked to be a stormy overcast above them as they exited the cover of the woods for the open landscape that housed Enoch Village. The place looked largely unchanged in scenery since Harry had first come across it; the river flowed and meandered harmlessly along the border with a stone bridge marking the entrance.

One thing that was different was the sense of desperation that clung to the air like a rolling fog. No children were out running the streets, smoke rose from the blacksmith's chimney, and a few townspeople dug a grave for a body that looked to be horribly mutilated; the stomach had a gaping hole in it, and the body looked to have been embalmed.

"Not the best way to introduce my home village to you folks," Morgan said, apologetically. "Young Ted over there was the husband of one of the girls who got snatched by those trolls."

"This village has people in it and is a helluva lot bigger than mine was," Isidro eyed some of the houses.

"Might I inquire what the plan for eradicating the trolls might be?" questioned Serpico.

"When the trolls come, Guts, Harry, and yourself will deal with the bulk of the forces for the time being. Isidro and Morgan will escort civilians to the village temple. I'll be at the top of the temple invoking the power of the Four Elemental Kings. Farnese can come with me as well to ensure that my spell does not get interrupted."

Schierke had left out Casca from the plan. She was back at the spirit-tree with Flora, who would be making an attempt to heal her mind. For the time he had been learning magic, the mind arts was not one Harry specialized in, and Schierke neither. Whatever Flora was going to do, it would probably involve more than just legilimency, probably some other forms of magic as well.

"You just want me escorting civilians?" Isidro thumbed the hilt of his new dagger. "I can still fight, you know?"

"I never said you couldn't," Schierke shot back. "But Morgan was kind enough to agree to help escort the people to the safety of the temple and he isn't exactly in the best of shape to fend off trolls if any get close. Er, no offense to you, Mr. Morgan."

"Think nothing of it, Miss. Witch," the old man laughed it off. "When you reach past fifty, you get comfortable with your age."

"Hey," Guts said, getting Schierke's attention. "That temple, it's Holy See. I don't know a lot about your magic, but will it work the same if you cast it from there?"

Harry supposed he raised a good point, after learning about the dark origin of the Holy See's motives, it made sense that the magic around it might operate differently.

"While that faith is strongly opposed to magic, that site was once a shrine to the Four Elemental Kings," Schierke recalled. "Their influence still lies deep within this land, but it will take time to call upon their energy for aid."

Farnese eyed the temple as well. "Calling upon the energy of other beings… forgive me, but that sounds much different from what I've seen you perform, Harry."

"He can do it the same as I," Schierke answered before he could. "Magic exists in both the environment and in ourselves. He has just been drawing from his own reserves; which can be self-destructing if used too much." She fixed him with a look.

"I'll be careful," Harry diligently reminded her. "I'm not planning on handling the trolls alone."

"Yeah, about that… how are we even supposed to know when the trolls show up until its too late?" Isidro asked a logical question.

"That lies to the rest of you and the elves as well," Schierke planned. "Currently, that bridge we crossed is the most direct way in and out of the village. If the three guys take a position there, Harry can scan for their od signature. Once he has it, he'll use the thought transference to let the rest of us know. At that point, you and Morgan get the villagers to the temple and I'll begin the spell."

"I'm fine with that," Harry agreed. "You think you can handle your end, Isidro?"

"You think I can't? Leave it to me, I'll make sure everyone gets there alright, but you have to agree to another spar when we're done here. I want to see how my dagger holds up against that sword of yours."

"That sword has the dust of my ancestors," Puck defended Harry's blade. "Do not get so cocky, my pupil."

The group split into their three separate units, Schierke and Farnese going off to the temple, Isidro and Morgan waited for their signal in the main street of the village, and the three guys waited patiently by the stone bridge. The overcast showed no signs of clearing up, instead, it grew much darker; the prospect of rain seemed more than likely.

"I don't suppose your magic can do anything about the cold?" Serpico asked.

"It can," Harry confirmed. "But there's no telling how some of the villagers might act to seeing it. Trolls are one thing, but magic could be entirely different. This overcast actually works with what I have in mind."

"Truly?"

"Lightning," Harry casually said. "Like this, it's much easier than conjuring my own."

"That does make sense, I suppose. This troll slaying gives me a chance to see exactly what this sylph blade can do." Serpico held the blade out an arm's length.

"Just remember to have belief in each of your swings," Harry advised. "It's a magic blade, and belief goes a long way when it comes to making magic work."

"Relying on magic items… this is quite the stark contrast to what Lady Farnese and I did in the past."

"From hunting to helping." Even though Harry had a brief fight with Serpico back at the Tower of Conviction, the elder blonde youth seemed to have moved past the ordeal, at least for Farnese's sake for the time being. If the situation called for it, Harry knew Serpico would choose to save Farnese over the rest of them. He didn't fault him for that; Guts was much the same way with Casca. What he was worried about was what would happen if Farnese could not be saved. What would Serpico do then?

"Hey," Guts spoke. "These trolls have to be coming from somewhere."

"Like a nest of sorts?" Harry followed his train of thought.

"Yeah. That witch mentioned the astral worlds or something overlapping. If we find where it is, we cut off its head."

"I suppose that it's possible," Harry somewhat agreed. But how were they going to seal off a part of one world?

One thing at a time. There would be no further troll hunting if they didn't deal with the batch at hand. Speaking of witch… he could feel something crowding the air, a foul, dark feeling that was being amplified by the second. It started faintly at first but had slowly started to gain traction to the point where it could not be classified as a single life form moving toward them.

Schierke, Isidro, they're here.

'N-now? This old man was just telling this story about-'

'-It can wait!' Schierke cut off that train of thought. 'Just get the civilians here to the temple. I'll begin the spell.'

"It's time," Harry pointed to the bush beyond the bridge. Guts attached his crossbow, and Serpico took his stance. One by one, the long snouts of the trolls started popping out, closely followed by the rest of their black, hairy bodies. Like before, some of them carried bone weapons and others had farming equipment such as pitchforks and sickles from the farmers they had raided.

Guts wasted no time in firing off a barrage of bolts at the visible trolls, his projectiles finding their marks, piercing their eyes and mouths, killing them instantly. Harry raised his staff to the sky, calling on the energy being built up in the sky above and released it down in the form of a lightning bolt, striking a pack of trolls.

Some trolls stumbled from the continued barrage and the force of the lightning strike, but before they could rise again, Serpico cut the air with his new weapon. Nothing seemed to happen at first, but after a delayed reaction, blood spurted from the trolls from cuts that passed them by like the wind, unseen to the naked eye.

Serpico inclined his head to the blade, impressed and startled that he actually had such a power at his disposal, but he quickly focused his attention on the other trolls, the sight of blood was starting to upset him.

Some trolls made a break for the bridge as Guts reloaded his crossbow, but moving to the forefront, Serpico cut them down with a few strokes of his weapon, the air strikes killing the trolls quickly. Seeing their brethren cut down so easily, a pact of trolls held back from advancing, moving back instead.

Guts pulled out one of the explosives Rickert had given to him before their departure and tossed it at a pair of trolls that were attempting to cross the bridge. The small ball stuck to one of the trolls' fur easily enough before going off. Where there were once two trolls, there was now only half of one.

Harry levitated the half of the troll, dispelling it toward some of the more eager pack mates. The trolls were starting to get into a frenzy at this rate; some actually tossed a few makeshift spears at the three of them. With the wind as his ally, Serpico cut the projectiles in half before they had a chance to land.

'Hey!' Isidro's voice spoke in each of their heads. 'I don't know what you guys are doing, but I kind of need your help over here!'

What do you mean? What's going on? Are the citizens not listening?

'Oh no, they're listening. They can see the trolls! No need to tell them about it!'

What do you mean? The trolls are all back here.

'Well the one I just set on fire seemed to be in the village, so you tell me!'

With Guts and Serpico continuing to mow down the trolls, Harry searched for more od signatures. Sure enough, he could distinguish Isidro easily enough due to their thought transference, but the dark od of the trolls seemed to be coming from inside the town as well. How was that? The trolls were all… Harry extended his focus to where they were fighting the trolls by the bridge. Many were just throwing themselves to their death, but another portion had broken off while falling back to sneak around out of their sight to wade through the water.

'That old man got hit pretty bad, I'm trying to get him back to the temple, but it looks like the trolls are going to beat me there. The damn things can smell that's where all the people are.'

"Guts, Serpico, did you hear that? We have to get back to the village center!"

The two eased up on their assault, rushing back to the center of the village and the awaiting temple. As they rounded a corner, they came across some of the trolls that had managed to sneak around through the water as indicated by their wet fur. Serpico jumped, and his cloak seemed to billow around him, carrying him well over the trolls heads almost like he was riding a gust of wind. As he was at his arc, he cut down thrice, and the trolls dropped dead.

"My, I… certainly didn't expect it to have that much weightlessness to it."

"Hiya!" the unmistakable voice of Isidro came from closer to the temple. They found the young swordsman fighting back three trolls, while trying to support a wounded Morgan on his feet. The old man seemed to have a nasty cut on his shoulder that was bleeding badly, staining his shirt.

Isidro was burning the paws of the trolls as they reached for him, the salamanders doing their own magic, but with Morgan slung over him, his movement was restricted. A few terrified citizens watched helplessly from the open temple doors, perhaps hoping that god would keep them safe.

Puck flew with his burr, whacking the one troll in the eye as it grabbed for Isidro again.

"Don't fly too close, idiot!" Ivalera scolded the other elf. "Leave the slaying to these guys, the ones with the actual weapons." She dragged Puck away midair before he could foolishly attack again.

Harry barely saw Guts whip out Dragonslayer; the large blade passed over Isidro and Morgan, cutting the trolls in half. Their blood soaking the sword and the steps of the temple. The villagers looked on in wonder and terror in their eyes.

"Did you see him kill those trolls?"

"The size of his sword… I've never seen one that big?"

"Who are those other two? One's dressed like a wizard."

"My word! Is that Morgan?!"

"Move it," Guts told Isidro. "Get the old man inside."

Isidro made a move to protest. "But I can-!"

Morgan put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Lad, you can either grow old and without regret, or die young and full of promise. I know what I'm comfortable with."

The youth seemed to be debating a conflict inside of himself, looking to the temple doors, to up where Schierke was performing her spell. "Damn old man!" he began hauling Morgan back up the steps to where the rest of the citizens were waiting. As the doors shut, a circle of light surrounded the temple, Schierke had completed her spell.

'Is this it?' Farnese asked. 'This light, these are the Four Kings?'

'Yes. As long as I stay concentrated, no supernatural creature will be able to cross.'

Indeed, some of the outlying trolls found that they were unable to clamor forward and snatch up the citizens that awaited them inside. The three guys who were outside of the protective barrier quickly dispatched the remaining trolls with extreme prejudice. The last troll fell before the first raindrop in a sudden downpour.

The bodies of the trolls lay scattered throughout the village square, the blood would have left a stain if not for the rain coming to wash all of it away. It saved Harry and Guts the time to clean off their blades, and a few droplets of blood that fell on Serpico's clothing were washed off as well.

"Is that it then?" Serpico asked. "Have the trolls been eradicated?"

"For now, maybe." Harry said. "But there's still the nest to worry about and-,"

The sound of heavy footsteps put them all on edge again. A fresh new pack of trolls came running through the streets toward the temple and where Harry, Guts, and Serpico stood defensively in front of it. There were more of them this time, but none of them large enough to have caused those footsteps.

Before any of them had time to react, a large tree branch went flying through the air, over their heads and crashed into one of the temple's windows, eliciting a scream from the inhabitants inside. While the barrier kept supernatural creatures out, it was useless against physical objects.

The culprit behind the attack was a large creature with hairy legs like a troll, but much wider and taller in height. Its head was elongated into an upward snout, and two tusks protruded from each side.

'An ogre!' Schierke exclaimed.

But that wasn't all, a creature that looked to be a hybrid between a horse and a frog came galloping/hopping right behind it. 'A kelpie!'

What?

'A water creature that used to lure people to water to drown them. This one must have emerged from the overlapping as well.'

"It doesn't matter what they are, they're just the same as those trolls, they can bleed, they can die too." Guts went to do battle with the ogre as it began tearing up cobblestones from the street to throw at the temple. His Dragonslayer sunk into one of its legs, gaining its attention.

"Would you lend me your aid in taking down this… kelpie?" Serpico asked Harry. "If this is water-baseded creature, I don't know how well wind will affect it."

"Got it," Harry agreed, already coming up with a plan to take down the kelpie. The creature was soaked already; if he could get a strike of lightning in, Serpico could finish the thing off.

Harry prepared to cast a basic lightning spell, but as soon as the kelpie saw him move his arm, a long, from-like tongue shot out from its mouth, wrapping around Harry's wrist before pulling back and taking the staff right out of his hand. "You're shitting me right now."

Testing his theory, Serpico cut the air up down and center, his air attacks went forward, but a water barrier appeared in front of the kelpie, taking the strikes in its stead. The kelpie puffed out its throat and spit out bursts of water at the two of them. Harry rolled out of the way and made a move to pick up his fallen staff, but a troll slammed its ax down before he could reach it.

"You little guys are starting to aggravate me." He drove his sword through the mouth of the troll, pushing it back on another that had been trying to blindside him.

"Looking for this?" a large foot kicked his staff to him. Guts' armor was dripping with water and blood as the diced up corpse of the ogre lay behind him. Harry gratefully accepted, Getting ready to do battle with the kelpie once more.

Before he could strike the kelpie got a good hit on Serpico with the tongue. The appendage struck Serpico on his shoulder earning a pained, "Gnah!"

With the water surrounding the kelpie, Harry summoned the blast of lightning, frying the kelpie where it stood. With its defense down, Serpico cut the air again, this time the kelpie ended up with a large horizontal slash going across its neck; dark blood spilling out only to be washed away.

With the two biggest dangers gone, that just left the remaining troll to deal with, and there seemed to be more this time around than before. Perhaps the fear of the ogre and kelpie had kept them at bay.

'The three of you, get back behind the barrier! I'm going to channel the power of the King of Water.'

They did as instructed, the barrier allowing them entry but denying it to the trolls. Either Guts or Serpico was about to ask what Schierke meant, but they soon got their answer as they noticed the rumbling sound that was coming from behind the temple. By channeling the power of the King of Water, Schierke had just unleashed the entire river through the village, washing the trolls and a good portion of some of the less than stable homes away with it as the water began to subside.

"Huh." Guts looked to where Schierke stood at the top of the temple. "That's some girl."

With the current threat dealt with, Serpico was taken inside the temple to join the rest of the wounded citizens including Morgan. The attack from the kelpie had dislocated his shoulder, but aside from that he was unhurt. He would however, be forced to sit out on the next portion of the mission; to eradicate the nest of trolls. If nothing was done about the source, then the trolls would just keep coming back, making their battle here today completely in vain.

Harry and Schierke led the way with their method of following the flow of od. Guts had recovered a piece of fur from the corpse of a dead troll for them to use as a means of locating the nest. It seemed to be working, but Guts had no way of knowing for sure except to ask them directly. He had seen Harry do enough magic before to know that he knew what the boy was doing, and if Schierke's demonstration back at the village had proven anything, she was just as competent in the field. The way they were going, they were headed back into the forest, but not to the spirit-tree.

Isidro had joined them, Farnese having stayed behind to tend to Serpico and some of the other villagers. But this time, the boy hardly seemed to be in an adventure filled mood. He was sulking almost.

"Oi, what's wrong, Dro?" Puck flew on top of the boy's head.

He pulled out the salamander dagger. "I never really got a chance to use this. I could have helped out against those trolls too."

Yeah, childish worries.

"Hey, cheer up!" Puck encouraged. "Where we're going, there are bound to be plenty more trolls."

"Don't go around encouraging his fantasies," Ivalera told Puck. "This is no time to be messing around. You have to stay on alert, you might miss something otherwise."

"Like a creature that's a nose?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Ivalera scoffed at the question.

"No, I think he has a point," Isidro agreed. "I'm staring right at it."

"Make as much jokes as you want. There isn't such a thing as – huh?"

They all stopped to observe the strange creature on the path.

Indeed, it was a nose. A nose with eyes and two little legs. It was harmless and one of the weirdest things any of them had ever seen. Do they kill it, or just leave it be? What the hell is it anyway?

They never really got an answer as the nose just began to walk off down the path. And they followed after it, curious to see where it went. And it was as if the forest around them had become a completely new setting.

The trees were darker and packed much closer together. More exposed roots popped up from the ground, making the path largely uneven and hard to traverse. Even the air seemed heavier, like an extra force was being applied to them.

"This is it," Schierke concluded. "This is where the layers are overlapping."

"The trolls od, it feels like it's all over the place, and there's od here that I don't even recognize." Harry tried to single out where the troll layer might be located.

"So… the trolls can come popping out at any moment?" Isidro looked over his shoulder, almost expecting to see a troll waiting for him.

"The trolls are close, but not close enough to the point that they're on top of us," Schierke tried to ease his worry. "And once we're close enough, we can always just redirect their od to throw them off of us."

"Any chance of you knowing where the most of them are gathered?" Guts asked. Once they figured that out, that was most likely the nest or den.

Harry concentrated further; trying to determine which way yielded the strongest od. "From what I feel, to the right, and then… down. Like a cave almost."

"Living in a cave, I guess that does sound like where a troll would live," Isidro agreed.

The ground off of the path was even worse. If the ground wasn't uneven, it was filled with a liquid that sure wasn't water or blood. Just some disgusting form of nastiness that manifested along with this overlap. Once they reached a certain point, the ground did indeed, slope downward into an underground cave.

Stepping inside was like stepping inside the maw of a waiting creature; and having almost been eaten by supernatural creatures, Guts knew what it felt like. This feeling now was more alienated than anything. Even with two mages escorting them, there was no telling how deep the cave went or where it led to.

More than once, they heard the scuffle and bark that could have only came from a troll, probably fighting over food or a bone of some sort. But the deeper they went, the more they heard the trolls somewhere off in the distance making their primal barks and yelps.

'Let's just rely on our thought transference here,' Schierke advised. 'We still have the element of surprise on our side.'

Fine. But once we reach the heart, I don't plan on holding back.

The point they were at now, the barking was at an all time high. 'There must be close to three hundred down here,' Harry guessed. 'How did there get to be this many in such a short time?'

Harry got his answer in the form of a human screaming along with the howling and barking of the trolls. Gathered in a pit of some sort, the trolls had lit a fire, some danced around it, waiting for their turn at the many naked women and children that were gathered around. The trolls mounted the women like dogs, forcing them to take one after the other as the mated with the humans.

One woman collapsed, crying and pushing at her stomach, trying to keep something down, but it burst from her stomach; a dozen tiny trolls. The woman's dead blue eyes stared over to them.

Seeing this scene… it was just like with Donovan… just like what had happened to Casca. And Guts snapped.

Dragonslayer was in his hand and he cut down three trolls before they could claim one of the young children. He spun around; Dragonslayer cut five more this time. A swing, six more dead. Another, four more. Once again, two down. Up down, left right, right, left, down, up, right, up, down, left, left, right, down.

Years of training and fighting was coming unleashed right here, against a filthy race of creatures that were powerless to stop the slaughter of their kind. His sole eye was seeing white and red, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, if that voice was whispering to him, Guts could not hear it over the rage he was feeling at the moment.

More cuts, and more blood was spilled. Some of it landed on the women and children, but most of it went splattering against the cave walls, creating a form of abstract art that only used one color.

'Guts…' the vice of Schierke sounded in his mind.

He looked back to where she and the others were waiting. Harry seemed the most composed, but even he looked a bit worried. The two others had clearly never seen this level of violence displayed from him before.

"Go," he ordered them. "Take the citizens out of here. Isidro."

"Y-yeah?"

"You guard the rear. That is your mission."

"What about you?" Harry asked. "Are you really going to take on the rest of the den?"

Already, the sounds of more trolls coming could be heard. "Don't worry about it. Swinging my sword… it's always been what I'm best at." Just me, when it's just me, I can let loose.

It took sore coercing, but Harry and the others got the captured women and children to their feet and assisted them in finding the exit of the cave. Harry cast one last worried glance back at Guts before he followed.

Guts didn't bother waiting for the first troll to come to him, he went for the troll. He wasn't restricting himself to just one spot; he went deeper into the cave, continuing to carve up the trolls as he went. The walls became much narrower at one point, so he used Dragonslayer to push straight forward, impaling up to six trolls along the length of the steel. He flicked their bodies aside once he reached a large alcove and he continued his slaughter of the trolls.

They feared him. They weren't bothering to attack anymore; they were just trying to get away from him. He crushed their skulls, split them in two, shot them full of crossbow bolts, Guts was doing it all.

Through his frenzy, he became aware that he was not standing on pure solid ground, his boots made a splashing sound whenever he moved. He was standing in a pool of troll blood.

More and more trolls fell, their spilled intestines were pooled somewhere under all of this blood, and that was when Guts felt it. He hadn't been hit or anything, at least not by anything physical. No, it was more an overwhelming presence, and it was rising behind him.

The troll intestines were forming a shape, the shape of a woman; one bare of clothing, and two wings growing out of her back. Slan, the only female member of the Godhand had appeared.

A/N: You all know what's coming next. Thanks for reading.


	38. Berserker

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentro Miura. I own nothing.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong; and the fact that they were in a troll-filled cave had nothing to do with it. While the threat of trolls was still an immediate factor, they came in small droves, but even then they were able to make short work of them.

Isidro, bringing up the rear, covered their escape by means of his pouch of explosives. The rusty-haired youth might have a long way to go in terms of his swordplay, but he had a deadeye with his aim. Every explosive that he threw managed to hit its mark, putting an end to the trolls pursuing them. All his spare time tossing rocks back in his village must have paid off.

But with how expansive the cave was, there should have been a lot more trolls chasing after them than the amount they had. So far they had encountered ten, maybe a dozen at best. No doubt that was largely owed to Guts, who was still slaughtering the bulk of their numbers where they had left him. Even as they began to near where the exit of the troll cave was located, they could faintly discern the cries and yelps of the trolls from deeper within. The wailing, desperate cries of pain were either coming to an abrupt end, or they were just much farther away. Harry strongly suspected that it was the former.

That was to be expected though. Guts was always taking on the most dangerous end of things, willing to place his life on his sword and come out on top in the end; that was just how he was, that was not what felt wrong.

Harry was also certain that it had nothing to do with the women and children they were escorting either. That wasn't to say what had happened to them wasn't terrible, just looking at their malnourished bodies and broken eyes was enough to tell the whole story; but that too was not the feeling.

This feeling was… it was different from just being in a den of trolls. It was different from encountering any ordinary apostle; this was something much darker than that. "How are you holding up back there?" Schierke asked. She too seemed to sense that something was off, but was no closer to an answer than Harry was.

"We're clear of trolls for now," Harry informed. Even so, he kept his staff and sword at the ready, just in case that suddenly changed. "How are the citizens holding up?"

"Most of them are holding steady – for now," Schierke added that last part. "They've been through a lot recently, but they should be able to make it back to the village. If worse comes to worse, we can summon a few golems to carry some of the weaker ones back."

The entire conversation was just a distraction. Harry could see exactly what physical state the citizens were in. it was just a way for him to ease into the main focus of what he wanted to ask. "Still, even with us getting them out of here, this place doesn't quite feel like it's done."

"What's with the cryptic wizard-talk?" Isidro asked, readying another explosive as he thought he saw movement behind them. "We got this covered, and Guts is giving those nasty trolls the beating of their lives."

Ivalera flew over to Isidro and Puck. "There's nothing cryptic about it. Even someone uneducated in magic like you should be able to tell that something isn't quite right here. Right, Schierke?"

"…" Schierke was silent for a bit as she led them further back the underground labyrinth. "You're right, Ivalera. This is the zone of darkness, it's natural for what we perceive to be normal to be out of focus, but even so… there's something-!" Her eyes widened, and a half-second later, Harry felt why.

Od. An overwhelming, overpowering, od. It made the life-force of the entire troll colony feel like an insect, just an ant in a colony of thousands, insignificant overall. And it was dark, beyond the darkness that comes with apostles, something more, something older and more sinister. This od was so strong that Harry could almost see its dark, midnight energy rush past them overhead as it clung to the ceiling of the cave as it traveled farther down. Down to where Guts was. It wasn't until after the od had passed that Harry realized that even with the rune drawn, his brand was bleeding. The blood ran down his neck, staining the neck of his clothing with a thin trail of his life juice.

Something that strong… Harry had felt something like that only twice before. Once during the Eclipse, and the other being more recently during the Neo-Griffith visiting Godo's place. Fuck.

Guts! Harry tried establishing thought transference with the Black Swordsman. He heard no reply from inside of his head. Guts!

Hitting another roadblock, Harry tried to see through Guts' point of view, to push farther into his mind to let him know of the impending danger that was coming his way. The connection was faint, and the images Harry saw were not pretty. Guts' vision seemed to have turned over red and white from his rage, and he was standing ankle deep in a pool of troll blood and innards. And from that same bloody pool, a feminine figure made entirely of troll intestines was emerging. Her usual pale skin was now pinkish-red and white, but the pair of bat-like wings that sprouted from her back seemed to have remained largely unchanged. Even that sly, seductive smile was the same as before.

"Slan…"

"Huh? What'd you say, Harry?" Isidro asked.

Guts still wasn't answering to any thought transference, chances were that the thought of killing just pushed everything else from his mind, he was becoming one with his sword in battle, letting nothing distract him, save for the recent appearance of the one Godhand member. With Slan's added presence, Guts would no doubt attack this new arrival. But would he win? Guts could best any swordsman, easy, but a Godhand was on a whole other plane of existence from the confines of a regular human. And what was Slan even doing here? It was unlikely Guts had somehow used the behelit he was carrying around; what would he even sacrifice? Harry's suspicion was only further confirmed as he could feel the intense anger coming from Guts as he turned his focus toward Slan. He was going to attack.

Was this going to be like another Eclipse? Guts would push himself to try and kill his enemy in a pool of blood. His effort would be brushed aside like leaves in the wind, and Harry…. he would be as useless as before, unable to stop what was about to happen. The staff in his hand seemed to weigh heavier, seemingly to alert him to its presence as if he had forgotten about it, which he didn't.

I didn't have this in the Eclipse, though. What would have been if he had? Maybe he Casca would still have her mind, maybe some of the others would be alive, and maybe he could have even stopped Griffith from using the behelit in the first place. Is that what I'm wondering now; about "what if's?" wondering and not doing.

"Come on, Harry," Schierke urged. "We have to get out of here."

"You two know the way to the village, right?"

"Huh? Of course, we do, what kind of lame question is that?" Isidro crossed his arms. "When you say that, it makes it sound like – hey! Where are you going?!"

He was starting off back down deeper to where Guts and the newly manifested Saln were. "Then get going, I'll meet up with you both, promise."

"He's mad!" Ivalera exclaimed.

"A hasty decision indeed," Puck nodded in agreement.

"You're not actually going back, are you?!" Schierke was looking at him like he had just grown two heads and one of those heads was breathing fire. "You felt that od, same as I, it's-,"

"-It's beyond anything else," Harry finished for her. "And I don't want to be stuck wondering 'what if?' by doing nothing." This time… it's going to be different, it has to be.

"It's suicide going back there!" Schierke sounded distraught. "You're not going to impress anyone trying to act the hero. You-,"

"-I promise." Harry held up his hand with her hairs tied around. "When I get back, you're free to grill me about it all you like, but don't try to stop me now."

Her eyes were wide, and her hands shaking. Isidro was just looking at him like he was crazy. "Harry, man, even I wouldn't go back there, and you're way more mature than me!"

"Thanks for the compliment. You can tell me all about it during our next spar." He left them standing there; Isidro with his mouth open, and Schierke watching him run back.

He could hear Ivalera shouting at him as he continued on his way. "You're in for it if you come back! If you thought Schierke's staff to the face hurt before, just you wait, mister!"

Well, at least he had that to look forward to. That is if I can feel it afterward. He knew everything they said had been right, he was probably running to his death right now. One wizard and a swordsman against a member of the Godhand, it sounded suicidal, but it had nothing to do with playing hero, Guts was more suited for battle than any of them. But he had to know, had to know what his magic would be like against a being like Slan. When the time came to move against Neo-Griffith, he was going to be prepared, he was done sitting and letting the story play out before him. No more "what ifs?"

Through all of his anger, all his rage, Guts was struck with a mind-numbing sensation upon seeing the arrival of the female Godhand member. Slan flexed her fingers, getting a feel for each of them before running her hands down her intestine body to seductively trace the curves of her chest and hips. Her bat-like wings folded in toward her body but leaving the top portion of her bare chest exposed. Slan's now pinkish-red eyes traveled over to Guts. Her lips arched upward and her "tongue" licked at the two small mounds of troll intestines. Even in a form as disgusting as troll innards, Slan was still trying to establish her sexual allure.

The way she was looking at him now, like some toy or a piece of raw meat, it was pissing him off! "My," Slan craned her neck, "it has been some time since I've assumed a form on this plain. Troll intestines are a bit lacking for a host, but they shall suffice."

That smile… newfound rage began to take hold of Guts. It's just like his… Trolls be damned, this took precedence. Slan was here now, one of the Godhand; maybe not in person, but close enough. One of the five beings who had made his, and Casca's and Harry's lives a living hell, he would be able to repay her in kind.

"Rraaagghhhh!" a primal, bestial yell escaped him as he charged the Godhand. Slan just waited there for him, her smile growing wider as he neared. Dragonslayer was raised high above his head, ready to cleave Slan's newfound form in half from shoulder to hip. He was only faintly aware of the intestines rising up from the bloody pool beneath him until it was too late.

Before Dragonslayer could come crashing down in unbridled prejudice, Slan's body moved back, the intestines that had been snaking up Guts' legs wrapped around him from below, knocking him off course. Slan stood there, giving a girlish chuckle at his failed effort. She seemed to find Guts barring his teeth, and flaring his nostrils cute in some way that complemented the bloodlust radiating off of him.

"Yes," Slan smiled deliciously. "You have grown even more hateful since I first saw you in the Eclipse. I liked you back then. I liked seeing your anguish, your hate, your love, your desire; it was truly like watching a tragic play."

Guts could feel a vein begin to throb in his head. "You're a fucking bitch." His words were like the growl of an agitated beast.

"Come now," Slan spoke like an old lover. "I've wanted to meet with you for some time. Even though I was not there physically, I felt you at St. Albion. All your rage and determination, it could be no one else. You've certainly earned my favor and attention."

Guts spat in the pool of blood. "Keep your damn favorites! Like you wouldn't just betray whoever you feel like so long as you get amusement from it!" he raised Dragonslayer once more. "Leave me the hell alone, you crazy wretch!"

Slan's body slithered away once again, this time, her wing struck out. Dragonslayer pierced the membrane of the appendage instead, but Slan hardly seemed worried or concerned about any damage done to her makeshift body. In fact, she actually seemed to honestly enjoy it if the playful smile spreading across her face was anything to go by.

"Quit smiling like this is some dance!" Guts yelled at her, getting ready to take another swing.

Before he could, Slan's other wing blindsided him. The claw at the crook of the wing curled around his breastplate and pulled him down. Guts landed face-first in the pool of troll blood and red overtook his vision. The thick, red liquid was weighing down his hair and flooding his nose and mouth, suffocating him. Guts gasped for air and he got a taste of the horrid liquid he was submerged in. it was like a very rustic wine that only served to make the drinker want to vomit afterward. Through that haze of red bubbling fluid, Guts saw bits and pieces of the trolls he had killed previous floating around. An estranged eyeball floated past him, nearly going in his mouth.

He could feel his mind start to go numb, his thoughts growing dimmer the longer he was held under, his vision began to dull and he mustered enough strength to move his legs. He pushed. Guts kicked off from the ground beneath him, fighting against Slan's impressive hold on him to break the surface of the blood. How he was still holding onto Dragonslayer was a true feat in of itself as he managed to breach the surface of the foul liquid, gasping for air like a fish would for water.

The intestines that composed Slan's body were wrapping around his arms, suspending his body before the manifestation of the Godhand member. "Ufufufu!" Slan chuckled like a ditsy love-struck bar-maid. "Yes! That's it! You show me that defiant streak of yours once again. Oh, how I love it. Show me more me. Defy the odds against you; run me through with that large sword of yours!" Slan's wing-claw cut away the upper portion of Guts' armor, leaving his bare chest exposed. Her claw touched his pectoral. "Mark me like so…"

Slan's claw raked horizontally across Guts' chest, ensuring a large scar would form later on, but not before his blood fell down into the pool below. While the cut would leave a scar, Guts knew it wasn't that deep, but it felt like it was. His single eye was bugging as he experienced a new pain, this one felt more than just a physical cut.

Cupping his face, Slan pulled Guts forward, licking the blood that coated his face, smiling at him and looking at him with half-lidded eyes. She might have said something to him, but she pulled back as a slab of rock jutted between them. Slan still kept him suspended but tilted him so he could see this new arrival.

What the fuck is he doing here? He was supposed to be with the two others.

"That was rather rude of you." Slan didn't sound too upset though. "I was wondering if perhaps I would be seeing you as well. I got a feel for your presence as I rushed down here to see your companion. I must say, you've grown from a terrified-looking boy swinging a sword around, into a mature looking young wizard. Would you like to join us?"

Harry muttered some words in a magical tongue, and a portion of the ceiling came tumbling down – straight down to where Slan was.

Her eyes traveled upward, sensing the impending attack, she raised her wings above her body, shielding her from the attack. Her facial expression was changing once again, looking more eager and curious than before.

Chanting up another series of spells, the blood began to swirl like a whirlpool, but then pulled back, and swept forth, a tidal wave of blood. Slan willed the intestines holding Guts to rise, keeping him out of the wave before covering her front with her wings to make a triangular shape. Like the mast of a ship, the blood parted in two directions when in contact with Slan's wings.

With her attention focused on Harry, for the time being, Guts worked his way to the string on his prosthetic arm. With the angle it was at, he could get a clean shot at Slan from above.

The blood settled back once again after the failed wave maneuver, and Slan seemed pleased at this recent development. "My, my, much like this one, you show no hesitation. Do you truly wish to harm me that badly? It wasn't I who branded you and sacrificed your friends. I suppose I'm guilty by association, like a hive of bees, if one stings, all are blamed for it."

Harry made ready to fire off another spell, but Slan was faster this time, not allowing him the chance. Her intestinal form collapsed to the ground, but still suspending Guts, and reformed in front of Harry. His staff was forced upward, whatever spell he had prepared shot up instead of straight. More tendrils were wrapping around Harry's arms and legs, bringing him closer to the awaiting Slan.

"Hm. You have brilliant green eyes." Slan paid complement. "I was just telling your companion how he managed to earn my favor, and you have earned that rank as well. You're both handsome boys, and to have two of you as my favored in this world would be a true blessing."

Much like with what she had done to Guts, Slan's claw curled around the front of Harry's shirt, and cut down, to expose his chest. This time, she cut down from the collarbone to navel. Guts knew the pain Harry must be feeling, the wizard was holding back a scream, but writhing in the grasp that Slan had on him.

"Now the two of you match. Almost, at least."

"Is this it…?" Guts' breathing was ragged but his words were laced with venom. "Did you come here to claim us as prizes?"

Slan feigned mock ignorance, putting a hand to her breast in an accused manner. "I feel insulted. The two of you are my absolute favorite humans! When confronted with overwhelming odds or the prospect of a greater power, other humans would just lie over and accept their defeat. The two of you struggle through; a true display of bravery and defiance." Her smile morphed into something more reminiscent. "If only the two of you were alive during my time as a human. I would have gladly taken either of you as a husband. Even among my brethren, things are dull. Ubik and Conrad tinker and plot, Void is always so serious, and Femto is now in your world. So will you heed my request? Will you both show me that defiant spirit I know you to have?"

Harry went to utter an enchantment, but Slan's hand grasped it as well. A cracking sound could be heard, and Guts noticed Harry's hand was bleeding from multiple splinters. His staff was starting to crack. White smoke hissed out from where the split was spreading along the length. The more pressure Slan applied, the greater it became.

Slan eyed Guts next, seeing Harry was in no position to attack now. "You have a way. It's in your bag; the behelit. Use it. Make a sacrifice and become an apostle."

Guts was at last in a position where he could use his mouth to reach the string to fire his cannon, but a blade flying through the air cut through the tendrils that suspended the both of them.

Slan eyed the new arrival with a hint of contempt laced in with her teasing tone. "Well, what an unexpected visit, Your Majesty."

The Skull Knight sat tall atop his steed, glaring at Slan with those glowing sockets of his. "Whore Princess of the Uterine Sea," Skull Knight addressed her. "Tell me, did he send you?"

"Sent? I came of my own choosing. My business here is my own. I wanted to see these boys, and I have. The worlds are already starting to overlap, while premature, it is a woman's job to tease in a world populated by boors. But if you are instant on interrupting, bear witness to the fruit of darkness' labor!"

From all the tunnels leading to the pit of blood, multiple new trolls and ogres emerged, all of which were converging in on the Skull Knight. Drawing his blade, the knight prepared for the coming fight – or rather, the slaughter.

His steed seemed to defy gravity, rushing up along a wall to get Skull Knight close enough to slice the head of an ogre clean in half. He rode around the perimeter before charging forward, his sword nearly impossible to keep up with to the naked eye. He was a knight on a horse; he was a whirlwind of death in a tempest of despair. All who rose to strike him were turned into mincemeat. Limbs, heads, whole halves of bodies were added to the string of corpses that now cluttered the blood-soaked cavern floor.

He was beyond fast, he was a blur. The unnatural speed and strength that he displayed were unparalleled, mindless creatures such as the trolls and ogres weren't even a challenge to him, barely even a nuisance. The more that appeared, the more he cut down. Guts knew that the Skull Knight was no push-over, but even now, Guts knew that this was the most gifted swordsman to have ever lived. The way in which he moved the sword, it was more like watching an artist paint than it was watching the slaughter of potentially hundreds of beasts.

Skull Knight briefly paused in his battle to address Slan. "You continue to summon more? I assure you, they will meet the same end."

"They are fodder. Their existence is to serve. It is nothing compared to the lives of humans."

What Skull Knight spoke next confused Slan. "Your moment is now."

Confused, she looked to Guts and Harry. Even with his staff nearly split in two and hissing out some sort of smoke, Harry was able to get off a low-level frost charm, and it had been spreading along the bottom of Slan's intestine body up to her midsection. Guts was aiming his prosthetic right at where Slan's womb would be. With a pull of a string, the cannon fired.

BABOOM!

A portion of Slan's frost covered midsection was completely shattered, blown away by the force of the cannon. Due to the frost, she was unable to regenerate the lost portion. She began to laugh. "Hehehfufuf! Yes! It's so cold, yet so hot! More! I want more!"

"Your sword, Struggler," Skull Knight insisted. "With it, it is possible."

Taking Skull Knight's words at face value, Guts thrust Dragonslayer through Slan, straight through her womb. "Thanks for your company," Guts growled out at her, spitting at her feet.

Slan smiled in orgasmic pleasure as she let herself slide down the length of Dragonslayer to rub at Guts and Harry's head. "Once the worlds are merged, it will be a beautiful place. Trust me on that."

Her characteristics began to dissipate, falling back into regular troll intestines and sliding off of Dragonslayer. Slan was not the only one to vanish; all of the trolls and ogres that she had summoned to her aid were vanishing as well. For now, the fight was over.

'Guts! Harry!' the voice of Schierke sounded from within Guts' head.

'We're here,' Harry answered back. 'How are things going on your end?'

'We made it out safely. Isidro is taking the citizens back to the village, but I need to seal off the cave. If I don't, more creatures of darkness will pour out over time. How close are you to getting out?'

'A decent amount.' With the damage they had both sustained from Slan, they were in for a long walk back.

"This place's time comes to an end." Skull Knight's helm jaw opened as he began to swallow his own sword up to the hilt.

"What is this?" Guts asked of him. "Some kind of magic trick?" When the Skull Knight pulled the blade out, it was glowing and was covered with various facial features. Just like behelits. Harry eyed the sword as well, seemingly recognizing it. "Those… they're…"

"Behelits taken from slain apostles. I have devoured them to forge this sword inside of my body." Skull Knight cut with the sword toward the ground. From that cut, the ground began to split, revealing a deep spinning torrent beneath it, that began to devour and consume the surrounding area, pulling the bodies of the slain creatures into some sort of wretched abyss.

Once more, Skull Knight cut with his sword and the setting around the three of them changed. They were no longer in the troll cave, they were outside, back in the forest which seemed to be growing less dark and reverting back to its original state once again.

"What… how did we just…?" Guts looked to the Skull Knight for answers. The damn bonehead owned it to them anyway.

"That is the power of this sword. The power to move between layers. I meant for it to be a catalyst against the Godhand, to keep them contained."

"I really don't care about that right now," Guts told him. "Why the hell were you down there anyway?"

From somewhere close by, the heard the crunching of trees, the troll cave was being sealed shut by whatever spirit Schierke had managed to summon. "The young witch has sealed the entrance." Skull Knight made ready to ride off. "Go to her." Skull Knight began to ride further into the trees, disappearing from sight.

"Guts! Harry!" Schierke came rushing up to them, Ivalera not far behind. "I sensed that you had made it out, but how?"

Guts cast a wary look to where Skull Knight had vanished. "We owe him again."

The journey back to Enoch Village was one wrought with concern from the young witch at the sight of the two of them. Both of them had received a lasting wound from Slan, and Schierke put the two elves to work right away.

"Stupid…" Schierke could have been referring to either him or Harry, probably the latter. "Completely, totally stupid."

Guts couldn't argue the girl's assessment of the situation. It had been stupid for him to stay behind; it was stupid for Harry to come back. While the mission had been a success and the troll cave and the zone of darkness had been sealed off, the whole ordeal had been a mess. His companion had acted on impulse and desire, something that Guts was accustomed to. He couldn't fault Harry fully because if he had been in Harry's role, he would have gone to confront Slan as well. And besides, both of them would be carrying the scar from their encounter for the rest of their lives it seemed.

"Guts," Puck spoke to him. "Your wound… it isn't healing."

"You must be running out of dust," Ivalera harassed the other elf as she tended to Harry. "Watch how I'm doing it. See how Harry's wound is – hey! It's not healing!"

Some scar tissue was taking hold, but compared to the elves' usual speed of healing energy, it wasn't even close to looking faded. The bleeding had stopped, but both still looked raw. Schierke took to examining their wounds as well, looking flushed and concerned.

"Whatever did this to you, its power was far greater than that of this world."

"Yeah," Harry winced as she applied some slave on his most recent scar. "You can almost say godly."

"I tried to get in contact with the both of you, but I wasn't getting a response. The most I did get was a feel of your emotions through our connection. I felt your anger, the pain of being cut. Which one of them was it?"

What was the title Skull Knight had used? "The whore princess," Guts bundled up the one thing that he had left of his old armor, his black cloak.

"… If a being like that…" Schierke began to ponder. "A being like that… with that power in the physical world…" her green eyes widened. "Those cuts, she didn't just cut your physical bodies, she cut your luminous bodies as well. Those scars extend to your souls."

Soul scars? Guts bemused. Was something like that even possible? Harry seemed to know what she was talking about, however.

"Wait! You mean like," he pointed to his forehead where that lightning-bolt shaped scar rested, "this?"

"You haven't been feeling any malicious activity from your scar, have you?"

"No. whatever was going on with my scar seemed to go away after the Misty Valley thing when Farnese took me, prisoner. You think the ones we got now are like that?"

"I doubt it, but I can't say for certain," she looked like that wasn't a good enough answer for her to give, she wanted to do more. "They are most likely just that, scars on your souls; well beyond any dust that elves can produce." She cast her gaze downwards. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Guts asked. "Scars are just that, scars. This is just another one." Without his armor, she could see just how many scars decorated his body from over the years, ever since he had picked up the sword as a young boy. "I would have thought that'd you'd be used to see scars be made, you were inside of his head watching."

Schierke avoided his gaze. "When I watched before, it was never like being there in person. Seeing the state the both of you are in now, you can barely stand."

"Well, it's a good thing that my staff can still hold my weight then," Harry leaned against the cracked wood for support. He might have given a wry smile, but his eyes looked on sadly at the object he had hand-crafted himself. Would he have to start all over again, or was there a way to fix it?

"I wouldn't sound so happy if I were you," Ivalera cautioned Harry. "Once you're healed as best you can, she's going to let you have it."

"So I have another staff to the face to look forward to?"

"I might transfigure you this time. Isidro could use a monkey companion."

Speaking of Isidro, they spotted the aspiring swordsman waiting on the stone bridge crossing the river to Enoch Village as they made their way out of the forest on weary legs. Isidro wasn't alone, however; Farnese and a recently mended Serpico were waiting as well.

"Holy shit!" Isidro exclaimed as they neared. "You guys are back!"

"I apologize for my absence," Serpico rubbed where his shoulder had been dislocated. "Did everything go well? Have the trolls been properly dealt with?"

"The entrance to their cave has been sealed," Schierke told him. "I had to call upon a spirit of the forest to assist in its closure; the Spirit of Rot and decay."

"I was telling them all about how we handed it to those trolls. You and Harry were working your magic, Guts was going nuts on them, and I was blowing them away with the explosives!" to further his point, he seemed keen to try and reenact a play-by-play of how he perceived things to have gone.

Farnese didn't look entirely convinced as she looked at the flat looks coming from the three other members of the troll slaying team. "Well… it certainly sounded energetic."

"What about the civilians?" Schierke asked. "They all got here safely, right?"

"Of course," Isidro brushed her concern away. "They had me leading them after all."

"I don't think that reassures her," Harry told him.

"Hey! What are you talking about, man?! You owe me a spar, remember? Good for whenever I want it!"

The four others exchanged more tales and banter, usually at the behest of Isidro, and Guts watched it all unfold. The way they acted, it stirred something inside of him. As he looked at his most recent of companions, he could almost see another group of people standing behind them, staring back at him. The scow form Corkus, the strong face of Pippin, the smiling face of Judeau, and the image of how Casca once was.

This feeling… it's like back then.

They found themselves back in the forest, walking back to the spirit-tree, the forest already seemed healthier now that the overlapping layer of Quiphoth had been sealed off. Flora would be pleased when they told her the news. Harry wondered if she was successful in healing Casca, or at the very least, made some sort of substantial progress. However, he doubted that with the success of their mission that she would be pleased to see the state his staff was in.

His craft was still intact – mostly. Slan's power had been greater than his own, and that hadn't even been her true body. Harry doubted he would be performing any great feats of magic soon judging by the large split that was running down the length. No more mist was hissing out, perhaps the core power was all but gone.

Maybe it can be fixed, Harry wanted to hope it could. He still had his sword that Godo had forged so long ago, but it wouldn't be the same without his staff. It had become more than just a milestone for his magical prowess; it had almost felt like an extension of his own self. If his staff really was beyond repair, maybe he would have to make another one.

Farnese walked next to him. "That wound looks to be scarring over." It sure didn't feel like it. In reality, it felt like tiny needles were continuously poking at the inside of his flesh.

"I suppose so, yeah," Harry agreed. "But even elf dust didn't work like it should have. Maybe Flora has some salve back at the tree."

"She seems like a truly kind woman," Farnese confessed. "And if she is healing Casca, what will be next after that?"

"Are you thinking of leaving?" Harry asked.

"Well, no," Farnese answered, but not right away. "The reason why I joined this quest was to hopefully find a new reality in place of the Holy See. So far…" she trailed off. "I wanted to ask you and Miss. Schierke about magic."

"'Miss.' Schierke?" Harry almost laughed considering Farnese was older than the witch.

"Yes?" Schierke joined them, hearing her name being spoken. "What is it, Farnese?"

"Oh, I was just curious about your magic, that's all."

"What about it?" Schierke was eager to answer the other girl's questions.

"At what age did you start learning it?"

"Well, I was brought up by Mistress Flora since I was a child. She taught me all about the art from as soon as I could speak."

"So, you were not born with it?" She looked contemplative.

"Magic does not belong to anyone being. If you want, I could persuade Mistress Flora into-!"

It happened like a jolt of lightning rushing down hers and Harry's spines. An immediate sense of od that put them both on edge. It was one of danger.

Serpico sniffed the air. "Is that… smoke?"

"…The tree…" realization washed over Schierke. "Quickly! We must hurry!"

They ran the rest of the way back to the spirit-tree, the smell of smoke and the feeling of intense heat grew with each step. "How could this happen?" Harry asked. "Flora had enchantments up to keep out intruders!" the only other explanation was that she had set fire to her own tree, but why do that?

"She does!" Schierke kept one hand on her hat to make sure it didn't fly off. "But if the invaders are in great enough numbers to somehow overcome the magic, then they could only be…"

She was cut short when they finally came upon the spirit-tree; it was up in flames. The mansion seemed untouched for now, but the tree was ablaze in a lively inferno. The flicker of flames cast their shadows along the clearing surrounding it making it seem that spirits were dancing to the burning wood.

Other figures were emerging from the tree line as well, dressed in armor and wearing helms designed to look like various animals. They were slowly, closing in on the tree, but the fire seemed to lash out at them, keeping them at bay for the time being.

Harry felt a prickle on his neck from his brand. Apostles. All of them here were apostles.

"Mistress…" Schierke trembled from the fear and uncertainty of what was unfolding before her.

Guts brushed past them, already gripping Dragonslayer. "Go. Get to the tree. I'll deal with these goons."

"H-hey!" Isidro joined in. "You against that many?!"

"He's right!" Puck agreed. "You're still healing, no use getting yourself killed now. What about Casca? Don't you want to see her?"

He was already walking away. "If she's healed, it would have been worth it."

Harry watched as Guts rushed the nearest invader, Dragonslayer sunk through his shoulder, staining the green grass with the first of the bloodshed. He had them momentarily caught off guard and was working away on carving his way around the perimeter.

Not wanting Guts to be outnumbered, Harry tossed a few golem talisman, instructing them to assist where they could. With Guts continuing to fight outside, the five of them made for the tree. Unlike with the invaders, the flames parted for them, allowing them to safely pass through.

They found the door to the mansion blocked; burning branches had fallen to seal the entrance. "Allow me," Serpico made a few cuts and branches were split into neat pieces of firewood.

"I sense someone's od on the other side," Schierke said hurriedly.

"Well, what are we waiting for?!" Isidro threw open the doors to reveal a dazed-looking Casca who was wobbling on her feet.

"Casca!" Harry exclaimed, rushing to the young woman. "Casca, are you…?"

She hardly seemed to acknowledge him, her eyes were glazed over, and drool was hanging from the side of her mouth like she had just woken up. She was awake, but still asleep.

"Is she…?" Farnese was hesitant to ask. "Did the treatment not work?"

"It must have got cut short," Schierke said, sadly. "With the invaders and this fire, Mistress must have cut the treatment short to deal with the situation."

"You serious?!" Isidro asked. "Let's go in there and drag the witch lady out. Have her heal her some other time." Before Isidro could take one step inside, a portion of the roof caved in, either from the flames, or Flora's magic. "Shit!"

Farnese took hold of Casca's hand. "Miss. Schierke, where do we go now?"

Schierke remained focused on the sight of the burning tree, unable to believe her eyes. "Mistress…" Harry heard her thoughts. 'Do you… want this? What of our lessons? What of our time spent together? Making potions, drinking tea, reading stories, is it all coming to an end?'

"Schierke!" Harry shook her out of her trance. "We need somewhere to go. What about the storage area, the flames haven't reached there yet."

"I…" she looked at him and then back at the tree where Flora remained somewhere inside. "…Yes, this way." Her voice lacked any sort of hope.

Guts' breathing was ragged. He had slain fewer apostles than he should have, and any of them had yet to transform into their monstrous other selves. They were more focused on getting to that tree, but the flames were keeping them at bay. It was like they came prepared for a fight given their numbers, but they hadn't expected anyone else to be here. The attack here was planned out, deliberate, and he had a good idea who the mastermind behind it was.

"Raaaghh!" Guts swung Dragonslayer down, sinking it into the shoulder of an apostle, but his swing had much less force than it should have. This apostle still had his arm, and merely grunted and hissed in frustration.

"Damn you! That hurt!" the apostle yanked himself free from Dragonslayer, getting ready for a fight of his own. "You – hey! I recognize you! You were the one branded from our Master's birth. You escaped the Eclipse!"

Master? So, it really is him then. Is he here now? Guts knew that Griffith wasn't. His brand was hurting, but nowhere near how it had been when he encountered Slan.

A new voice spoke up, towering above the rest of the apostles, one Guts recognized all too well. "Put your steel away, soldier. He is beyond your skill."

"Captain Zodd!" the apostles bowed their heads as the mercenary stalked forward. "We can take him! With all of us War Demons, he doesn't stand a chance! His movements are slowing! He barely has any force."

"I said," Zodd's voice silenced them all, "he is beyond your skill. We have a mission to carry out."

"Are you refusing a challenge, Immortal One?"

"Hm?" all eyes turned to look at the Skull Knight who had appeared among their ranks. His sword was drawn and stained with blood.

"How did he get here?" the War Demons asked. Past the Skull Knight lay a string of corpses, all were cut to ribbons, finer than any butcher could cut an animal. "He slew an entire division!"

"Bonehead?" You're just all over the place today, aren't you? "The hell are you doing here?"

"I have close ties with the witch who resides in this tree. I shall fight on her behalf."

Zodd's lips turned up at the corners to form a sickly smile. "So, does that mean our match will occur here and now? I've waited long since the last Eclipse. That scuffle could barely be considered a fight, you were only determined on getting past me."

"A fight is inevitable. Your wish may be granted."

Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the woods. A new figure was approaching, one that towered above everyone, including Zodd! He wore heavy silver-plated armor, a crimson red cloak, a heavy shield with what looked to have a built-in cannon, and a large war hammer that was almost as tall as he was. On top of his head, a helm in the style of a dragon.

A giant! Guts stared up at the massive frame of the largest man alive.

"Zodd," the man's voice held power and authority, something befitting of a giant like him. His red eyes were staring straight down at Guts. "This man, he is the Black Swordsman, is he not?"

"That is what he is known as," Zodd was unfazed by the appearance of this man.

"Zodd, with your permission, I would like to fight this man."

Zodd considered the request. "Very well." His eyes were locked on Skull Knight. "I have my own opponent."

"Very well. I, Sir Grunbeld of the Band of the Hawk call upon the Black Swordsman in single combat."

Wait! Did he say Band of the Hawk? The intimidation that Grunbeld had was once again being replaced by anger. Guts could feel it like a wolf ready to pounce, an urge inside of him to defy this giant. How dare he use that name!

Grunbeld raised his war hammer. "En garde."

Dragonslayer met Grunbeld's first strike and it was like the sound of thunder, an intense bout of sound that spurred the War Demons on. They all began transforming into their true apostle forms, leaving Grunbeld to deal with Guts as they advanced on the burning tree.

Zodd had transformed as well, blocking Skull Knight from rushing back. "This time let it be a fight for the ages!" he raked his claws against Skull Knight's shield and sparks flew as Skull Knight deflected his first attack.

Grunbeld raised his war hammer once again, Guts could feel the impact of each time Dragonslayer met his blows. They were sending shockwaves all along his arms, he was sure that his bones would break if he kept matching the blows each time. The pain from his most recent encounter with Slan was resurfacing with this strenuous activity as well. It came to the point where Guts just raised Dragonslayer as a shield to cover the blows from Grunbeld.

"What is this?" Grunbeld stared him down, kicking one of his massive tree trunk thick legs out, and knocking Guts down. "Where is the tenacity? Where is the fury of the Black Swordsman who slaughtered so many of us apostles?" Grunbeld raised his hammer, bringing it down.

Guts reacted just in time to bring Dragonslayer up to his chest to absorb the impact of the blow. "Hnn!" the flat of the blade pressed down on his chest, across the wound Slan had given him.

"Pathetic!" Grunbeld said with contempt. His eyes traveled over to where Zodd fought with Skull Knight. Skull Knight was fast on his horse, but Zodd knew what moves he was going for, always bringing up his defense before striking out, and nearly hitting Skull Knight. "Zodd is lucky to have found such a strong and worthy adversary." Grunbeld scowled down at Guts. "You are unfit to die the death of a warrior by my hammer." He raised one of his massive feet. "Die, crushed beneath the weight of your reputation!"

Grunbeld's foot crashed down on Dragonslayer, pushing the flat of it further down on Guts. He could feel the taste of blood flood his mouth, and he was sure that some of his ribs were now broken.

My injuries… I feel them, weighing me down.

'You are weak,' a voice inside of him seemed to say. 'But not for long.'

Seeing Grunbeld raise his foot once again, Guts rolled out of the way before it could come crashing down on him. Forcing himself to stand, Guts pulled all the strength he had left and cut Dragonslayer across Grunbeld's leg.

"Aaggh!" the blade barely had enough force behind it to cut through the thick plated armor.

"You would prefer to die on your feet?" Grunbeld asked, raising his shield to point directly at Guts. "Very well. I will oblige your request."

The barrel of a cannon protruded from Grunbeld's shield. He used his hammer to press down on a button a plume of smoke and a resonating, KABOOM! sounded off.

Guts fully expected to have a giant hole in the middle of his torso but was surprised to see that one of those golems had gotten in the way of the blast. The magical servant was already starting to regenerate what it could from its missing torso, but two others waddled up to their brethren, merging with it, to make a giant golem guard.

Grunbeld scowled. "Shameful interference!" two long blades popped out from the end of his shield as he proceeded to cut the golem in half.

'Guts!' the voice of Schierke sounded in his head.

Schierke? Where are you? Instead of a response, Guts received a vision in his mind's eye. There was the tree, and tucked away near one of the roots was a hidden door.

More golems were slowly, but surely advancing on Grunbeld. He took this opportunity and made a break for where the others were tucked away at. Serpico opened the door for him on the other side as he slid into the hidden trove of the tree. His chest rose and fell heavily, and his eye sought out Casca, who was awake but chewing on her hair. Was it all for nothing?

Casca looked at him, pointed and moved her mouth, "Swor mn. Swoood am."

Is she… trying to speak?

"Thank goodness you made it!" Schierke knelt by his side. "We haven't much time! They'll find this place and-!"

"-Casca. Is she…?"

"She's trying to form sentences," Harry answered. "Flora made some progress at least. Whatever she did, part of her mind is healed."

"But it won't amount to much if we stay here any longer," Serpico voiced. "It is as you said, those monsters will find this place soon enough."

Isidro was pacing around. "Well, there has to be something! We're in a cellar filled with all sorts of magical items, why not use 'em?!"

Schierke wasn't answering. "Mistress?" she clutched her head.

"Schierke?" Harry asked. "What is it?"

"I don't understand, Mistress. That armor is…" the wooden door began to splinter as the claws of an apostle sunk in.

"Aw crap! They're here!" Isidro exclaimed. He pulled out an explosive. "This is my last one, too! Any ideas and I'd love to hear 'em!"

"There is one option," Schierke muttered. "But I don't understand why Mistress would have him use it. She knows how dangerous it is."

"Wait, you meant the armor?" Harry asked, eyeing the door as more was chipped away.

"Yes! But if he puts it on, then-!"

Guts placed a hand on top of her hands. He didn't say a thing, but, he smiled. A bitter-sweet smile that conveyed more than he could put in his own words.

The armor in its sleek but heavy plated ebony glory was part by part, put on Guts' body. Serpico and Isidro helped to fit it as fast as they could as the face of the apostle became visible from the other side. Not wanting to risk his staff, Harry stabbed the apostle through the eye. The last piece to go on was helm, the emptied socket, skull-shaped helm.

"That hurt!" the apostle growled at Harry, barring its curved fangs.

"Oh shit!" Isidro got ready to light the explosive, but Guts was on his feet, brushing past them engage the apostle.

The jaws opened wide to swallow Guts whole, but what followed surprised all of them. He plunged Dragonslayer through the gaping jaw of the apostle, twisted the blade, pulled it out, and then cut in all four directions. The apostle's head fell apart like a split melon, Guts' armored boots trampling over the mutilated corpse and back outside to where the battle continued.

"Black Swordsman, cease these shameful tactics at once!" Grunbeld demanded as he tossed aside two halve of another golem. He got his wish.

Standing before him in that strong but sleek ebony colored armor and wielding Dragonslayer in one hand was Guts.

One apostle ran up from behind Guts, clamping its jaws on his torso. Its teeth didn't even make a dent in the armor, but Dragonslayer had a much better luck on the apostle. The massive blade craved its way through the skull, following up with a series of slashes that left it raining blood down on the dark armor.

Grunbeld was taken aback. "This is the Black Swordsman? He wasn't moving this way before."

Even Zodd had paused in his fight with Skull Knight to watch this newest development. "Is that…?" his eyes settled on Skull Knight who glared back at the mighty apostle. "So, you would have him walk that same cursed path?"

Isidro was watching, wide-eyed at the armor-clad Guts. "A-awesome! If you had something like that this whole time, why didn't you hand it over for the troll slaying?! We would have been done in no time!"

Schierke did not share in his sentiment. "As powerful as that armor is, it comes with a heavy toll. It was crafted by dwarves to be near unstoppable, but even then the previous user bled out while wearing it. Whoever dons that armor will feel no pain; they will continue to fight until their enemy has been rendered dead. Any injury sustained, the armor will only fix up to the extent where the user can continue to fight, and with no sense of pain, that would be until death. It's the armor of the Berserker."

What is this feeling? Guts wondered as his sense of self-diminished. The pain from my wounds… they're gone. No; I just don't feel it.

'Yield to me.' That same ominous voice spoke from within his mind.

This sensation… it's burning inside of me.

'Yield to me.'

I… see it now.

Within the shadow of his mind's eye, that dark shape had taken form. A pitch black hound with razor sharp teeth and blazing red eyes. A Beast of Darkness.

'Yield to me… everything!'

Eyes were all drawn as the shape of the armor's helm began to change. The metal plates were shifting and stretching out to make it appear entirely different. Guts' face was totally obscured, hidden away behind red zigzagging sockets and a gaping maw reminiscent of a wolf, complete with fangs.

Guts charged Grunbeld, moving nothing like he had been before – no. he was moving far beyond what he normally moved. His speed was astonishing, the armor enhancing every physical aspect of his body. Grunbeld barely had time to bring his mighty shield up in front of his frame to block not just Dragonslayer, but Guts; body as well. Guts had jumped, planted himself on Grunbeld's shield before kicking off, and making the giant of a man stumble.

"Face the full might of my cannon!" Grunbeld took aim with his shield, tracking Guts' movements.

Before he could fire, Guts did something unexpected; he rushed straight toward the barrel of Grunbeld's cannon, planted his artificial hand directly in front of it, and fired his own cannon blast.

Boooooom!

Grunbeld stumbled back, his shield and cannon falling to pieces. Guts faced the impact as well but drove Dragonslayer into the ground to slow his momentum.

"Perhaps I misjudged you, Black Swordsman." Grunbeld drew his mighty war hammer. "Perhaps you are befitting death by my hammer." The apostle took the offense this time, advancing on Guts.

This time, Guts did more than merely block the attack, he surpassed it. His sword against Grunbeld's hammer, Dragonslayer was coming out on top. He knocked the first strike aside, forcing the length of the hammer close to the ground, where he jumped upon it with Dragonslayer, striking it repeatedly, denting the heavy metal of Grunbeld's weapon.

"H-he's lost himself in battle," Farnese concluded, watching the scene unfold.

Casca tried to articulate a sentence again. "Swo-mn…"

From behind them, the fire worked on consuming the tree, slowly burning its way to where the trove rested, spared of any fire but not for long. Serpico took charge. "Quickly, we must move." He took Farnese's hand, who took Casca.

"So awesome!" Isidro continued to gush over Guts' armor as he too was dragged away from the creeping fire.

Harry was ready to follow after but felt the top of Schierke's staff rest against his shoulder. "What? We have to leave too."

"I know," she didn't sound eager, and for good reason. The woman who took her in and taught her magic was still inside the burning tree. "But… there is one thing to take before we leave. Much like with Guts, I believe Mistress Flora intends you to have it." The heat of the approaching fire was growing as she led him back into the trove. "Before we gave the armor to Guts, I heard the voice of Mistress Flora. She has told me only so much about it, but it may be possible for you to use."

The heat was growing stronger. "Well let's grab it and get out then!"

"There." Leaning against the wall of the trove was a staff. Larger than the one he currently had and looked far older at that. The top of the staff looked to designed like a tree with branches growing upward to the sky, and a crystal was lodged in the heart of the "roots."

"A staff?" Harry observed. "Isn't every mage supposed to craft their own?"

"Traditionally, yes. But, from what Mistress told me, this has been passed down from mage to mage. The last wielder was Merlin who won it from a sorceress named Morgana. It chooses its allegiance, deeming if the candidate is worthy. He left it here to keep out of dangerous hands and with the hope that someone might be able to use it again one day."

Flora thought that that was him? She believed that he could handle this? He was good at magic, sure; but he was nowhere near the same level as the most famous wizard ever was. What would happen if he took it and he wasn't a worthy choice? Would he shrivel and die in agony? Each staff was supposed to be unique to each mage, he had been told so when first learning about magic.

Then there was the other part of him, the part that was tempted to take it anyway. Guts was out there fighting, as usual, Serpico and the others were escorting Casca away from the chaos, and he was here doubting himself. Doubting if he could do it or not, hesitating in a time of need, that sounded so much like how he had been when he was younger; a confused little boy swept up in the current of the world around him.

He took it.

Grunbeld tossed aside the remnants of his bruised and dented war hammer, his red eyes narrowed in anger at the armor-clad Guts. "You fight like an inhuman, Black Swordsman." His eyes danced with the fire that had nothing to do with the burning tree. "Allow me to even the odds!"

Grunbeld's plated armor became engulfed in flame, encasing his entire body, only his glowing eyes were visible. Then, through the fire, a foot emerged; then another, and two more after that. A large tail crashed into the ground, and the snarling face of a monstrous dragon-like creature appeared. His apostle form was enormous; he had the body of a dragon sans the wing and was covered in pulsating red-orange crystals. Plumes of fire shot from his maw, hotter than the fire of the burning tree.

"A fuckin' dragon!" Isidro exclaimed.

"You have pushed me beyond my human limits, Black Swordsman. Now face the true might of the Fire Dragon of the Band of the Hawk!"

Grunbeld breathed a bout of fire towards Guts, who charged the dragon apostle, Dragonslayer held in front of him as he parted through the flames, only singeing the black cloak that billowed behind him. Before Guts could land an attack, Grunbeld spun around, using his tail to slap Guts across his midsection, sending him flying back.

In a few seconds, Guts was back on his feet. Or rather, his foot – one of his legs was nearly twisted around completely, as well as his one arm; the bones clearly dislocated and broken from the force of Grunbeld's strike.

That normally would have been an end to the fight, but with a metallic creaking, Guts' armor covered limbs began to twist and turn back to their normal position as blood leaked out from the joints of the armor. The Berserker Armor had merely set his bones back so that he could continue to fight; and he did just that.

Blood sprayed from near his ankles as he ran full sprint toward Grunbeld. He jumped, spinning in the air as he still held Dragonslayer, becoming a wheel of destruction as his sword slammed into one of Grunbeld's crystals.

"Your efforts are futile! My body is covered in crystal stronger than steel!" Grunbeld boasted. He spun around, ready to use his tail to knock Guts to the side again, Buts Guts was much faster.

He used Dragonslayer as a shield, not only blocking Grunbeld's tail, but joshing back against it. "Did you see that?!" Isidro pointed out as they continued to make a break for a safe location. "He blocked that attack!"

For once, Puck was not sharing in his enthusiasm. "Guts… you're losing yourself, aren't you?"

"Guts is kicking that Dragon's – oh shit!"

An apostle was bearing down on them. Its boar-like tusks ready to skewer them through. Serpico acted fast, using his wind blade to cut at the apostles' legs to slow its momentum. His cloak billowed as he leapt into the air, getting an angle to cut at the back of its neck. The wind attack met its mark and dark blood dribbled down from the apostle as it coughed up a bout of blood.

Seeing an opportunity, Isidro tossed his explosive straight into the gaping maw of the apostle bearing down on them. Once it went off, it took the jaw of the apostle with it.

"Head back over to the tree line!" Ivalera instructed.

Farnese nodded. "Come on, Casca."

Her attention was drawn to the left. "Tw woo."

"What's she saying?" Isidro asked, looking to where Casca's attention was drawn. To their left, two more apostles were making an advance on them. "You kidding me?!"

"Isidro, you escort the girls to safety," Serpico took his stance. "I will do what I can against these goons."

Fire crackled from the burning spirit-tree, shooting embers into the hot air. Where the hell were Harry and Schierke? Going out on a limb, he tried that mental link or whatever she had called it. Hey! Where are you guys?! We can kind of use some magic right about now!

He heard back. 'We're here!' Schierke was rushing up to them, Harry as well, but he had something different.

"Hey, where'd you get that?"

"Ask your questions later," Ivalera told him. "Right now, get the girls out of here!"

Serpico slashed with the wind, wounding one of the advancing apostles. He went to jump behind it like he had the first, but this one seemed to have watched him perform that trick before. The apostle swatted where he would have been if Serpico had not changed his direction at the last minute. Dodging another strike, he began to rethink his strategy.

Harry had felt it. Not at first, but once he had a moment to settle, he could feel heat in his hands, and it had nothing to do with the now blazing inferno around them. It was like a heartbeat; his heartbeat and one from magic. It traveled up his hands, through his torso and all throughout his body. It was as if a popping sensation was occurring behind his eyes as he experienced a swell of sensory overload. But it had become bearable, something that he could control. He could feel everything that was going on with his body, with his magic. Holding this staff, it was unlike the one he had made. The magic that went into this, it was ancient, it transcended decades, maybe even close to a millennia.

He stood next to Serpico, facing down an apostle himself, a feeling, a premonition speaking to him like a second voice in his head, telling him exactly what spell to perform. He knew it, he knew the spell, this voice, that he heard whispering to him knew that he knew it, it worked with him. 'Infarne Sempra.'

"Infarne Sempra!" Harry repeated. Instantly, flames that had been consuming the tree lurched down toward the two apostles like fiery lashes. The fire lashes moved, following the movement of his arm and staff. He was like the maestro for an orchestra, willing the flames to snap and lash at the apostles. Like an extension of my arm.

Seeing this new development, Serpico took the opportunity to fan the flames with his wind strikes, making them grow in size and intensity. Harry wrapped the flames around the apostles, trapping them, burning them to a crisp. This magic, it was like Merlin was there with him, watching him perform.

Grunbeld staggered as Guts climbed the back of his mighty apostle form. The stronger than steel crystals that coated his body were beginning to crumble from the continuous pounding from Dragonslayer and Guts' unrelenting blows. The red eyes of the Berserker Armor shown against the flames that began to coat Grunbeld's body.

Guts' continuous barrage exposed a loose scale on Grunbeld's back and he drove Dragonslayer through it.

"AAGGHH!" Grunbeld howled like he had never sustained this much damage in a fight before. He was used to relaying in his size and strength to believe that a human could be this much trouble. The great flame dragon fell to one knee as Guts yanked his sword free, jumped off, and made ready to attack again.

Before he could, a wall of flame shot out from the spirit-tree, and extended upward as high as the tree itself. The apostles were trapped on one side with Guts and the rest on the other.

"Miss. Schierke, what is this?" Farnese asked, standing in front of Casca.

Harry experienced a major head rush the second he dropped the staff once the fight neared its end. He felt tired, extremely so, and above all else, thirsty. He hadn't used the staff for long, but he could not deny the swell of power that he had experienced. Maybe, once he was healed fully…

"Mistress…" Schierke looked at the great flame wall that had been erected, signaling an end to the fighting. From within those dancing flames was the ethereal body of Flora, the younger version of her that smiled over her shoulder at Schierke.

"The danger is not over yet, my pupil. This one requires your aid to revert back."

The helm of the Berserker Guts turned to look at them, the red eye glowed maliciously.

Everywhere. Guts' mind was clouded by his drive, his urge to kill. Was it his own, or perhaps the desire of that Beast of Darkness, the one the armor now resembled. Enemies everywhere. Why? How long is this fight?

How long will I be stuck here; trapped in this place? If I look up, I'll just see an eye, the eye… is it mine, or… where is here.

'…ts!'

What? Is someone here?

'..uts!'

Yes. That voice… I know it.

'Guts!'

Is that the voice of Schierke? 'You have to come back, Guts! You're not yourself right now!'

Myself? I'm right here.

'You're trapped inside the armor! You have to fight against it!'

'There is no fighting me. The girl is a fool to say so.'

'Guts, don't listen to it! You're Guts, the Black Swordsman! The enemy of apostles! Casca's protector!'

That name… "Casca."

Harry watched as the wolf-like helm of the Berserker Armor began to pull back, retreating to the main torso of the armor like a turtle into its shell. Guts' face and brow were covered in sweat and blood. Above his right eye, a single tuff of white hair stood out amongst the black.

A/N: The Berserker Armor has finally come into play. I promise that the staff used by Merlin will get more of a description and history next, but the armor was the big thing in this chapter. Thank you for reading.


	39. Chapter 39

Guest: Thank you. Enjoy the next chapter.

The campsite for the Band of the Hawk was a hub of activity. Just moments ago, the Hawks had swooped to the aid of a small batch of Midland's resistance fighters against a battle against the invading Kushan. As expected, Griffith defeated that batch of Kushan with his new Band of the Hawk. Among the rescued was the son of a deceased Midland Lord, Mule Wolflame.

Charlotte knew him by name, of course, Mule was a sandy-haired teenager about the same age as the one blonde girl who claimed to be a medium. His name was quite unusual being named Mule and all, but the old Lord Wolflame had been an eccentric man. From the rumors she had heard regarding Mule's name, his father was near-absent when he received word his wife was in labor so he hastened back to his holdfast on the nearest animal he could find; a mule. When Lord Wolflame found out he had been gifted a son, he overindulged on wine and named his boy after the trusty mule that delivered him home.

The story was an outlandish one, and the only reason Charlotte knew of it was because Lord Wolflame told it to her father as he proposed a marriage contract between her and Mule, despite Mule being a few years her junior. Her father refused, of course, but not because he believed Mule would be a poor match, but because he secretly lusted for her.

The memory of what he and Emperor Ganishka tried to do to her made her skin crawl. But now, her father was dead of a heart attack, and Griffith had rescued her and Anna from Ganishka's clutches.

Charlotte was forever grateful toward Griffith for rescuing her, truly, she was. So why wasn't she as happy as she should be?

All around her, the other women and children that had been rescued by Griffith in his campaign against the Kushan helped pull their weight by gathering wood for a fire, cooking meals, and doing laundry. It wasn't the work that bothered her, she had been willing to pull her weight back when members from the original Band of the Hawk rescued Griffith from beneath the Tower of Rebirth, and that was perhaps the problem, there were no others from before.

Griffith had been vague about their demise so it must have been unpleasant; the lake of blood was enough proof of that. Still, it would have been welcoming to see a regular known face within the new Band of the Hawk. Casca, the sole female warrior would have been an inspiration to the women camp followers, the boy with the nice green eyes and glasses could train with Mule and his followers, even the Raiders Captain who had given her a piggyback when rescuing Griffith would be welcoming.

Now, Griffith kept a majority of the Band of the Hawk away from those he had rescued along the way, seemingly out of concern for the people's safety. She pushed such thoughts away for now; she and Anna were preparing a stew for a few orphaned children, or, at least Anna was showing her how to cook.

A tall shadow fell across them. "Pardon my intrusion, Your Highness." It was Sir Locus, the best lance in all the land and the captain of the Hawks' Lancers. The knight bowed his head, his long black curls moved with his head.

"Oh, Sir Locus!" she offered a gracious bow of her head as well. Out of all the new additions to the Band of the Hawk, Sir Locus, Irvine, and Grunbeld seemed the most decent. "What may I do for you?"

"Our leader just asked for a moment of your time. Would you like me to escort you to him?"

"That is kind of you to offer, but I will manage."

Locus nodded in understanding. "Very well. Mmm, could I bother you for a bowl of stew? It may help with Sir Grunbeld's recovery."

It was a tragic sight. The day previous, Grunbeld had returned from a mission badly wounded, clinging to life. Grunbeld was perhaps the biggest person alive; just who or what could wound him so? Anna complied with Locus' request, filling up a bowl for him to take.

Setting out herself, she headed to the one spot where Griffith would frequent to ponder, a grassy hillside. In hindsight, she wished she had accepted Locus' escort. Standing in front of her was Nosferatu Zodd.

His large, muscular arms were crossed across his broad chest and his fierce cat-like eyes gazed down at her with disinterest. It was better than being eyed as a canary by a cat. Or by my father.

Zodd was intimidating enough, but knowing what lies just beneath, that behemoth who had been with Griffith to rescue her from that tower. If he so wanted, he could slaughter all of them. How did Griffith get someone like Zodd to be loyal?

"Erm…" her throat felt very dry. "I was told Griffith wanted to… see me." She found her thumbs to be rather interesting at the moment, any sight that wasn't Zodd held her attention, too fearful to look up and see the hardened gaze of the ferocious warrior.

Zodd wasn't saying anything, still standing there. Was he waiting for her to say something else? He was acting as a bodyguard of sorts right now, positioned a ways from where she suspected Griffith to be. "…Um… is… Griffith here?"

Was this some sort of test? She was probably failing it if it was. Her eyes wandered around, only passing by Zodd's own disinterested gaze briefly before quickly returning to the ground. Zodd began walking away, leaving her standing there confused. When he noticed she was not following he inclined his head to turn to look back at her.

"Well?"

"Oh!" she hiked up the skirt of her dress, following after him, but making sure to keep at a safe distance from those arms of his.

At the top of the hill, Griffith waited, two others standing by him. The one rolling on the balls of her feet was the medium girl, and the second was the short frame of Mule Wolflame, the armor he wore looked a size too big in the chest. When Mule spotted her, he instantly took a knee.

"Your Highness!"

"Hello!" the medium girl waved.

"That is your queen!" Mule hissed at the girl. "Kneel!"

"Queen?" the medium girl tilted her head. "I thought she was the princess. Besides, I don't see a crown."

"How dare you say-!" Mule began, but Griffith put a hand on the boy's shoulder, placating him of his tirade.

"Mule, do mind your words in the presence of a lady. And, Sonia, do be more considerate before you speak. A crown may be lacking, but this land is still here, and every land has a queen."

Queen? It made logical sense. Her father had no other children, only her. But to have someone call her "queen" sounded a bit foreign. She was always "Princess Charlotte" and while the prospect of her bearing the title of the queen was real, it had become less apparent with the occupying Kushan forces.

The girl – Sonia – bit the inside of her mouth, but changed into a more cheerful demeanor soon after. "Alright. I'm sorry, Your Highness. You just don't really look how I thought a queen would look, is all."

Mule hung his head low, clearly embarrassed to bear witness to such a sight. "You're hopeless," he whispered to Sonia.

"Sonia," Griffith spoke, "would you mind giving the Queen and I some time?"

"Can I come back later?" Sonia asked, wonder in her eyes. "I can see my friend when I'm by you."

"A friend, hm?" Griffith touched his chin. "Of course."

"Yes!" Sonia happily skipped off, past Nosferatu Zodd, smiling at him as she did so.

"Zodd," Griffith addressed the warrior next. "Could you also excuse us for a moment?" He gave a silent nod, stalking back to where he had been previous, not looking either excited or bored doing so.

"Would you like me to take my leave as well?" Mule asked, rising from his kneel, prepared to go off and lecture Sonia about her lack of manners.

"If you so wish," Griffith told him. "I take it you have made up your mind about the offer I extended to you?"

"Yes, I have." Mule brought a hand up to his armor-clad chest. "I will join my forces with yours to defeat these Kushan invaders. If you will have me, I pledge my allegiance to your Band of the Hawk!"

"And I humbly accept your allegiance, Mule Wolflame. When the dust settles, your father will have been avenged." Mule gave one last bow to Griffith and Charlotte both before leaving the two alone.

"That was kind of you to take in Sir Mule and his men," Charlotte began, thankful for a chance to be alone with Griffith, and away from the gaze of Zodd.

"This is their land, they fight for a just cause, and their righteous fire is what will inspire more people. And besides, he seems like a nice lad; trusty, dependable, all good traits for a knight."

"Yes, Sir Mule will make his father proud. Many knights should aim to be like that." He is like those who once served under you. Her smile faltered ever so slightly, but it was enough for him to notice.

"Something troubles your mind?" he asked it like a question, but he it was not meant to sound like one.

"Hm? Oh, no, nothing that holds any relevance now. I was just, remembering." That lake of blood, you missing, and everyone else gone.

"The past can be troubling to think about," Griffith said, trying to ease her mind. "All of us, young and old have something in our past that is unpleasant to think about; I've always tried to look to the future, imagining that it would be a better place than the one I saw around me. What is it that troubles you, Your Highness?"

Should she just ask? Griffith was such an understanding man, surely he wouldn't think poorly of her for asking. "… That day, back when that whirlwind touched down, I had no idea where you had disappeared off to. Something in me told me that you weren't dead, I wouldn't believe it, and I just couldn't!" Not after the night, we shared together, the way you made me feel. "But I saw what became of those who followed you. And I saw…" she took a quick look over her shoulder, almost expecting the hulking form of Zodd to be there. "I saw a demonic form of Zodd flying overhead."

Griffith's expression did not falter; it was as if he had been expecting this to come up eventually. "Ah, that day. It is not a pleasant tale, and hardly one to tell a lady of nobility such as yourself, it all seemed a blur to me in reality. Zodd's presence, however, is more easily explained. You might recall during the war with Chuder, my men and I had an encounter with Zodd. During that fight, the Raiders Captain and I managed to wound him. He was impressed, and he swore a temporary debt. He was the one who rescued me that day."

Truly? She had heard of the fight between Zodd and the Raiders Captain, but never thought it would bear any relevance now. "And he… healed your body as well?"

"Alas, no. It wasn't an easy feat, and again, not one befitting a lady of your standing. But, I did not wish to trouble you so because of my decisions. The night we shared, I didn't wish for you to have to suffer because of my choice."

So you acknowledge it? It was hasty but sweet and good. "Will you tell me?"

Griffith pulled something from his pouch. "I can make a promise." He opened his palm to show a flower with the stem bent and twisted to form an O shape. A budding daisy served as the centerpiece for the makeshift jewelry.

Is this…? Is he…? She could only stare, dumbfounded at what she knew was coming.

"It was a dark day back then, and darker days that followed, but living on the battlefield, life can be cut short so soon. I promise that the dark days will come to an end soon; I promise that you will sit on the throne of this land, and I promise to be the one to deliver it to you. And when this is over," he slipped the "ring" on her petite finger, "I promise to tell you the whole story."

The ring was so light, weightless even. In terms of royalty standards, it would be scoffed at, dismissed as childish fantasy and nonsense. But to Charlotte, it felt a hundred times more meaningful, but also much heavier. The way Griffith had dodged a solid answer; did she really want to know?

She received strange looks as she walked through the Band of the Hawks' camp. Sonia wasn't near the other women and children, she was wandering farther out toward the woods where the specified "War Demons" usually resided. She called them that simply because they called themselves that. They sure acted like it though. More than five times, Sonia almost saw a fight break out between a few War Demons over a scrap of meat cooking over a fire, definitely the more rowdy ones, the ones who would under their normal circumstances plunder and rape as they pleased, only being restrained by Griffith's rule and the command of such like Zodd, Grunbeld, Locus, and Irvine.

"What are you doing here, girly?" a frog-faced War Demon asked her, eyeing her up and licking at his lips. "Come here to entertain?"

Sonia smiled. "Should you say that in front of your boss?"

Before the War Demon could respond, Sir Locus walked over, the chatter and banter stopped near instantly. "Is there a problem here?"

"Uh-uh," Sonia shook her head. "Just meeting new people." I really wish I could see her again. "What's new with you?"

"You should go join the other women, medium," Locus advised. "This is no place for a lady."

"A lady?" Sonia looked around. "Where?" Sir Locus did not appear amused. "You can laugh; it's supposed to be funny."

"A sense of humor can light the dark," Locus said, and Sonia smiled up at him. "But too much and you become disillusioned from reality." She frowned. "This is not a place for one as young as yourself. Won't you return to the other women?"

"Welllll… no. I'm not about to join a sewing circle, and that Mule boy would just yell at me. Over here is much more lively; right, guys?"

The frog-faced War Demon sneered. "If you don't plan on taking your clothes off, piss off already."

"See!" Sonia said. "You won't find language like that back in my side of camp." Sir Locus still did not seem amused. "Butttt… I'll head back as soon as I finish my walk, how 'bout that?"

"…Very well, if you insist. But don't linger."

She was already merrily skipping away, throwing a wave over her shoulder and bidding a final, "See ya!"

The further Sonia ventured into the woods, the more the War Demons camp began to dwindle. They were mainly kept on the outskirts, ready to move at a moment's notice. Here, their jesting, jeering, and banter was a faint whisper, drowned out by the natural sounds of the forest and – a lyre?

Through the next batch of trees, a single fire was lit. A lone figure was sitting around it with his legs crossed as he plucked a few strings of his instrument. A black bow and a quiver of arrows rested next to him. He wore a dark purple short cloak and hat, the attire of a hunter.

"I know you!" Sonia made her presence known. "You're Sir Irvine, the Archer Captain."

Irvine looked up, his pale, milky eyes looking where she was. "You're awfully far from your camp."

"Yeah well… you're pretty far from everyone else," Sonia countered. Irvine didn't bother to offer a retort to that, he simply fiddled with his instrument. "Can I join you?"

Irvine briefly regarded her. "If you so choose."

Sonia planted herself down, scooting closer to Irvine's fire. "You like playing music?"

"If I find the right tune," Irvine replied.

"What were you playing?" Sonia further questioned.

"A request," was all Irvine gave.

"Oh? A request for who?" her curiosity taking hold.

Irvine reached for an arrow and used it to point up at one of the trees. Sitting there on one of the branches was a blonde girl like herself. "Hiya! I didn't see you up there!" the other girl look down at her, offering a shy wave, but not making a move to come down. "Why are you up there all by yourself? I'm Sonia, who are you?" Sonia offered a friendly smile, hoping to make the other girl feel more at ease.

At last, she finally answered. "…Rosine."

"Hey, that's a nice name! How'd you get so high up?" to Sonia, Rosine looked human. But she was getting the same feeling she would get whenever she would look at someone like Zodd or any of the other War Demons, Irvine included.

"I climbed."

"Why not come down here and join us by the fire? I promise I won't bite." Another girl out here who isn't afraid to be around the War Demons.

Rosine seemed reluctant, but she eventually yielded and climbed down to sit next to Irvine. "That was a nice song you played, Irvine," Rosine thanked the man. "It reminded me of a friend I once had."

"It was a new tune to hear, I am pleased that it was up to standards." He began adjusting the strings for a more familiar tune.

"So why are the two of you so far away from everyone else?" Sonia asked. "I would think that other girls like me would be back with the main camp."

Rosine shrugged. "I like the woods. It reminds me of a paradise."

"A paradise, huh?" Sonia noted. "Sounds dreamy. What about you, Irvine?"

"I find the forest… serene. Its undisturbed, quiet, a place where one can think, lose oneself to their senses."

Sonia nodded. "You're a hunter; you must spend a lot of time in the woods."

"Less now than I had previous," Irvine leaned back. "With Griffith, I find myself called to the field of battle, my talents used for hunting prey of a much different stock."

"Uh-huh. Rosine, you said this reminds you of paradise, how?"

"I used to live in a valley untouched by humans, it was fun while it lasted, but it wasn't real. This madman came into my valley looking to kill me, but a magic boy let me live." Rosine looked at the embers of the fire as if imagining someone's face. "He was a better friend to her than I was."

"Perhaps you will see this 'Jill' of yours again," Irvine offered the girl some comfort. "From what you've told me, she seems to be understanding."

"I guess," Rosine slouched. "But I put a fairy tale before her, and now… I'm just along for the ride with the rest of the War Demons."

"Say what?!" Sonia exclaimed. "You're a part of the War Demons?! You look so nice, like Irvine. How'd that end up happening?"

"…That madman I mentioned, he hurt me, and it was bad. After the magic boy let me go, I tried to find a good place to die; that was around the time Irvine found me." Sonia looked at Irvine, expecting him to say more; he didn't. He must have preferred his silence speak for itself, however, that would work.

"Well, hey," Sonia offered, "it seems like Griffith is bringing everyone together, he's rescuing new people with every new campaign. Maybe you'll meet your friend again."

Rosine looked if she couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. "You remind me a lot of myself before all this, always looking for a bright side. Even if I did end up seeing Jill again, I doubt she'd want much to do with all of this. I-," she paused. "What about you? Why are you out here?"

"Oh, I got a bit bored." She shrugged, a lame reason compared to theirs, but it was the truth, a shame it couldn't be more colorful. "I was talking with Griffith, but the princess, or, queen showed up and it got cut short. A shame, it interrupted me seeing my friend."

Irvine perked up a bit. "You are friends with Sir Griffith?"

"Well, I mean, I see my friend when I'm around Griffith." That didn't clear anything up. "What I mean is, Griffith has this… quality about him. When I'm near him or looking at him, I see… something, a castle in the distance." Sonia smiled as she recalled the sight that only she could see. "There's a lake and forest outside and a small hut too. There are a bunch of kids our age, Rosine, but only one of them ever sees me. I try to be around Griffith as much as I can so I can talk to her, she's like you and me, blonde and blue-eyed, we'd make a good trio of friends if we ever met."

"Friends?" Rosine asked. "You think of me as a friend already?"

"Sure do! Us blondes have to stick together."

"This girl," Irvine plucked at a string, "what is her name?"

"Luna. She's really nice."

"And does Sir Griffith see this 'Luna' as well?" Irvine questioned.

"No, just me. Although, I suspect he knows something about it. He doesn't think I'm crazy." Not like everyone else usually does. "She can't see or hear me when I'm not around Griffith, so she usually asks a lot of questions about what's going on," Sonia recalled some of the conversations she and Luna had had. "She doesn't seem to trust Griffith too much though, I told her she was a bit crazy, but she wasn't mad. Oh, yeah! She's really interested in Zodd, but I don't know why." She was aware of the skepticism she was receiving. "What do the both of you think?"

"I don't know," Rosine shrugged. "I suppose anything is possible with a being like Griffith."

Irvine contemplated a bit. "Real or not, a friend is a friend. Pursue further if you choose, but do not expect your vision to be a reality. Do not blind yourself to what is real and what is not, you will only disappoint yourself if you do." Sonia got the impression he spoke to both her and Rosine. "Now, shouldn't you be heading back to your campsite, Sonia? Perhaps you will get to see your friend."

"Yeah, I suppose," Sonia made a move to get up but paused. "Hey, Irvine, do you suppose you could play a tune before I go?"

"If you so wish," Irvine monotonously agreed. Sonia rested against a fallen tree as Irvine struck up a chord, playing a tune that he had learned. It was soft, much like the atmosphere of the forest right now, but loud enough to keep her attention. His fingers, which were skilled at handling the bow, worked wonders on each string plucked on his instrument as he played the music that became soothing to the ears. The heat of the fire cast a warm glow across Sonia's face as the music flooded her ears.

I'll have to tell Luna about… this…

Her eyes and head grew heavy, the sound and heat lulling her into an unexpected slumber. She had fallen asleep.

"Irvine," Rosine tugged at his short cloak. "She fell asleep."

"So she did." He set his instrument down. "She's a rather strange one, for a human girl."

"I suppose," Rosine was inclined to agree. "But I meant what I said; she does remind me a bit of myself from when I was human. I – it's a bit strange seeing it from the other side."

"You see how your friend saw you." It was more than a guess, it hit the bulls-eye. Rosine pouted a bit, just like a child. "You are placed in a peculiar situation; you have been given a chance. While your draft into Griffith's army was from lack of direction, you may be able to choose your path after, for yourself and your friend." He took off his short cloak.

"Why?" Rosine asked. "Why does it matter to you? Why take me in after that wizard let me go?"

Irvine draped his cloak around the sleeping Sonia. "We are monsters. It is easy to lose ourselves to our inner beast. But we were human once too."

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"Tell me, class, what spell would be particularly useful against a grindylow?" Lupin wrote the question on the blackboard for the class of third-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Lupin had assumed his teaching career to be over after Severus ousted him as a werewolf last year, but with Moody discovered locked up in his own trunk; a temporary replacement had to be called in. Even if it only was until the end of the term, he was back at Hogwarts.

A Hufflepuff boy raised his hand to answer. "Releshio would get them off if they started swarming you."

"Excellent. Five points to Hufflepuff. Interesting that you said if they began to swarm."

"Oh, well, Cedric mentioned it when he told us about the Second Task at the bottom of the Black Lake," the Hufflepuff boy admitted.

"Mr. Diggory speaks from first-hand experience. No doubt this spell came in handy in his watery trial." It was nice to be back teaching if only temporarily, a fact that that Umbridge woman loved reminding him whenever she sat in on one of his classes. Dumbledore's relations with the Ministry were going sour, hence why Fudge appointed his toady as High Inquisitor.

"So," Lupin clapped his hands together, "before we conclude today's lesson, do any of you have any last minute questions for me?" one hand went up. "Yes, Miss. Lovegood?"

The girl with light blonde hair and dreamy expression asked her question. "Professor, what type of spells would work against humans who turn into creatures?"

"Do you mean animagi, Miss. Lovegood?" Lupin asked, not understanding the nature of the question asked.

"No, I'm not really sure what the proper name is. I haven't seen them, but I know they exist." Lupin saw several Ravenclaw girls all roll their eyes at their housemate.

"Well, in that case, I might advise redirecting your question to Professor Hagrid. He'd know all about magical creatures." The school bell sounded. "And that is all the time that we have for today. Make sure you've completed the reading for next class, you never know when I might quiz you on it."

The students filed out of the classroom and Lupin retired to his adjacent office. It had been a good lesson today, the students this class remembered him fondly enough from last year. A majority of students did not hold his werewolf status against him, but every now and again he would receive a wary side-glance from some of the younger students and many Slytherin students.

The fire in his fireplace hissed at him and he tossed a log on top of it. "Yeow!" the fire yelped. "Watch how you handle your wood, Moony!"

Lupin did a double take as he stared at the face of Sirius Black in his fireplace. "Wh-what, Sirius?!"

The other Marauder grinned slyly. "That's me! I have to say, Moony, you need to add more decorations to your office; I've been looking at the same dull wall for nearly an hour now. It's impolite to keep a guest waiting, you know."

"Y-you've been here while I was teaching?! Dear Merlin, you know Umbridge is monitoring the floo network. She's out for me as it is. If she finds an illegal floo call to my office-,"

"-Moony, this is me we're talking about. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Back in our glory days," Lupin answered, dryly. "What is it this about, Sirius? I imagine sending an owl would have worked just as fine; unless you wanted to startle me."

"Of course I have something to tell you, Moony. Scaring you is just a bonus."

Leave it to Sirius to make a joke out of it. "Fine, what is it that's so important that you almost made me shat my trousers?"

"Look, I've been digging around in the Black Family Library and I came on something that might be useful in-,"

"-Hold on, let me stop you right there," Lupin raised his hands in protest. "You, Sirius Black, read a book? Voluntarily? Should I contact the press to let them know of this scandalous new development?"

"Very funny."

"I know."

"But in all seriousness," Lupin could tell that it was since Sirius didn't follow that up with a pun about his name. "I think I might have found a way to find Harry."

If Lupin was holding a cup of coffee, he would have dropped it. The look in Sirius' eyes let him know that he really wasn't joking around about this. "What? How?! Who else have you told about this?"

"Calm down, Moony. First off, you're the first person I'm telling, and the only one at that. The rest of the Order is all too loyal to Dumbledore and-,"

"-You're keeping this from Dumbledore? Sirius if you really believe that you've found a way then-,"

"-Let me finish, Moony," Sirius sounded more like Lord Black than the Marauder he had known all his life. "Just so you know, I brought the idea to Dumbledore before, and he basically told me that it would be too risky given my family's dark nature. And if we're to believe what Dumbledore and Snivelles say about Voldemort being back, then Harry is out there somewhere not knowing what's after him."

"Look, Sirius, I'm sure Dumbledore had his reasons for dismissing your suggestion before but-,"

"-I'm sure he had his reasons too, and they're all complete bullocks. Sure my family has its dark history, but is he forgetting that James' mother was Dorothea Black? I'm sure cousin Andromeda is very dark marrying a muggle-born and all."

"I'm not saying your entire house is dark, Sirius, but it sure doesn't have the best reputation with the light orientated side of things. How can you even be sure what you found was reliable?"

Sirius gained that infamous cocky grin. "My family tree goes back a looong way, Moony old friend. This one text dates back to when rituals and runic ceremonies were a common trend among wizard society. One of them was a summoning ritual, for objects and peoples both."

"Runic rituals? Sirius, those were banned in England after the defeat of Grindelwald, Dumbledore himself passed several laws that explicitly ban them from being practiced. You could get a minimum of fifteen years in Azkaban for attempting to perform one. You really want to throw your freedom away based on a hunch you have?"

"I'd risk my life if it meant ensuring that my godson is safe. I messed up before by convincing Lily and James to let Peter be secret-keeper, the least I can do for their memory is to make sure Harry is brought back safely from… well, wherever he is. And before you say anything more on Dumbledore," Sirius saw him about to open his mouth, "Ask yourself this, Remus, what has he been doing? I don't mean with Hogwarts or with the Order, what has he been doing to find Harry?"

"He's been… reading, researching for anything that might be of relevance. The man has access to over a dozen libraries."

"Fair," Sirius admitted as much. "But for how long has he been 'reading?' I reckon longer than I have on account of me being in prison. And in that time, what has he to show for it? What has he shared with you?"

"…" Lupin's lack of response was all Sirius needed.

"Here I am, and I stumble across one single book in one single library, and I'm sharing what I have with you. I know that you want Harry back as much as I do, Remus, and if we want that to become a reality, we're not going to achieve that by blindly following whatever Dumbledore says. We'll be waiting an eternity before he tells us anything concrete."

Damn it! When Sirius wanted to be convincing not for the sake of pranks, he could do it. Lupin trusted Dumbledore, but he trusted Sirius as well, and the man had brought up some very good points. What had Dumbledore shared with him and the Order apart from Voldemort being back and looking into Harry's whereabouts? The answer was not much. The headmaster was a walking moral high ground, not willing to accept the possibility that there might be a way to achieve their means through other methods. Lupin could admire the headmaster on his integrity, but it was not yielding any results for them, and with the Ministry blind to Voldemort's return, nothing was stopping him from pursuing Harry on his own.

A part of Lupin knew that he was being hasty in thinking about going against Dumbledore, but another part of him still had that rebellious Marauder fire inside him, despite being the tamest of the four mischief makers.

"This ritual…" Lupin began, "how ark is it?"

"Surprisingly, not very. Of course, there are requirements to be made, but nothing extreme. The first thing, we'd need a possession of who we are attempting to summon, and it would have to be on a day of high magical energy."

"So, either one of the solstices', the equinoxes', or Halloween," Lupin recalled basic magical knowledge.

"Exactly. Either one of those or a full moon, but I doubt that'd be ideal for you and your furry friend. This ritual does require two people to perform it after all."

"That sounds… doable," Lupin admitted, still a bit hesitant to go along and against Dumbledore's wishes. "But there is an unfortunate snag, Sirius."

"Oh, do tell."

"What exactly do we have of Harry's that we're going to use?"

Sirius' cocky grin didn't even slip a bit. "Oh, don't you worry about that, Moony. We just have to pay a visit to some kindly muggles who just love surprise guests dropping in unannounced. And be sure to wear the shabbiest robes you have, they love it when people wear robes."

The late February air nipped at Neville's nose as he trekked across the Hogwarts grounds back from Hagrid's hut for Care of Magical Creatures. His hands, as well as many others, were burnt and seared from those blast-ended skrewts. They had started off nasty, and then grew bigger and angrier, and now they were near murderous. It was a blessing that many of the skrewts had killed each other off, but a curse that the ones that survived were by far the most aggressive of the bunch.

Peeling off his glove, Neville saw that while his skin was burnt in a few spots, it was not as bad as it could have been. He could probably treat it himself with some herbology medicine or even just dipping them in the cold water of the Black Lake. And considering the lake was just a stone's throw away, Neville headed in that direction, stopping under a beach tree and dipping his hands into the cool, dark water.

Not too far from the shore, the Durmstrang ship was anchored, lightly bobbing from the light waves of the partly frozen lake. "Hello there."

"Ah!" Neville quickly pulled his hands from the water. "Who-?! Oh, Luna?"

The blonde girl was just a distance away, her feet bare as she stood to her ankles in the cold water, completely mad, but completely Luna. "It's nice to see you again."

"Uh, nice to see you too, Luna." He put his gloves back on and then pocketed them. She wasn't looking at him when she spoke; rather, her attention was drawn to the other side of the Black Lake. She waved to some unseen individual. "Are you expecting someone, Luna?"

"My friend." She continued waving to no one.

"Is your friend from Durmstrang or Beauxbatons?"

"No. She's not from around here or from either of those places. Her name's Sonia."

An imaginary friend, Neville realized sadly. "Well, is she here now? I don't see her." He didn't want to hurt her feelings; he knew she had it rough from her housemates in Ravenclaw for being what they called "Looney."

"She's there, but only we can see each other. It's kind of like a floo call, but she has the only chimney."

"Uh-huh."

Luna pointed at him. "This is Neville; he's in Gryffindor, the house of the brave. Huh? You see it too?"

"…Is… Sonia, asking about me?"

"Yep. She says you look like you have a lot of hidden bravery. Wait, look at him again, yes, him." There was no one else besides them on that beech. "I feel something when I see him, like a premonition kind of feeling. Will you tell him something for me? Are you afraid of him, Sonia? You're not? Not even a little?"

"Luna… are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine, Neville. Oh, hang on; I have to tell Sonia something to tell to one of them. Tell the Black Lion that he will have to make a choice. A choice to either fight against the sword that wounded him, or with it in a desperate hour. Will you? Thank you, Sonia!"

"Luna, what are you talking about?" Neville had never been more confused while having a conversation with someone, not even that Slytherin girl Tracey Davis.

Luna actually looked at him this time. "I asked Sonia to deliver a message for me; you heard that even if you couldn't see it. Wait-." Luna looked away from him again. "Really, you think so? Alright, I'll tell him." Luna looked at him again. "She said that we might see each other soon, that way you can see for yourself."

In the short time that she had spent out of Azkaban, Bellatrix was making a miraculous recovery, a courtesy of her Lord and Master, of course. Looking at her reflection, she could see just how much her appearance had begun to change.

Her sullen cheeks had filled out quite nicely to match her high cheekbones, a trail all women in the Black family possessed. While her skin remained pale, it was no longer a waxy yellow that made her look like a candle. Her dark, luscious, and curly hair looked as fresh as ever; her sisters would be jealous of it. And then there were her eyes.

Her naturally dark irises seemed to now have a shade of dark purple sprinkled in there. Around her pupils, small veins seemed to pulsate with the great gift the Dark Lord had bestowed upon his most loyal of servants. It was no doubt a side alteration of the new power she now possessed, and it served as a reminder that she was beyond the normal wizard, possibly even beyond that old fool Dumbledore. The old man was losing support within the Ministry as Lucius often reported back to the Dark Lord. Fudge was too blind and too deep in Lucius' pocket to actually believe what the ancient headmaster had to say regarding the Dark Lord.

That was perfectly alright. Both Dumbledore and the Ministry would have their hands full soon enough either through internal conflicts or once the Dark Lord made his move; at that point, no one will be able to deny his power and influence ever again.

Even now, plans were being set for something big. The Dark Lord spent much of his time alone immersed in his thoughts and desires; he took great amounts of time sleeping, actually. He claimed that the five angels were able to speak to him that way. Bellatrix would have been concerned considering the Dark Lord was never a religious man by any means, but she knew better than to question his methods, which, always worked in the past. She smiled at the thought of how many muggles and mudbloods they had killed during the height of his power. This time would be no different, she just had to control her growing bloodlust and be patient.

She was eager to test the height of her new power out, but the Dark Lord assured her the time was very soon at hand. He had said a quote that stuck with her, a perfect summation of power.

"In this world, some people are born like keys that move the world and exist having no connection to the social hierarchy established by man."

If she and the other Death Eaters were the keys, then the Dark Lord was the locksmith. He was the truly gifted one, the one that was unrivaled, unopposed, the supreme of this world. The day was close when she would witness her Master's full power, March 21st, which was the date that was set for their operation to Stonehenge. They were to mark the outlining area with ancient runes to enhance the natural and raw magical energy that surrounded the sacred area. And since the site was a popular spot for muggle tourists, they had full permission to kill the filth on sight.

Snape, the slimy git that he is, was bound to tell Dumbledore of this plan, or at the very least, that they were going to be there that day. The greasy man would go on playing the role of the double-agent until one side came out on top and then he would fully dedicate himself to the cause. Coward, Bellatrix thought ill of the potions professor. Just thinking of any conversation with that man irked her to no end.

"Master," she recalled him droll at one recent meeting, "Dumbledore will come with his Order when the day comes. If they were to bring Ministry officials-,"

Luckily, the Dark Lord had put him in his place. "Crucio! Do you dare to insinuate that those buffoons are above my power? No wizard is above me, Severus. Do well to remember that."

Yes, no wizard was above him. There was no equal.

The salty air brought about a sting to the wounds that had been inflicted from the previous fight. He tried to cover the scar Slan gave him by wrapping some gauze around it, but the sea breeze brought that tinge of salt that really dampened his bandaging. Guts probably had it worse though. That Berserker Armor had taken a toll on him, new wounds adorned his body and that single tuff of white hair really made him look much different already.

Harry had never thought of Guts as being old before, the man was only in his early to mid-twenties, but seeing white hair on him made him look as if he were two decades older. It was the armors doing. The Berserker Armor puts a heavy strain on the wearer's body, pushing them to keep fighting. Enough physical stress had occurred for the protein in his hair to vanish. And the wounds too – he had to get stitched up something fierce, and not stitch the Berserker way, actual healing. There were many times when Harry thought Guts was going to collapse, but he shrugged the concern off and insisted that they keep going. The sight of him walking at a near limp, the white patch on his black head of hair, it was a lot to take in.

Guts was just a man, after all, an incredibly stubborn and resilient man, but a man all the same. He bled just like any other man after a fight, but he always managed to come out on top. This time felt different. Seeing Guts now, it presented the idea that as powerful as the Berserker Armor was, it might just be the thing that Guts couldn't win against. Guts had little recollection of it, but Harry saw that he had been ready to slaughter their band before Schierke managed to pull Guts' conscious od out of the armor's influence.

But Guts wasn't the only one to leave with a powerful relic; Harry had been able to find out a bit more about his new staff from Schierke, or from what she knew of it. It was carved from the wood of an elder rowan tree one that had deep roots in the magical world. Whereas most mages usually had to craft their own staffs to create a bond with it, this one passed on from a sense of worth and merit, but taking a part of the previous users magic every time before being passed, hence why Harry had felt so overwhelmed and dehydrated after using it; there was potentially dozens of previous wielders magic left inside of it.

"Most mages inherited it once they were full adults," Schierke had also explained. "Considering who the last wielder was, it probably will seem a bit unstable at first. Just don't push yourself with it."

Her voice lacked its usual inflections, sounding more downtrodden than anything and it was no secret why that was. Flora had not made it out of that blazing inferno. She and countless other magical items and texts were now gone, just ashes to the wind. The elderly witch had used up her remaining magical strength to create that firewall separating them from the attacking War Demons. The only home and mother figure Schierke had were gone.

Flora had given her life to give them a chance of escape, and even now, Casca's mind was partially healed because of her work. She still had a childlike mentality, laughing as she waded through the shallow sea water, kicking at waves with Isidro and Puck, but she displayed an ability to articulate sentences. If she found a seashell, she would try to sound the word out, trying to speak an actual sentence.

"Seeh sall," Casca plucked another one from the sandy shore, handing it to Farnese as a present of sorts.

"Oh, yes, you found another one." Farnese's hands were filled with various seashells Casca had been collecting to the point where she was about to drop them. "I don't have the room, though."

"Allow me," Serpico took some of the previously gather shells from Farnese and putting them in his travel pouch for later.

"Ah, that fresh sea breeze feels so refreshing," Puck rubbed his blue head of hair after dive-bombing after a hermit crab.

"Speak for yourself," Ivalera chided him. She was taking refuge under Schierke's hat to avoid getting wet.

"If you're not a fan of the sea, I can go scouting ahead to see if I can find us an area of refuge to spend the night," Serpico offered. With the sylph cloak giving him near mastery over the wind, it made sense for him to be able to cover a lot of ground faster.

"I shall go as well," Puck offered his services. "I will call in help from my bird friends if need be." He shot up into the air like a tiny blue rocket.

"Someone's eager," Harry remarked, watching Puck fly off, Serpico heading in his own direction. "You're not going to go after him, Ivalera?"

"Now that things are getting nice and quiet? You must be joking."

"Perhaps it's just the feel of the sea," Schierke suggested with a faint smile. "Mistress would tell me that the sea breathes magic of its own magic near the night." Her smile began to vanish as a sea breeze blew her hat from her head, a look of fear flashed across her eyes before Guts caught it.

"Careful," he put the hat back on her head, "don't you have a spell to keep it on?"

She flushed a bit in embarrassment. "Thank you, Guts."

He gave a small nod, before walking a few paces away. Harry thought he saw Guts' hand shaking slightly as he passed. "It would have been weird seeing you without the hat," Harry told her.

"It would have felt strange without a hat," she agreed. "Mistress Flora made it for me."

Maybe he should have kept shut. He didn't want to bring back memories of Flora so soon after losing her. He would miss the old witch dearly, too, but he had not known her from infancy as Schierke had. "Schierke, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… bring up-,"

"-I know you didn't." she didn't smile. "I was just… remembering, that's all. Having my hat and outfit, it's the last physical connection I have to her. I'm thankful, really, I am."

He didn't quite know what to say to potentially cheer her up. She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't crying either. She just seemed somewhere in the middle of it all. "Well, if there's anything I can do, or if you want to hit me over the head a few times for before, just say the word."

She looked to be biting the inside of her cheek. "…Thanks."

From the water, Isidro skipped a stone across the surface. Casca clapped, trying to imitate the same act, but her rock just made a splash. "Put your wrist into it," Isidro instructed.

"Wrss," Casca sounded out. She threw another rock; this one accidentally hit a seagull.

Serpico and Puck returned shortly after, the sun just beginning to set. "Puck and I both managed to stumble across the same thing," Serpico began. "There's an abandoned seaside cottage a short ways away. There are a few structural flaws, but otherwise, it is sound."

"I discovered it when asking for help from a friendly seagull," Puck explained. "It is a popular meeting place for all gull kind."

"A seagull cottage?" Isidro asked.

"It wouldn't hurt to check out," Farnese said, curiously. "After all that has happened recently, it could be an ideal place to rest."

Harry saw what Serpico meant when he said it had "structural flaws." There was a small hole in the roof, and some of the tiles had fallen loose, but otherwise, it was in fine condition. And then there were the seagulls. They scattered when Casca came running, looking to snatch one, but some fell prey to Serpico's wind blade.

"Hm. I might be able to prepare stew from these with some of the fish I managed to catch." He worked on getting a fire going, adding ingredients and enlisting the two elves to help in preparing the stew.

"Ahh!" Isidro planed his feet up on the table that sat in the center of the single room cottage. "We can finally kick our feet up from all that walking."

"Not on the table you won't!" Ivalera flew into his face. "You're feet are all sandy! No one wants to eat off where your feet have been."

"My feet are clean; I washed them in the sea before we came in."

"True, but you still walked back here barefoot," Serpico stirred the stew.

"I still washed them."

"Pardon me, Harry, Schierke," Farnese began, "but there is something that I've been meaning to ask."

"Huh? What is it, Farnese?" Schierke asked.

"Well, I mentioned it briefly to you, Harry, but I was wondering… would it be possible for me to learn magic?" Serpico dropped his ladle into the stew, not believing what his ears just heard. Puck dived in to retrieve the fallen ladle.

"So that's why you were asking," Harry realized. Farnese nodded.

"Yes. Back in Enoch Village, there wasn't much for me to do. If I am to travel with all of you, I don't wish to be a burden. Miss. Schierke, you were able to learn magic, could I do the same?"

"You-you're serious about this, Farnese?" Schierke asked. "Well, I was able to learn, yes. We suspected Harry had magical parents, hence how he was born with the aptitude for it, but most of the time people who study magic do so from a young age when the mind is impressionable." Farnese's smile began to turn. "But, your mind has already undergone a change of perspective. All the indoctrination the Holy See put you through, that has been peeled back, so… it might be possible."

"You believe so?" Farnese smiled eagerly.

"You won't get it on the first try," Harry recalled his own experiences. "But if you really want to learn; if Schierke is up for it, I wouldn't mind teaching as well."

While Farnese beamed, Serpico's brain seemed to have shut down temporarily. "Lady Farnese, studying to become a witch? A witch in the Vandimion family? Oh dear, what will her mother say? Oh, dear, what will her father say?!"

"From witch hunter to witch," Puck smiled. "That's quite the change, Farney."

"Three magic users?" Guts looked at the Berserker Armor he currently wore.

"I still say swords are better," Isidro shrugged. "But-," he quickly added seeing the look he was receiving from Schierke, "light tricks are pretty cool too, I guess."

After getting over his initial shock, Serpico served them the meal he had prepared. "I apologize for my previous reaction, Lady Farnese. It was just a bit startling to hear you express a desire to become a witch. But… if this is the path that you chose for yourself, I cannot stop you from doing so."

"Thank you, Serpico."

After finishing his meal, Harry felt a tug on his sleeve. "Come with me for a moment," Schierke asked, leading him out of the cottage and by the shore of the sea.

"What's this about?" Harry asked, pulling his traveling cloak tighter around himself to protect against the cool sea breeze. The full moon reflected brilliantly against the dark surface of the water.

"Farnese and magic training," Schierke said. "When she brought that up, it got me thinking about how much people can change if they're willing to accept it. She used to be a devout follower of the Holy See Doctrine, now she wants to study magic." He noticed that some of her regular inflections were starting to return, she was on to something.

"That's a nice recap," Harry told her. "What are you thinking about it for?"

"If it was possible for someone like Farnese, do you think maybe other people would feel the same if given the chance?"

"What? You mean like to become mages?"

"Well, maybe not that far, but at least open to the idea of accepting a new reality. Once Casca is fully healed, where do we go from there? Mistress Flora," the tone of longing returned for a brief moment, "she was able to do some of the processes, but even then, once she's healed, I would imagine yours and Guts' goal would be stopping that Griffith man."

Harry half inclined his head. It wasn't spoken out loud as often as it should, but that was always what was assumed. "You're asking about after that is over?" Harry questioned. "Well, the journey now, I guess we all have to question what going to happen after everything is settled. But if you think people might be able to break away from the Holy See, we can do something with that."

"You would be onboard with it?" Schierke asked.

"There has to be something for all of us, doesn't there? It might sound strange, but if enough people are open to the idea, we could maybe even start like an… I don't know, like a magic school or something." It sounded crazy alright, but Schierke didn't interrupt him.

"That's an ambitious goal, you know."

"I know. But after all, Flora did for us, teaching us and everything, it would honor her memory I guess. I don't know how realistic that would be really, but-," he stopped when he felt Schierke press her lips to the side of his mouth before she quickly pulled away.

"Uh…" her cheeks were dusted red as she tried to find the right thing to say. "I think… I think that however unrealistic it sounds… it sounds… nice."

"Uhh…" what does he say?

"Hey." Both of their eyes went wide as the figure of Guts stood a few paces behind them.

"G-guts!" Schierke's face went tomato red and she seemed to try to compress her small frame in on itself, pulling the brim of her hat down as far as it would go to cover her face.

"Umm, hi, Guts," Harry managed not looking the Black Swordsman in the eye. "How long were you…?"

"I just got here." That was a bit of a relief. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

He knows. "Not really…" Schierke was still covering her face. "What brings you out here?" Harry just focused on a spot between Guts and Schierke, not sure where to look to quell his embarrassment.

"Got a bit too noisy with Isidro and Puck. I figured it'd be quieter out here. Was I wrong?"

"Uh, no, we were just talking about… what we would do after everything is all, well, if everything turns out okay."

"Oh. I see." He stared out at the endless expanse of dark ocean, the only source of light coming from the stars and the full moon. "Don't plan too far ahead, you'll be old before your time." The trace of bitterness was present. The white tuff of hair seemed to stand out even more.

You-you're still young, Guts," Schierke slowly put her hat back to its original place.

"Maybe. But I can't exactly call myself the Black Swordsman anymore." His hand shook even though no breeze had passed.

"You feel the aftermath of the armor already." Behind them, the Skull Knight was mounted on his horse, staring down at them with his glowing eye sockets.

"You're here again?" Guts asked. "What's this visit about before you go galloping off again?"

"That armor you wear, you have felt its power once, and it won't be the last. The shape has changed to reveal the shape of your own inner Beast of Darkness. Continual use will see you lose more of yourself."

"You would know all about that, wouldn't you?" Guts rhetorically asked. "You wore this once, didn't you?"

"You know the answer to that, Struggler. Be warned; as powerful as that armor is, you will lose yourself to it. Sight, sound, taste, touch, heat, feeling, all will dull. Even your own sense of self will be consumed if you all it."

"Schierke managed to pull him out of it," Harry offered. "Flora must have done the same for you when you wore it."

"I owed the witch many times for her help. Even now her legacy lives on through teaching and this new armor of mine. But you take heed as well, Wizard. That staff of yours powers itself through the magic of sorcerers past; careful that you are not left drained and drowned by the power inside." Skull Knight tilted his head back to the sea cottage. "Struggler, It would appear that your woman has found something."

Guts looked past him to see the door to the cottage open, and Casca kneeling down in the sand, looking at something. He wasted no time in racing over to her, Harry and/Schierke following as well.

"Casca! What are you doing out here? What is it you-?"

"Bo eh!" Casca was hugging something to her chest as she knealt in the sand. "Bo eh!"

In her arms was a small boy with long black hair and dark eyes, staring at her and then at Guts. The light of the moon shone down on the boy as Casca hugged him closer. Harry thought perhaps that he might be an apostle, or at the very least a spirit of some sort, but his brand didn't react in the slightest to the boy, not even a prickle.

A/N: Not a lot of action this time since the last chapter, but there were a lot of things being set up, and the Harry x Schierke ship has more or less set sail. I didn't go into this with a planned pairing for Harry in mind, I just wanted it to feel natural, and looking back at all the interactions he had with Schierke, the choice was obvious. Thank you for reading.


	40. Chapter 40

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Vernon Dursley was having a good day – scratch that – he was having a great day! He didn't even know where to begin; it could be due to Dudley being accepted into the Boxing Finals for his school – Smeltings, or it could even be due to his recent promotion and subsequent raise at his drill company of Grunnings, because of that he would be able to put down a payment on the new model car he had been eying for quite some time now. Or it could be the smell of a fresh cooked meal prepared by his wife, Petunia. Ham with pineapple and a side of buttered rolls. Thank God, Petunia had quit that ridiculous practice of trying to get him and Dudley on a diet; that school nurse didn't know what she was talking about, Dudley was a perfectly healthy boy.

Indeed, there was no finer boy than Dudley, not one. He was the model every boy should strive to be; assertive, caring toward his mother, a prime athlete, and all around normal; perfectly Dursleyish.

Nothing at all like that freak nephew of Petunia's. That boys abnormality had been a black plague over the Dursley household, and despite getting paid a visit by some of those freaks those years ago, not one freakish thing had occurred since then. That boy pulling a Houdini was the single greatest freakish thing he had ever done. No longer would he be a financial burden on Vernon and his family. They gave that boy a roof over his head, gave him Dudley's old clothes and took him in when none of those freaks would. Vernon hardly though of the boy anymore, but when he did, he remembered how great their lives were now that he was out of the picture.

"How do you like it, Vernon?" Petunia asked. She had just delivered Dudley's plate up to his room for him to eat. A teenage boy needs his privacy after all.

"It's lovely, Petunia dear." His plate was practically already clean; she had outdone herself for this meal. "You should make it with that cake the next time the Mason's come over to follow up on that deal we had made."

"Oh, that wife of his is a gold-digger," Petunia wrinkled her nose like she had smelt something foul. "She was practically flaunting that bracelet that time we treated them to dinner. A complete air-head of a woman, not a thought in that shapely head of hers."

"I got that impression as well," Vernon agreed with his wife. "But Mr. Mason is a prominent business of the company, so we must stomach their tendencies when we have to."

"Oh, I know you're right, Vernon. I'm just on edge because I overheard the neighbors talking about me. I have no idea where she gets off saying the hedge under our window is in need of a trim. Her husband didn't cut their grass for a week over the summer. And her garden has weeds." A true disgrace if there ever was one on Privet Drive.

A knock sounded at the door. "Are we expecting company, Petunia?" Vernon asked. Everyone on Privet Drive knew what time they usually ate dinner, who would stop by now?

"Not that I'm aware of, Vernon."

He rose from his chair, waddling out of the kitchen and passing through the hall to the front door. "Yes?" Vernon asked as he opened the door. "What is we can do for-?" his jaw hung slack as he took in the sight of the two men – the two freaks standing on his doorstep.

The first one he recognized as being on the police report the previous year, the wanted criminal Sirius Black. The second was shabby looking dressed in dirty and ragged robes – robes of all things!

"Vernon!" Black's face broke into a wide grin. He spread his arms and tried to wrap his arms around him in an embrace. He couldn't do it. "I've heard the most wonderful things about you from James and Lily, how's it going, Mr. Bigshot?"

Vernon did an excellent impression of a fish gasping for air. "Y-you… wh-what… y-you… h-how…?"

"I think he's so excited he can barely speak, Padfoot," the shabbier looking one spoke.

"Too true, Mooney, too true. Oh, I think he's inviting us inside."

"I believe he is as well. It would be bad manners to keep two guests out here where all the lovely neighbors can see us. They might think that he was a bad host."

"Well, we don't want to make kind Vernon here look bad, do we?" Black began stepping around him, into his house.

"Not at all, Padfoot." The shabby man patted Vernon on the shoulder as he passed by too.

"Vernon?" he heard Petunia call. "Who was at the do- oooorrrrhhh!"

"Petunia!" Black exclaimed. He had no trouble wrapping his arms around her. "Bonjour! How lovely it is to see you after so long. I was hoping to see you at Lily and James' wedding, but I get it, other matters come up. I actually missed over a dozen of my godson's birthdays when I was in prison."

"Oh, Sirius, don't say it like that. You might frighten them."

"Y-you… you freaks must leave at once!" Vernon bellowed. "You are breaking and entering! You are-,"

"-Actually, you opened the door for us," Black's accomplice remarked. "We weren't actually sure if this was your address or not, to be honest. Sirius and I had to do a bit of asking around. I must say, your neighbors are extremely nice people, pointing out where you live and all."

Petunia blanched, going as white as a sheet. "Y-you talked to our neighbors?" she was on the verge of tears.

Black smiled and waved his finger. "Right as rain, we did. Like Remus said, very nice people, I don't believe I've ever seen people look down their noses at us so professionally before."

"And the sneers, Sirius, don't forget about the sneers."

"I could never forget those sneers." Black sent Petunia a knowing wink. "It was almost as if they didn't expect to see people like us here."

Her eyes started to roll back, and she slumped against the wall in an attempt to stay on her feet. "Petunia!" Vernon shouted as he waddled over to catch his wife. His surprise was quickly turning to anger, the bully attitude of his starting to shine through. "This is mad, you hear?! You barge in and assault my wife; I'll be phoning the police, yes I will!"

"Assault?" Black put a hand to his chest in mock accusation. "I don't remember doing anything except give a well overdue greeting. But I've been told that I possess dangerously charming looks."

"You haven't met a girl you love more than your hair." Remus stepped further into their home. "Such a humble abode. The interior really makes up for every house on this street looking exactly the same." The two continued their sarcastic back-and-forth.

After Vernon fanned her face, Petunia began to come to, quickly rushing to close the door and shut all the curtains, peeking out ever two seconds to make sure no neighbors were out watching. "W-what are you doing here? You… freaks have no right being here."

"Oh, contraire." Black wiggled his eyebrows. "Please don't think bad of me, your opinion means so much," every line he spoke was riddled with sarcasm, "but I've been neglecting my duties as godfather to your nephew, Harry Potter."

Petunia blanched again, shaking her head vigorously. "The boy is not here. Three of your lot stopped by years ago asking about him. He's gone, vanished. You'll find nothing here."

"Petunia, Petunia, Petunia," Black patter her on the head, making her tremble. "We know Harry is not here. We just came to gather a few belongings of his. Moony, where was it Dumbledore said Harry had been sleeping here again?" both Dursley's paled.

"Ah, I seem to recall him briefly mentioning that he had a room in the cupboard under the stairs."

"Under the stairs? How inviting." The sarcasm was still present, but the jovial tone was starting to slip. "Why don't we take a peek under there and see what we can find?" he pulled out his wand and the cupboard door swung open on its own. The Dursely's backed away from it, Petunia taking shelter behind Vernon, although her head still poked out.

"Very accommodating," Remus said as some dust floated out. "He probably had an immunity to allergies."

"Yes, and very roomy for a small boy, but what child really needs space to move around to begin with?"

"How do these look, Sirius?" Remus held up two knight figurines, a white and black one that once belonged to Dudley.

"That'll do. It's nice to see you didn't spoil Harry with gifts, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. God only knows the kind of fat, bratty, and abnormal teen he would have grown into if you did."

"I do believe we've overstayed our welcome, Sirius, we got what we came for, no need to ruin the rest of these normal peoples day. Shall we be off?"

"Yes, I do believe we shall." Black approached the two cowering Dursleys. "It was lovely seeing the two of you again." He took Vernon's large ham-like hand, shaking it, hard. "You're the epitome of normalcy, Vernon, keep up the good work. And Petunia," he took her hand, planting a slobbery kiss on her bony fingers. "Lily always considered you to be the more beautiful of you sisters. Thank you for taking her only son and treating him as if he were own. I'm sure she would have done the same for yours." Silent tears began streaming down Petunia's face. "Well, until we meet again. As the Spanish say, adios!" the two loudly slammed the door as they exited.

Two loud gunshot sounds rang out along Privet Drive, but they were preceded by the sounds of glass shattering. Risking a glance, Vernon cracked open the door. The two freaks were gone, but the windows of his car were completely blown out, the glass scattered all over the drive. Much to his and Petunia's horror, many of the neighbors were looking outside as well.

Today was a horrible day.

Windham, Capital of Midland

The city held an almost eerie quietness to it, befitting a graveyard rather than a place of hustle and bustle. Of course, considering the capital was under siege by Emperor Ganishka, it made sense that there would be a strict curfew enacted to ensure that any and all citizens were at home to quell any hope of rebellion popping up. But there were some whispers going around of an underground resistance led by Minister Foss and a Sir Laban.

Perhaps my clan can gain favor by finding those rats. Silat considered the possibility as he and his two bodyguards stalked the battlements of one of the cities walls. They had been able to sneak in through the sewer system, looking for a way to approach the occupying Emperor in the central castle. The Bakiraka had stayed out of the main conflict of the war for too long, Emperor Ganishka had control of the city, over most of the land, over most of the continent in fact. Anyone could see which way the wind was blowing; especially in the city. The strange mist that hung over the city all seemed to stem from the castle. Free to pursue my own intentions.

"Keep close for now," Silat instructed his two followers. "As it stands, our clan still bears a mark of shame. Stealth is our ally; if we find these so-called 'resistance fighters' the gracious Emperor Ganishka might see fit to bestow a gracious pardon to us and the rest."

"Oh yes, no need to be reminded about the shame of the Bakiraka Clan." A soft, heinous, and cackled voice sounded from above them.

Silat's almond-shaped eyes widened at the sight of the figure cloaked in a full body black cloak and wearing a bone-white mask with an abstract facial painting. "Rakshas…"

"You haven't forgotten about me, I see. How are things since I've left the clan? I can't say that I've been at a disadvantage. Joining up with the Hawk of Light and his merry band, there is no denying that he is the one, the absolute." Silat couldn't see the face of his former clan brother, but he thought he could picture the smile forming behind that mask. "I wonder what it would be like to kill him."

Silat drew a katar, his two escorts assuming their own fighting poses as well. "You know, we were hunting you for a time after you deserted."

"Befitting for an assassin clan like us. You wouldn't want me going and blabbing precious clan secrets. But you can relax; I'm not here to fight you, I've been sent to observe and report. Do you seek forgiveness from the Emperor? Bring glory back to a clan long disgraced? Do you want to know a secret about him?"

"You're a snake. Your words are poison." With his other hand, Silat readied a chakram.

"Your words are like ice, they are cold and they burn. Allow me to spoil the surprise; he is a demon who opposes the Gods."

Silat hurled the chakram at Rakshas, whose body twisted out of the way. Seeing Silat make the first move, his two guards jumped at Rakshas. While they may not have had weapons, their physical physique had allowed them to earn the rank of high combatant, able to kill a man in just a few short moves. They flanked the dissenter, one closing in with a fist, and the other with a high down kick.

Rakshas' body twisted under that cloak of his, darting past and under both of their incoming attacks, only to emerge with a tilt of his head. It was an act only children did. He was taunting them.

"I have gathered much information from just observing this city. You can chase me however long you please, but I will evade you and you will leave empty-handed; disgraced as always."

His back was turned, and Silat leaped from behind him. Rakshas sensed this a second before he was to get skewered by the katars. Black cloak twirling, Rakshas once again evaded the attack. But he wasn't quick enough to completely escape unscathed. A part of his black cloak did get snagged and subsequently torn off. Not good enough.

"You are a slippery one, Rakshas, you always have been." But you were one of the best.

"We come from an assassin clan, or did you forget? I could imagine you would want to, considering an assassination is why we were banished in the first place." He dares mention to mistake of our ancestors?! "I shouldn't be too surprised. You're pride always made you turn a blind eye to the slipups of our history. We were always faultless, everybody else was to blame. Spoken like a true child."

Silat whipped out his urumi, the long, thin, blades went lashing out toward the taunting Rakshas, but the former Bakiraka's movements were like shadows in the wind; impossible to hit even though nothing is in the way. He was good, but never this good. Silat remembered the bloody creatures and the men with wings back from that accursed tower. He is one of them… one who serves the Hawk of Light; a demon.

"My, you've improved with your urumi, Silat, but still not enough to damage me. So long as you don't bust my mask, I won't mind. I'm rather fond of this one."

Like shadow fleeing from light, Rakshas zoomed backward, hoping to the roof of a nearby house. Silat drew his katars again, making chase after their former clan member; his two bodyguards not far behind. Silt led them from roof to roof, keeping a trail of Rakshas who continued to move like a ghost among tombstones. The mist made things harder to see, but Silat could hear the faint chuckle of Rakshas from further still, and if he were to squint hard enough, he could discern that bone-white mask and painted face from the surrounding darkness.

As he made readied to make the next jump between buildings, a dark shadow flew up from below. "Almost."

Silat nearly fell off the roof, but a strong hand grabbed onto his wrist, pulling him back up to safety. "Young Master, are you harmed?"

"No." Silat pulled his hand free. "But startling me is not enough to kill me." Yet he had a chance to put a knife through my heart. Rakshas was moving along some more rooftops still. He was taking sheer delight in making a mockery of them. He mocks himself. A true Bakiraka would never serve one as the Hawk of Light. "We continue our pursuit." He worked his legs hard to pick up to the pace Rakshas was moving, not an easy feat at all.

Rakshas came to a stop on the roof of some large shop, a storage space at that with a multitude of open windows on either side. Silat made eye contact with the painted face of Rakshas' mask as the cloaked figure slid in the open window, trapping himself inside. A trap for us then. He was using amateur Bakiraka techniques.

"Be on your guard," Silat instructed. "Get ready to flank him from above and from the side."

"Yes, Young Master," his guards nodded, following his lead and slipping through the open window after Silat.

It's hot! The air inside of this building was smoldering hot, no wonder the windows were open. The top floor that they were on was more a makeshift balcony for what was constructed below, the source of the immense hellish heat. Dozens of cages were on the bottom floor, each filled with various women in undress, and each of them pregnant as well. They didn't cry or try to escape, they were too malnourished to do much of anything.

Then a Kushan Soldier – not a demonic soldier or supernatural being like those Disciples of Mozgus – took one of the women from her holding cell and strapped a rope harness around her top, pulling until she was dangling over a giant cage, this one was not filled with women. There were demons in that cage, tortured, dying, weak, but still living demons. Almost like back at that damn tower. But there was something different about these demons, they looked mashed together to form something entirely new with a strange swirling pool of … something in the center of it all.

The woman was lowered down until her swollen belly was fully submerged. She was held there, too weak to scream or cry out or even to try and wiggle her way out. The soldier shouted a command in their native Kushan tongue and the harness and woman were pulled up from that concoction of nastiness. Her harness was undone, but she was not put back in the cage with the rest of the women. She began making the first sounds Silat had heard out of her, whimpering.

She was crying silent tears, letting out small gasps of pain, clutching her stomach. Then she screamed. "AaaaaAAAAAHHHHH!"

Crawling out of her womanhood were three baby-sized demon children. Red-skinned with small curved horns and protruding fangs, crying and wailing some inhuman screech that was painful just to listen to. The woman's cries came to an end as her head fell back against the cold stone tiles. A second soldier came in with a set of chains and collars, leading the newly birthed demonic children away from the corpse of their dead mother.

It was beyond sickening. The Tower of Conviction hadn't been this bad; yes, there were demons and monsters, but for something like this… atrocious. Silat did not easily empathize with people, not at all, he had killed more than his fair share of targets, but those were targets that could fight back or had done some wrong previously to warrant a target placed on their life.

Rakshas' voice spoke from behind them. "See the work constructed by Emperor Ganishka and his advisor? He breeds a demon army to fight a demon army. Children still in their mother's womb corrupted by the darkness of captured and weakened apostles. A beautiful sight." Rakshas slid back out the open window, not even worried about being stopped.

This is the Emperor's doing? He is powerful, he is strong, and no kingdom dare oppose his might, but… to delve into this darkness. This is like that tower, it is all the same. Regret was not something that came naturally to Silat, but for a moment, he considered if he should have continued traveling with that ragtag group from before, if for nothing else than to get away from all this madness.

"He just showed up out of nowhere?"

Casca held the boy in her arms, cradling him and playing with the boy's long black hair. In return, the boy did the same to her, pulling at her dark hair as well, both equally fascinated with one another. They had taken Casca and the boy back inside the cottage where Serpico had ruffled through an old trunk to find something for the boy to wear. He settled on a white tunic that could easily fit over the boy's frame, but Casca seemed insistent that she be the one to dress him.

"There were no adults, no one else there?" Farnese asked as the boy looked at her with his obsidian eyes. He reached out a hand toward her and Casca smiled, lifting him up so that he was at eye level with Farnese. Much like Casca, he seemed to have a fascination with her hair. "Uh, yes, I see that you like hair."

"No, there wasn't anyone else out there," Harry shook his head. "No footprints either. It was like he just… showed up."

"Wait, you saying this kid might be one of those monster types?" Isidro asked, backing away slightly. Casca heard this and covered the boy's ears, seemingly offended by his question.

"He isn't," Guts said, his lone eye trained on the boy who seemed so at ease around Casca. "The brand hasn't bled or even prickled since we found him."

"Perhaps he is a flower-child," Puck scratched at his head. "He could have popped up from the sand to begin his new life." Everyone looked at him funny. "What? We have those in my homeland."

"Yeah, well, we're not in your homeland," Ivalera corrected the other elf, sounding annoyed to be doing so. "And I'm pretty sure flowers don't grow in the sand."

"How would you know?" Puck asked her. "Didn't you live your life in a forest?"

"Isn't your homeland one big forest?" Ivalera quickly asked in return.

Puck hovered there with a dumbfounded look on his face. "…Oh. Right."

Ivalera just sighed at him. "I swear, think before you go around asking stupid questions."

"Most likely, he lives here," Serpico had returned to tending to the stew, filling a new bowl for the new arrival. "In that case, he is probably wondering who we all are and what we are doing here." He presented the stew to the boy. "Are you hungry?"

The boy eyed the food and reached out to put a finger in. his dark eyes widened a bit as he quickly pulled it out once he realized how hot it was. He began sucking on his finger, but he didn't cry or yelp out in pain as so many other children would have done. Casca's smile faded as she examined the boy's finger for herself.

"Huut." Casca planted a kiss on the tip of the finger and playfully flicked the boy on his nose.

Schierke smiled at the scene. "She certainly seems happy." She looked at Guts. "Guts?"

He was silently studying the boy as well. The way he and Casca interacted with one another, it seemed natural. Ever since Casca had become this way, she was always more at ease with younger persons like Erica. But she had never quite opened up this easily even with Farnese. Flora had been able to partially heal her mind before the apostles attacked the tree, maybe a part of her remembered the child they had lost and her maternal instincts were kicking up due to this boy. Maybe, if their child had not been corrupted, this is what it would have looked like. The boy was right around three years of age, almost how old theirs would have been, and he had dark hair and eyes like him and Casa both, with fairer skin that favored him. Maybe she sees it too.

He caught the boy glancing over at him. "Huh? What?" his tone must have sounded harsh for the boy buried his face in the crook of Casca's neck.

Casca frowned at seeing this and scowled at Guts. "Nnn. Goo bo." She stroked the child's dark hair soothingly. The boy eventually peeked back out at Guts but would avert his attention whenever Guts would glance at him, like he was ashamed or embarrassed or something.

"What are we to do with him?" Schierke asked. "If he has no parents, we wouldn't just leave him here alone."

"He does appear to be quite taken with Miss. Casca," Serpico began cleaning off the table. "And the same can be said on her end of things as well."

"He doesn't look dangerous," Harry studied how the boy acted with Casca. "But that doesn't mean that-," Casca reached over and took Harry's glasses from his face and held them up for the boy to examine closer. "Now I can't see."

"Whoa, it's weird seeing you without your glasses," Isidro tilted his head.

"Like a whole new person," Puck agreed.

"It isn't that drastic, is it?" no one spoke out. "Schierke?"

"Well… it certainly is a new look for you. Your eyes look better this way."

"Too bad I can't see."

The boy, meanwhile, was figuring out how to put the glasses on his own face. Once he did, his dark eyes widened as he looked around at everything that must have been all blurry to him now. He shook his head and took them off. Then, he held his hand out to Harry, offering the glasses back. Of course, Harry could not see this and Schierke put them back in place. "Better?" she asked.

"Better."

Casca saw him start to squirm so she set him down so he could move about more freely. "It's a bit weird, isn't it?" Isidro kicked his feet up on the table. "He hasn't said a word yet."

"Maybe he's mute?" Serpico offered. "Or perhaps no one was around to teach him how."

"You think he could be an orphan of this war with the Kushan?" Farnese asked. "He doesn't appear to be malnourished or anything."

"He probably scavenged for food," Isidro shrugged. "I did plenty of that when I was tight on money back in my village."

"You actually had money to be tight over?" Ivalera asked, astonished.

"Well… not my money."

"That explains it."

Guts felt a tug on the hem of his black cloak, looking down he saw the boy was tugging at it, playing with it. "What are you doing?"

Realizing that he had been spotted, the boy threw the end of the cloak to cover his face and head, obscuring him from sight. "Goo bo!" Casca managed, kneeling down to get with eye level of the curious boy.

He poked his head back out, clinging to Guts' cloak, trying to climb up. Casca watched him climb, but Guts knew that it wasn't going to last. "C'mon, cut it off. You're going to-," just as he reached the shoulder, the boy fell. Both he and Casca reached out, catching the boy before he could hit the hard floor of the cottage.

Dark eyes gazed between the both of them, studying their faces. Casca, after overcoming her concern for the boy's safety, quickly pulled him away from Guts, hugging his small frame into her own. Her eyes narrowed at Guts. "Nnn. Goo bo, nnn ba! Nt fau!"

She blamed him for falling, that much was clear. He looked at the boy, who stole a brief glance before nuzzling back up to Casca again. That boy really has the same eyes as she does.

"It doesn't appear Casca intends on letting that boy go anytime soon," Farnese said. "Would it really be too much trouble to bring him along?"

"This journey hasn't exactly been the safest one," began Serpico, "I've made this known before. But the next time a fight ensues, can we ensure the safety of one so young?"

"We can still invoke the protection of the Four Elemental Kings," Schierke reminded. "Casca and this boy would have to stay inside though."

Harry was looking at the boy cuddling up to Casca as well. "What do you think, Guts?"

So he sees it too. "We're not an orphanage."

"Nnn. Ou! Bo ous!" Casca covered the boy's ears as she shouted her words at Guts.

She's insistent. Does she remember that child we had? Does she this as a replacement? "But who the hell am I to say? I'm not the kids' dad, I can't make him leave." The two mages looked at him funny, Farnese was more concerned with Casca, and Serpico and the two elves seemed to waver between the two.

They finished eating their dinner in near silence, the main source of noise coming from Casca who was making faces and noises to entertain their unexpected arrival. Puck plopped himself down on the window sill, rubbing his stomach from the food he had snagged from Isidro while the boy wasn't looking. "Ahhh! That sure hit the spot; I won't eat for a week, or at least until the next meal. Oh, we have some fog coming in."

"Fog?" Farnese asked. "It was a clear night up until now." She looked outside as well.

"Nnn!" Casca hissed. And then Guts felt it as well; a prickling of the brand.

"Something's moving out there," Farnese noticed a shape walking through the fog, straight for their cottage.

"Keep away from the windows," Harry instructed. Isidro and Serpico flipped the table, pushing it against the door as a makeshift barricade.

"Think that'll keep whatever out?" Isidro asked.

"Not with our luck," answered Harry.

The dark shape passed by the window, scratching at the door. Guts readied Dragonslayer, the scratching did not let up. And then, the tip of a spear broke through the door, a scaled hand holding onto the other end. The spear was pulled out and then rammed through again, widening the hole. Guts could now partly see the body of whatever it was that was attacking; a greenish-yellow thing covered in scales and a long snout with pointed teeth.

Putting Dragonslayer aside, Guts slapped on his crossbow, shooting half a dozen bolts through the hole the monster had created. He heard it yelp in pain, followed by the sound of it hitting the ground, dead.

"Open the door," Guts said, picking up Dragonslayer again.

Harry and Serpico pushed the door open, each watching one direction for any more dangers. "What the hell is this thing?" Isidro asked as he loomed over the dead creature. "Some kind of lizard or something?"

Serpico spared a glance. "That is a crocodile. A creature from foreign Kushan lands."

"So what's a crocodile doing all the way out here?" Puck asked.

"And do they usually walk on two legs like that?" Isidro wondered. "And hold spears?"

Schierke followed them out. "If this is a Kushan animal, it might be serving as a familiar."

"What's familiar about it?" Isidro ignorantly asked.

"A familiar is an animal that's been involved in magic," Harry helped clarify. "They are loyal to a certain spell caster. But this one, it must have been enchanted to walk and fight like a soldier."

"So, does that mean that the spellcaster is somewhere around here?" Farnese asked.

"I'd say it sounds pretty spot on," Guts spotted more of those familiars making their way through the mist that now radiated off of the sea. "I'd go as far as saying this is a new Kushan invasion force."

"Yet another obstacle to overcome," Serpico drew his sword, his cloak lightly fluttering as well.

"Farnese," Schierke spoke to the older girl. "If they are handling the bulk of their forces, you can help me invoke the Elemental Kings barrier."

"But, I don't know magic as of yet."

"You don't have to for this. Here," Schierke handed her a bag of salt. "Make a circle with this around the cottage; we have to keep Casca and the boy safe. After that, just watch how I summon."

The crocodile familiars were wadding their way forward, some held spears, but others held ornate shields as well. Their legs were stumpy, clearly not made for walking upright, but they were numerous. Guts mowed some more down with his crossbow, and Harry began cutting down a few as well. Serpico's wind sylphs allowed him to breeze through the ranks of crocodile familiars, slashing with grace as he did so. A few seconds later they would bleed and fall over from the cuts inflicted from the Wind Sylphs. Even Isidro had his Salamander Dagger ready for battle.

"Let's see how you crocs like some fire!" Isidro used his skinny frame to his advantage, rolling under the familiar's swing and cutting it on the leg with his dagger. Flames appeared from where Isidro had cut, slowly but surely engulfing the familiar. "Alright, yes!" Isidro cheered. "I had to refine my fighting style a little, but it paid off!"

He was so caught up in his boasting that he neglected to check what was behind him. A second familiar got ready to skewer him through, but Harry knocked its spear aside and drove his own sword through its soft underbelly.

"Didn't Puck teach you how to dodge?"

"Uh, maybe. Hey! I got one at least!"

"There's plenty more to go."

"So I'll keep count!" Isidro ducked under another attack, cutting the familiar again with his dagger.

Serpico, meanwhile, was making his way through the familiar ranks, carving a path as he did so. Miss. Schierke said something about a spell caster. If one were to take him out, perhaps it would clear away these pesky familiars as well.

The sylphs carried him a farther distance as he leaped over the gaping maw of a familiar. Slashing down, the top portion of the head fell off, blood only just staining the sole of his boots. He would have to clean them later, he still hated the sight of blood.

He studied the formation of the familiars' ranks. They were emerging from the sea, but a select group of them seemed to be standing by near a couple of large rocks near the surf. If he were to take a guess, that was where the spell caster was hiding. Using the power of the sylphs, Serpico gained air, gliding gently over the stationed familiars and spotting the group of three Kushan men wearing turbans and tunics. Their eyes were closed, but their hands were making odd movements, no doubt that was how they were influencing those animals.

With a few cuts from his blade, the Kushan spell casters dropped like flies. The familiars that had been standing guard dropped their weapons and went to all four legs as well. They hissed but otherwise went crawling back to the sea.

More of them began reverting back as well, but a few remained standing and willing to fight. 'I found a few spellcasters.' Harry heard Serpico speak thanks to thought transference. 'However, it appears that there still some more out there somewhere.'

Schierke, I kind of have my hands full right now; could you search for their od? We might be able to end this soon that way.

'I will just give me one moment; the spell to summon the protection of the Four Kings is nearly complete.'

Harry stabbed another familiar through, but even as he did that, the water from the sea suddenly sprayed out as a new familiar emerged. It was dark blue in color, larger than the crocodiles with the body of a fish but the trunk of an elephant. A chimera familiar.

The chimera familiar shot a blast of water out of its trunk, dosing them all and pushing them back along the beach. In that time, more crocodile familiars began to emerge as well, wading to the defense of their new arrival. Guts was already rising to his feet, but Harry noticed that a red light was visible from beneath his dark cloak and it was slowly making its way up to his head.

The "jaws" of the Berserker Armor's helm began to close in around Guts' face, obscuring it from view. The chimera made ready to shot another blast of water, But Guts was already moving, cutting down a dozen familiars as he neared the chimera. It brought its large trunk down on Guts, but Dragonslayer cuts it clean off. The chimera howled in pain, and soon a second chimera familiar emerged from the sea to heed the aid of its wounded brethren.

Clutching his staff, Harry experienced that swell of power once more, starting at his hands and moving to spread all over his body. That sense of something popping from behind his eyes returned and it seemed like all of his senses had been enhanced, amplified almost by the power of wizards prior who had all left some of their magic behind. And now, his magic was feeling that too.

With a will and a spell, the sand from the surf began to rise, wrapping around the body of the second chimera, pulling it further out of the water. "Solis Terraous!" the wet sand began to harden, reverting into a more solid and tangible state of matter, solid rock.

What next? What more could he do next? To his internal question, the staff seemed to answer, providing a voice to heed his request. 'Mordium Submeria.' He had heard it before when he first used it back at the tree, but he was sure that it was the piece of Merlin's magic that had been left behind after he gave it up.

Repeating the spell, the rock around the chimera began to tighten. Tighter. Through his will, the rock prison began to constrict, getting tighter around the chimera until it violently began thrashing trying to free itself. Tighter and tighter Harry willed for it to go. It became too much for the chimera; the rock constricted so tightly that the body exploded from the force applied to it.

A now Berserker Guts was making quick work of the first chimera with the aid of his armor. The chimera tried biting down on him, but Guts fired a cannon blast into its gaping maw. Fire and smoke clouded its insides, and Guts leaped up onto its head, driving Dragonslayer straight down. But he didn't stop there; he dragged the massive blade all the way down the length of its body, cutting it in two.

More crocodile familiars approached Guts, but he moved Dragonslayer in an unrealistic way, almost like a windmill, always moving, never stopping, only slowing down when there were no more targets. That is until they emerged from the sea. The sandy beach was soon soaked in red.

'Harry!' with his sense of self-feeling enhanced, it was as if three Schierke's had just yelled that last part into his ear.

I'm here. What is it?

'The barrier has been set up and I've tracked for the od of more spellcasters. They're in a boat a short way off the coast.' Looking out into the fog, Harry was able to discern the bobbing light from a small rowboat.

I got it. Walking until he was ankle deep in the surf, Harry pointed his staff out towards the small boat, summoning a wave. And then he pushed and sent another wave after it, this one bigger. He repeated this process until a six-foot-tall wave obscured the bobbing light of the boat. And when it passed, no light was in sight.

The remaining familiars dropped their weapons, took to walking on four legs and retreated back into the sea. The Berserker Guts, however, did not seem to be finished with the fight. Those menacing red eyes turned to lock in Harry's direction. Schierke, you said the barrier was up.

'Yes.'

Good, keep it up.

Not recognizing Harry, Guts charged, Dragonslayer held out, ready to skewer him through. Acting fast, Harry formed a rock wall out of the sand like he did the chimera, hoping to contain Guts until Schierke could pull him back out. It did not work.

Guts' enhanced strength saw him ripping through the rock like it was paper. The way the Berserker Armor helm was shaped, Harry felt like a stag being hunted by a rabid wolf. Hearing the remnants of past users speaking to him, Harry created a spiraling pit of sand between him and the Berserker Guts.

It slowed him down some, but channeling his strength to his legs, Guts was able to push through, clawing his way out, metallic eyes blazing as he raced forward again. Seeing Guts push himself, Harry had to do the same as well. It felt like he was moving a house, but he summoned forth a large wave from the surf, the water flooding the beach until it formed a bubble around Guts, suspending him in mid-air.

'Schierke, go into your luminous body, try to pull him out of it!'

Dragonslayer broke through the water barrier, Guts was spinning his body around like a cyclone, forcing the water bobble to pop and for him to emerge, more enraged than ever.

From back at the cottage, the boy watched.

All I see are enemies. Everywhere I look, there they are. They want to kill me. I have to kill them.

'Kill them all. They will only hold you back. You have yielded to me. Obey me.'

One is right here. I… what is that light?

Through the haze of the Berserker Armor, Guts could discern one thing with absolute truth; there was a small figure made of light right in front of him. It was unafraid, it reached out a hand, and it touched him. Touched him right on his torso.

The next thing Guts knew he was on his knees in the sand, the helm of the armor sliding down from his head and back into its resting place. Fatigue took him, unable to rise, just kneel there until his strength returned. What… what just happened? His vision was blurry, but he spotted the boy in Casca's arms back by the cottage. The boy was looking at him too, but there was no way Casca had let him approach him while he was Berserk.

"Harry! Guts!" Schierke came running. A few meters from Guts, Harry was down as well, looking almost exhausted as he felt. "Serpico, Farnese, can you go get some fresh water and our medical supplies?"

Harry coughed, his eyes half-lidded. "Guess I used more magic than I was used to."

"What happened to starting small?" she sounded irked but extremely relieved.

"Kind of hard to do when your life is on the line…" he coughed some more, the amount of magical power he had used must have cost a lot. "Good job by the way." He grimaced. "Pulling Guts out just in time."

"Harry… I didn't do that."

Farnese approached him with a ladle of fresh water. "Here, Guts, you should drink."

His hand shook as he took it. He had lost control of himself once more, and now, he would pay the price for his own body. The Skull Knight had been right.

Come the next morning, the boy was gone. Vanished without leaving so much as a trace or even a single footprint in the sand. Casca had been in a fuss, yelling and crying her lungs out all over the beach hoping that he would return. He did not. Serpico and the elves took to scouting the surrounding area, a child could have only gotten so far, and Schierke had scanned for his od, but could find not a single trace of him anywhere. It really was as if the boy had just vanished without a trace.

Of course, they were all tired after that escapade with the familiars, Schierke had been running back and forth between Guts and himself all night, checking on their injuries and making sure both were drinking plenty of water. Isidro had joked she was acting like a housewife so she retaliated by giving him a monkey tail that would wear off again in two hours. They stayed a few extra hours after that, with Schierke scanning one more time for the boy's od and still turning up with nothing. After Schierke admitted to him that she was not the one to pull Guts out of his Berserker state, Harry was sure she would have been able to detect the boy's od. Harry had a feeling the boy had something to do with it.

After forcing himself to sit up, Guts decided that they should keep on traveling. Casca practically had to be dragged by Farnese to leave the cottage, still crying out for the boy to return. "Come on, Casca," Farnese urged, not trying to sound rude. "You might see the boy again if we keep going. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Casca must have understood the word "boy" in that sentence as she followed along behind Farnese, still looking in every direction for the runaway.

They continued following the beach, Serpico promised that the port city of Vritannis would be close now. The city was a holding for Holy See worshipers, and also the home of the Vandimion family of which Farnese was a part of. Her family business was banking, and if anyone could charter s ship to get them to where Casca could get fully healed, it would be through her family influence.

"You realize this means returning to the estate to ask your father's permission?" Serpico told Farnese.

"Yes. I am aware of that, Serpico." She didn't sound too thrilled.

"What's so bad about your father?" Harry asked, lagging behind a bit, still recharging from channeling too much-stored magic from the staff.

"He is a well-respected lord and businessman," Farnese said. "He just expects certain things from each of his children. My third brother, Magnifico, he has all but given up on."

"Lord Vandimion expects much but gives little in return," Serpico added. "Not to speak ill of him, but his parental methods are just about standard for nobility." Farnese didn't bother to say anything objecting to that.

"Well if he gives us any trouble, I'll just do to him what I did to those crocs," Isidro balanced the hilt of his dagger on his finger."

"I take it you're joking," Farnese said.

"Yeah," Isidro yawned. "But I killed at least five of them, did you guys see?"

"You kept track?" Harry asked.

Isidro blinked. "Don't all of you?" he didn't receive a "yes." "Well… I mean, I think that's how many I killed, who really keeps track?"

"I saw you counting," Puck voiced and Isidro blew him off course.

"How are you feeling?" Schierke asked him as the grass started to turn into sand.

"Fine enough," Harry answered, seeing her concerned look. "Nothing to get too worried about."

"Hey," Guts spoke from behind them. "You really feel alright?"

"Yeah, really, I'll be back to normal soon. I just went a little too far with what I thought I could do before."

Guts looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn't quite sure how to put it. "Yeah. Last night was a bit of a shit-show for the both of us."

Schierke's worried gaze landed on Guts now. "If you hadn't insisted we keep moving, then you should really lie down and rest."

"Maybe. I feel what he was talking about though. This armor… it takes its toll."

"We can stop then," Schierke offered. "We could set up camp here, rest until you're feeling better and then continue."

"No. I'll make it, don't worry."

"She's an expert at worrying," Harry told him.

"And you're an expert on making me worry," Schierke deadpanned. "I suppose that evens it out."

"Well, if he hadn't, I probably would have killed him last night," Guts admitted, the tinge of regret sprinkled in among the dryness of his statement.

"You were in Berserker mode, Guts," Harry told him. "Your actions weren't-,"

"-Weren't my own," Guts finished. "Exactly. But I was only able to stop this time because of this light. And you said it wasn't you." Schierke shook her head. "Hm. We still haven't come across that boy yet either."

"What are you thinking?" Harry asked.

Guts shrugged. "I don't even know. Whatever he is… never mind. I'll leave the two of you alone. You don't need me interrupting anything." He stalked off to the front of their traveling company.

"What did he mean by that?" Ivalera asked.

"Well…" Schierke began.

"-Hey!" Isidro shouted. "I think we found it!"

Resting in a bay area was a high walled sprawling port city with dozens of army sigils being displayed. Harry recognized banners from Midland, Chuder, and an island nation of Lith. The others must have all been from neighboring countries. "This is Vritannis indeed," Serpico confirmed. "And it seems delegations from all over the west are here to deal with the invading Kushan forces."

"Has it really gotten that bad?" Puck asked. "I don't really know politics, but it seems a bit much."

"Hey, Chuder was in a war with Midland, what are they doing here?" Isidro crossed his arms.

"New wars are always being fought," Guts told him. "Enemies become friends and so on. The west sees the Kushan as the biggest threat, so screw old rivalries."

"A rather crude analogy, but true all the same," Serpico agreed.

The drawbridge leading into the city was down, allowing them entry. Normally they would have had to check in with the gate guard, but it seemed that if you weren't a Kushan, you were okay to enter. Of course, then there were the people. They were everywhere, standing and chatting, walking and yelling, or sitting and selling; no matter where you turned there was a person.

"So this is the city, huh?" Isidro asked over the crowd surrounding them.

"So. Many. People." Schierke looked around at it all. "So much od, too, but, less connection with magic. All of this is made by humans."

"This must be where all of Windham's population fled," Harry reasoned. Even for a city, Vritannis seemed to be overflowing. Windham hadn't been this bad in terms of population, but an invading force would do that to a country.

"You two are the residents of this city," Guts didn't look it, but even he seemed a bit annoyed with the crowd. "Any inns nearby?"

"Several," Serpico answered.

"Any that would still have rooms?"

"… We may have to do a bit of searching."

"Why not just stay at your place, Farney?" Puck asked.

"Well… I'm not sure how my father would react. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy all of your company, but…"

"Don't worry about it," Guts brushed it aside. "Whatever we get as long as it has four walls and a roof, it's better than nothing. And let's get the hell off this street. I might end up breaking the jaw of the next man who bumps into me."

They spent a total of six hours combing through the city for an available inn. Six hours filled with tried patience and a dozen men walking off with broken jaws for bumping into Guts or staring at Casca and Farnese the wrong way. Just when it seemed they were running out of options, they came across an old inn owner who offered them the attic of her already packed inn.

Guts instantly took one of the bed's eager to get off his feet and rest from the draining effects of the Berserker Armor.

"How are our supplies looking?" Farnese asked, eying the resting Guts worriedly.

"Low," Schierke said, sadly. "But with all the vendors here, it may be possible to buy the necessary supplies for his recovery."

"Well you'll find no short supply of vendors here in Vritannis," Serpico told her. "While Lady Farnese and I return to her Lord Father's estate, some of you could get some shopping done and we all meet up here after."

"Would you agree to come with me?" Schierke asked Harry.

"Are you sure you wouldn't have me resting like Guts?"

"Without a doubt, but I'd rather walk around with you than the monkey."

"Count me in," Ivalera joined in. "I want to see some more of this city. Not all of it can be a dump."

"What about Puck and me?" Isidro asked.

"Stay here and help me watch Casca," Guts turned on his bed. "I might be drifting in and out; I don't want her getting lost in this city."

"…Fine," Isidro mumbled. "But bring me something shiny."

The streets were pack, to be expected of a bustling port city, but even in a crowded place, both mages got strange looks thrown their way. Considering Vritannis was strong with Holy See connections, it must have been a bit odd seeing two people dressed as mages in public. Harry was able to pass his staff off as a walking stick by adding a limp with his step, but Schierke made no effort like that.

"They're starting to stare," she whispered.

"Try limping," Harry whispered back. "It's working for me."

"I don't want to hide who I am though," Schierke told him. "I don't have any other change of clothes, and this is common to dress like this."

Harry paid a local merchant for some of the supplies they needed. "I'm not saying to hide who you are, just try to blend in. Cast a disillusion charm or something."

"The natural magic isn't as strong here in the city. There's no telling how long it would last, and I doubt that some of these people would react to seeing me just pop into existence."

They headed off down a less crowded street, one where they weren't shoulder to shoulder with strangers. "This better?"

"Much." She seemed more at ease now than before, which was a good sign.

"Yeah," Ivalera settled on the top of Schierke's hat. "Fewer people means less interrupt-,"

"-Hey!" a youthful voice called from behind them. Running up to them was a blonde girl with large blue eyes and a slightly larger than the average forehead. "Hi, there!"

"Um, hello?" Harry answered, not sure who this girl was or what she wanted. Maybe she was a local of the city and recognized them as outsiders figuring they would be easy targets for a scam.

"Hello," Schierke greeted as well. "Can we… do something for you?"

"Not really, I just wanted to ask you a question." She smiled at them, her blue eyes focused on Schierke's hat. "What is that on your hat? I thought it was a bug at first, but now, I know that it isn't."

"Wait! You can see me?!" Ivalera exclaimed, clearly not expecting a city dweller to see a magical creature.

"Sure can! I can see all sorts of stuff ever since I saw him that day." Neither of them knew what to say to this girl. "My name's Sonia by the way." She held out a hand.

"Uh, I'm Harry." he quickly shook it.

"Schierke. It's nice to meet you, Sonia. You're probably the first friendly face we've seen here so far."

"Yeah, the city isn't really my style either. Too many people who don't even stop to say 'hi' or 'good day.' And I can only imagine what two people dressed like wizards must think of it." She leaned in close. "You are wizards, right? I mean you don't dress like my one friend, you know, no crest on your clothes or radish earrings, but close enough."

"You… have a magic friend?" Schierke asked, clearly surprised. As far as either of them knew, Flora never had any other students, nor talked about any other mages in Midland.

"Sure do," Sonia smiled fondly. "But she's not from around her in case you were wondering." She tilted her head a little as she looked at Harry. "Hold on…" she put her hands on Harry's shoulders, moving him back and over to the right a little. "Stand… right… there! Perfect!"

"Okay, what is this?" she hadn't tried pickpocketing him.

"I thought it was only with my leader, but you… now after seeing him…" Sonia broke off and waved at someone behind Harry. He turned to see a bunch of people, but none of them waved back. "I see it again!"

"Where are you looking?" Schierke saw nothing as well.

Sonia pouted a bit. "So neither of you see it too." Her pout quickly changed to a smile and she waved again. Nobody waved back. "Nice to see you again, Luna."

"Who?" Harry asked.

"My friend, now shush, she's trying to talk. Uh-huh, really?" she looked at Harry. "Him? What about his scar? Famous? How's that?"

'Is she talking to us, or…' Schierke's voice sounded in his mind.

Still trying to figure that one out myself.

"Luna says she knows you, Harry."

"Well… I don't know Luna."

Sonia clapped herself on the head. "Sorry. She says she knows of you. You're Harry Potter; she says the scar is a dead giveaway."

It was like having a bucket of ice poured over his head. "How… how do you know my last name?"

"I don't, Luna does. She saw your scar, she knows all about it. Huh?" Sonia tilted her head. "You want me to ask them what?" she began to giggle a little. "Luna wants to know if the two of you are together."

"Wh-what?!" Schierke started to redden. "I-I don't think that's any of Luna's business, but…"

"…You could say that." Harry more or less finished for her. They hadn't really had time to talk about it since last night with the mystery boy and the fight, but it had to have come up at some point in time. Truthfully, Harry had never really given much thought to romantic interest, the only woman in his life before was Casca and she and Guts were together and she was always more of a big sister type. He had known Schierke long enough to know all her little quirks and interests and if he let someone enter his mind by thought transference, that spoke on account of trust. She had a temper that was shorter than she was, but she would still always do her best to help any way she could. And if he managed to live through everything, Schierke had expressed a desire to maybe one day open a magic academy that they could both head. Things had just sort of… fallen in place.

"What?!" Ivalera suddenly cried out. "When did this happen?! Schierke, why didn't you tell me sooner?! Tell me everything!"

Schierke caught Ivalera in her hat, quickly holding it in place on her head. "Please…"

"Erm," Harry cleared his throat. "So why did Luna want to know?"

"Well not so much her, but for a friend of hers," Sonia told him. "Apparently Ginny and a lot of other girls are in for heartbreak."

"You're not making any sense," Harry told her. "How does she know my name?"

"You're a big deal where she's from. Luna says you belong there, or at the least, that it was your home at one point."

The Dursley's? "Well, she must be mistaken."

"Nope." Sonia popped the "p." "In fact, she has an allegory to share. A few years ago, there was a snake, the most dangerous and venomous kind there was. Then, the snake tried killing a raven with messy black feathers and green eyes." Despite it all, Schierke smiled a little.

Not funny, Schierke.

"But the snake couldn't do it, and all the other birds thought him to be dead while the raven lived on. But before the raven could go to raven school, he vanished. Then all the birds started freaking out wondering where he could have gone. But then one day, a kite stumbles upon him and his friend, the owl."

How's it feel, owl?

'That's not funny.'

"One bird so far away from the nest. But maybe… once the dust settles, that will change and the nest will be up a raven and an owl."

Before either of them could question her about that, someone else was approaching on horseback. "There you are, Sonia!" it was a teenager, and he sounded annoyed. "If you're going to go wandering off, let me know beforehand."

"Relax, Mule, I was just talking with some new friends of mine." Sonia smiled warmly at the both of them.

Mule gave a polite nod of his head. "I give you my apologies if she gave you any trouble."

"Er…" Sonia looked at Harry pleadingly. "No, no trouble." Just a hell of a lot more questions.

"Very well. Come along, Sonia, we best meet with the rest of the camp before dark."

"Oh, well. For what it was worth, I really enjoyed talking with the two of you."

"Yes… it was… unique." Said Schierke.

Sonia waved one last farewell to this invisible "Luna" before following after Mule.

"We should probably get back to the inn," Harry suggested. "Farnese and Serpico may be back by now."

Ivalera finally escaped from Schierke's hat. "Don't think you're getting off easy, mister! If you plan on taking advantage of Schierke, you got another thing com-!" Schierke quickly trapped Ivalera under her hat again.

"Y-yeah, let's just get back."

Sure enough, Farnese and Serpico had joined them back in the inn's attic. Guts was still resting, and Casca was happily eating an apple. "There you guys are!" Isidro spotted them.

"We're back." Harry plopped the satchel with the goods on one of the beds. "How'd your end go, Farnese?"

Farnese's gaze was downcast. "My father wasn't in a very understanding mood. My brother Magnifico, however, was more… investing. Magnifico is great friends with a Lith noble, Roderick. He's seen fit to grant you passage on his ship, the Sea Horse."

"Alright, Farney!" Puck cheered her.

"That's amazing, Farnese," Schierke told the aspiring witch. "What is the payment for the trip?"

"Well… Magnifico offered Roderick my hand in marriage. And I agreed."

A/N: Next chapter coming soon.


	41. Chapter 41

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

The eve of battle was fast approaching. Zodd could smell it in the air, feel the familiar sense of anticipation in his bones, his bloodlust getting to the point of boiling, eager for the next battle in this war. He should be thankful that the Kushan invaded in such numbers, the more he got to slaughter because of it. He examined both his ax and sword; both were as sharp as ever with no sign of going dull since he put a whetstone to them. Of course, the only one who could properly damage his weapons in a battle now was the Black Swordsman. That man had proven in their last encounter that he was only worthy of challenge in his full apostle form; especially with his recently acquired armor.

The armor was around long before Zodd had taken to fighting, but he still knew of it. Back then, before all that had happened to become an apostle, tales of the Berserker were still lively, filling children's heads with delusions of one day fighting on par with old King Gaiseric and becoming the best sword in the land.

But to have witnessed it now in the flesh, to see the Black Swordsman fight like an actual demon, it was a true spectacle, an honor to behold. Sure, the Black Swordsman had been a challenge when they first encountered during the war with Chuder, but to fight him now… yes, that would be a challenge he would gladly accept. Despite knowing what had happened to Grunbeld, Zodd longed for that fight to happen. Grunbeld believed that his might and power made him near unstoppable, but that hadn't stopped the Black Swordsman from nearly killing him. Might and size give strength, but it is knowing about how to use it; that was why Grunbeld had lost. Zodd did not care for boasting, but he knew that he was the strongest of the War Demons. If only Zodd had been gifted the chance to fight him that day.

He would have even settled for that wizard boy. Zodd did not particularly care for magic, it was more tricks than it was actual physical prowess, but if handled in the correct way it could yield great results. He had felt the energy coming off of that new staff the boy had acquired, again, it was older than his time as an apostle, but the feeling was there. If the boy were to fully master it, and with his skill with a blade too… Zodd "hmphed." Yes, either one of them would be a worthy opponent to face in battle.

But enough thinking about ideal fights, he had to focus on the fight that was closing in at a rapid pace. Their leader had sent scouts out to the port city of Vritannis looking to secure the safety of the High Pontiff, the leader of the Holy See organization. Pontiff's, Zodd thought with a bit of contempt. He had never been religious, even with the knowledge of the God Hand, the golden rule was given to apostles was to do as you wish, and for Zodd that was fighting, not for money or for the God Hand, but for himself. Things were different now, though. He fought under one of the God Hand because Femto was unchallenged, unrivaled. The loss of his one horn was proof enough of that.

But Zodd would not complain about the results of this war, there was just one lingering question that he had that would never ask; what happens after this war?

If all went according to plan, this world would soon be undergoing a change. Humanity would be pushed to the brink of extinction, but there would be unity and safety for those who survived. What wars would be fought then, what was he to do to then if no wars broke out?

But that was thinking too far ahead. War was in human nature, they could not fight it no matter how hard they tried, something was bound to happen if given time; and he wasn't called the Immortal One for nothing.

"Zodd," Locus and a recently recovered Grunbeld approached.

"What is it?" Zodd asked his fellow War Demons and captains in the New Band of the Hawk.

"Best of luck on your mission," Locus said. "Our leader saw fit to only deploy your division for the initial fight before the rest of our numbers join the fray."

"You are strong," Grunbeld acknowledged. "Your mission will be a success. A true glory awaits you on the field of battle."

"There is glory to be found on every battlefield," Zodd retuned, strapping his ax to his side. "But glory alone does not make the warrior. The mission will succeed." He stalked off to find his warhorse.

"He is the best sword we have," Locus told Grunbeld. "He and his Fliers will secure the victory."

Grunbeld nodded. "Indeed. While he rides, he can slay a thousand enemies before him."

He passed few other War Demons on his way, most were too busy readying themselves for the march to war. His division of the Band of the Hawks Fliers would be the first to enter the fight once it broke out. The Kushan Emperor Ganishka believed his plans would go unnoticed; did he forget that his opponent was a God Hand? Everything that happened, happened because they so willed it. Zodd scowled a little.

"Excuse me," a small voice said as he passed. Leaning against a tree was that strange medium girl. She must have returned from her escort into the city of Vritannis.

"What do you want, girl?" she was a nuisance.

She seemed unperturbed by his appearance, that same smile still on her face. "A friend of mine wanted me to tell you something."

"I've no time for your childish games, girl." A girl such as herself, she wasn't worth killing, there was no challenge or pleasure to be had in it.

"Do you believe in prophecy?"

Prophecy? What was a girl asking a question like that? He had issued a prophecy to the Black Swordsman before warning him about the coming Eclipse, there was the flow of causality, even before becoming an apostle there had been… something. But even so, the Black Swordsman, his woman, and the wizard all made it out of that whirlwind of death, something he prophesized they would not escape.

"It is irrelevant," he almost sneered at the girl.

"Good. Because she said it wasn't so much prophecy as it was it was just a feeling. She's like me, you see." A Feeling? This girl is delusional. "She wanted me to tell you that you will have to make a choice, to fight against the sword that cut you, or fight with it."

"Sonia!" that one boy, Mule, called out. "What are you-?" he stopped, spotting Zodd.

"That's what she said, at least." Sonia shrugged.

Her words were not prophetic, but cryptic betrayed only by the naivety of which was her tone. Zodd said nothing, continuing to go and find his warhorse.

"Are you mad?!" he heard Mule demand of the girl, Sonia. "Do you have any idea who that was?!"

"Sure do. But my friend is fascinated by him."

"Well your friend is going to end up getting you killed," Mule snapped at her.

Prophecy. I have believed in it before, back when. I even gave one to those now branded. And they still lived. So what did that have to say about the nature of prophecy?

The reality of the situation seemed to take a few moments for everyone to process. In that time, Farnese avoided eye contact with all of them, finding her shoes to be very interesting at the moment. The silence was at last broken by both Puck and Isidro who loudly exclaimed, "What?!"

"You're getting married?!" Puck demanded.

"To a guy?!" Isidro followed suit.

"Who is he?!"

Farnese was taken aback by the question. "I told you, he's Roderick of Lith. He captains the Sea Horse, the ship that will serve as transport for the next part of the journey."

"Farnese is engaged?" Ivalera was equally as dumbfounded. "And to some nobody at that. First you two, now this?"

"On the contrary," Serpico corrected the elf. "Roderick is a well-respected noble with high standing." He sounded the tiniest bit bitter himself that things had to come to this, but kept a good job of hiding it. "His ship will serve well in-,"

"-Forget about that for now!" Isidro cut him off. "What the hell does this mean for Farnese?"

"What do you mean?" Farnese probably knew very well what it meant, she just didn't want to outright say it.

Guts sat up on the bed on which he was resting. "He wants to know if this is where you call it quits." He winced a little. "No one is making you stay, you were free to leave whenever you wanted. Is this it then?"

"That is… hard to answer," Farnese shied.

"Farnese, if you want to stay, you don't have to marry him," Harry tried to reason. "I mean, your brother really doesn't have a right to just sell you off like that."

"Magnifico was the one to offer the proposal, but in the end, I was the one to accept it," Farnese explained. "As luck would have it, Roderick was visiting the estate with my brother when Serpico and I returned. I did get the chance to meet with him in person."

"So how much of a stuck up snob is he?" Ivalera asked, sounding a bit stuck up herself.

"Surprisingly, not very. He did come off as a bit of a… what is the word, a 'womanizer,' but aside from that, he appeared to showcase general affection."

"Well if he's a womanizer, I'm sure he did," Harry tried to picture the face of this jackass. Was his hair light and combed back, or dark and wild? Were his eyes beady and dark, or bright and full of mischief? The more he wondered, the more he hated the man. He was with Schierke, but that didn't mean he wanted Farnese to suffer.

"No," Farnese said, rather quickly. "What I meant was, I told him of what use his ship would be used for if I were to agree, and he seemed to understand. In fact, he seemed eager to sail into uncharted waters."

"He'd be coming with us?" Isidro asked, brow twitching.

"Well, he is the captain of the ship," Serpico reminded the boy.

"Yes, and he seemed happy to charter us the rest of the way."

"So that is an 'us?'" Guts asked. Casca stopped eating her apple to look at all of them.

"I… talked it all out with Roderick, the wedding will occur sometime after we reach our destination. But, yes, I will be joining you on the adventure." She offered a smile, but it seemed incredible bittersweet. "There was one other thing, though."

"Oh yeah? What's that?" Guts sat up fully, his hand shaking as he used it to prop himself up.

"My brother, Magnifico, the one who set the proposal up with Roderick was present as well when we met. He seemed interested in who I was traveling with."

"Well we are an interesting group of people," Ivalera said like it was obvious. "What' it to him anyway?"

"Magnifico was not too happy to find out that you all were not of nobility, but he knows that my father will disapprove of it even more."

"What is it, Farnese?" Schierke asked.

"There is to be a ball tomorrow night in one of my father's properties. Magnifico has recently been denied a great request at the family business by my father and is incredibly bitter about it all. That was why he proposed me to Roderick and plans on making our engagement publically known then. And… both he thought it would be a spur to father if I were to show up with you as escorts."

"So?" Isidro asked, not seeing what was implied. "We aren't expected to dance are we?"

"No," both Farnese and Serpico answered. "But this formal will contain dignitaries from every western country. If anything, Magnifico wants you to be as un-noble as you can act."

Harry always knew Farnese came from money, but man, did she have money! The place that would be hosting this formal for all of the west's dignitaries had to be the size of the ballroom from back in Windham, and that was just looking at it from the outside. They had waited until the sun was low before they set off for this property. Farnese had insisted that she and Serpico at least show up looking how they normally would back in their estate. She made sure to bring a dress from her estate that would cover the clothes she had on underneath, and the same for Serpico and his sylph cloak. But every few seconds, the hem of Serpico's green doublet would ruffle like a breeze had just blown past.

"I do not think the sylphs like being contained like this." He patted his clothing down, gently, careful not to disrespect the magical spirits that gifted his power of the wind.

"You two look like completely different people," Isidro looked them over. "Just like Harry without glasses."

"You're never going to let that go, are you?" Harry rhetorically asked.

"How long are we staying here exactly?" Guts demanded as the paused outside of the gates to the property. "The sooner we can get out of here the better." In the past time after Farnese had told them of her betrothal to Roderick, Harry and Schierke had shared their encounter with the Sonia girl. Guts didn't like it, it surely screamed "danger" to him, and he wanted to be out of Vritannis as soon as possible.

"Roderick is from the island nation of Lith," Serpico reminded. "He traveled here by boat, and it stands to reason that he has made anchor at port. As soon as the engagement is made public, and fa- Lady Farnese's father finds himself in a peculiar situation, I suspect we will be all set to make sail."

"No trouble will arise from me and Harry's way of dress, will it?" Schierke asked, holding one of Casca's hands, leading her along.

"If it does, who cares?" Guts asked. "I might have to sort them out, but what of it?"

"You can expect some strange looks to be thrown your way," Farnese gave a heads up. "Just be prepared for it though."

"People were looking at us strange enough earlier," Harry remembered. "I take it this time they'll just turn up their noses at us?"

"Most likely," Farnese agreed.

Two guards stood on duty at the gate, one dressed in the Vandimion house crest, and the other was a stout man wearing a full helm with two black feathers that made it look like a mustache. "Who goes there?" the mustache knight pointed his club at them.

"Sir Azan?" Serpico recognized. "Is that you?"

"Who is this Sir Azan you speak of?" Sir Azan asked. "I am just a humble hedge knight, serving as security for tonight's event. Although, this Sir Azan sounds like an exemplary knight." So this was what he was doing since Harry had last seen him at the Tower of Conviction, going around as a hedge knight offering his services. It made sense; most of the Holy Iron Chain Knights met their end back at that tower.

The other guard, however, remained more professional. "Lady Farnese," he recognized instantly. "Where is your carriage?"

Farnese slipped into the air of nobility she had been raised under. "I was escorted here tonight by my escorts. They will be serving as further security for tonight's event."

"All of them?" the guard eyed them curiously. Guts could pass for a bodyguard well enough, but when people like Isidro, Schierke, and the current Casca were thrown into the mix, it made it a bit harder to believe.

"Yes," Farnese answered. "All of them. Now, do you plan on letting us in, or should you tell my father how you left his only daughter out in the cold night air?"

The guard swallowed a noticeable lump in his throat. "Of course not, Lady Farnese, please, follow me." They followed along a cobblestone pathway, decorated along the sides of hedge animals. Casca observed each, making faces and noises to try and match their real-life counterpart.

As Harry suspected, the inside was even granter than the out. A high ceiling with three crystal chandeliers, two dozen ornate candle rods, each holding up to six candles, a freshly polished marble floor, and pillars, and the things people were wearing. Men wore what looked like adult bibs, wide-brimmed hats, and buckles on their shoes. Some men had a dagger and sword at their side, but they had probably never used either in their entire lives. The women all wore tight fitting corsets with dresses that really popped out at the hips from the wiring underneath. Some wore hats with wide brims as well, but some also had headdresses on top of their hair that was all done up with not a single hair out of place. Harry was even sure that he spotted a woman wearing what looked like a goose wrapped around her neck. These nobles have some weird sense of fashion.

He wasn't in too much of a position to judge either with his breeches that were a bit baggy due to the brace on his leg, his "walking stick", faded grey traveling cloak and a dull green doublet that had been roughly stitched back together by Schierke after Slan had cut him from collar to navel.

"This all you were expecting it would be?" Guts asked Farnese who was scanning the crowd of people either for one of her three brothers, her parents or betrothed.

"It brings back some memories," Farnese admitted. "Serpico, do you recall the ball we had for my sixteenth birthday?"

"You turned down everyone who offered you a dance," Serpico said, feeling the nostalgia.

"So where's your brother and future husband?" Harry asked, looking around for anyone that might resemble Farnese.

"I spot two of Lady Farnese's brothers right now," Serpico looked over at two other blonde men. "The one with the mustache and goatee is Giorgio, the joint manager of the Vandimion Bank and next head of the family. The one wearing the robe of the Holy See is Poliziano, one of the leading candidates for the next High Pontiff considering the current Pontiff is over eighty years of age."

"And there's mother," Farnese looked over at a woman who was fanning her face, wearing a large white hat and elegant white dress. She actually looked like an older version of Farnese, but with eyes far more cunning.

"And your father as well."

Where the Lady Vandimion was surrounded by other important looking women, one man stood out from the rest with rings on each of his fingers and lavish red and blue and green robes. His graying-blonde hair fell to his chin and his mustache and beard made him look a bit like a lion. He looked every bit a lord as he should. He would say something and the men around him would laugh, even if it probably wasn't all that funny, to begin with.

"Well doesn't he look fancy," Puck said, but spied a waiter carrying a tray of sliced cheese and grapes. "But he has good taste in food, I see." His tiny mouth watered. "Hm. Most of these people probably can't see me. I could eat my fill, and no one would be the wiser."

"We're not here for you to pig out," Ivalera chided. "Did you forget why we're really here?"

"Not entirely. Something about making Farney's dad really uncomfortable or something, and meeting Pretty-boy Roderick."

"Everyone, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to go speak with my mother privately for a moment."

"Of course. Take your time, Lady Farnese." Serpico obliged her request.

Her heart beat fast against her ribcage as she folded her hands in front of her and walked over to where her mother fanned herself. "Mother?"

The same blue eyes found Farnese. "Farnese. There was so little time to talk when you came back to the estate. But, I see you had time to pick out one of your dresses for tonight."

"I am sorry, mother. But I was short pressed for time. I wanted to give my escorts time to prepare."

"Escorts?" her mother eyed the rest who had moved over to the terrace windows and a row of pillars, wanting to keep their distance from the rest of the nobles. "I see Serpico is with you still. That boy must have the patience of a saint. I cannot say I know the rest of them. They don't look like nobles."

"That is because… they are not, mother." Farnese waited for a reaction, but her mother kept cool like she always did, a true Midland Lady. "I joined with them after the fiasco with the Holy Iron Chain Knights."

"Oh, yes, I heard about the tower. So many rumors flying around, none of them hold any merit for the truth to them though. Monsters and demons, quite creative. I imagine your father will be in for quite the surprise."

"So I've heard," Farnese didn't bother to correct her. "But, if I may ask, how is your marriage with father?"

Blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "That is a question not to be asked in public, Farnese. You know better."

"I did not mean like that," Farnese was quick to assure her mother. "What I meant, was it an arranged marriage?"

"Like so many others." Her mother told her. "Why do you ask? Has your father offered your hand to a lordling yet?"

"No, not father."

"Hm. I see. We all have a duty, Farnese. But, while you have not acted as the lady your father would have wanted in the past, whoever this man is should consider himself lucky to be betrothed to one as interesting as you."

Harry couldn't hear what Farnese was talking to her mother about, and he didn't want to use thought transference, that would be an invasion of her private conversation. He and Schierke had moved over to the terrace window. Isidro was snagging food from waiters for him and Puck, and Guts was tailing Casca, who pulled several waiters aside to sort through the types of cheese.

Their spot had turned a bit hectic when a few knights began throwing accusations at one another. "You swine!" one knight shouted, throwing a punch at another. "How dare you throw in your lot with Chuder! Are the events of the Hundred-Year-War lost on you?!"

"Someone had better take action!" the other knight threw back. "You sat by in your holdfast hoping the Kushan would pass you by, coward!"

'Are nobles usually like this?' Schierke's voice sounded within his head.

They're weird a lot of the time, from what I know. The only real nobility he had interacted with outside of Farnese was the princess, who practically begged to be kidnapped.

"Gentlemen, please!" a blonde knight with medium length blonde hair and a strong jaw-line tried to break up the conflict. "Have you no shame? Have you no decency?"

"Huh?" Harry eyed the knight.

"What is it?" Schierke looked where he was.

"That blonde knight, I've seen him before." Twice before, actually. The first was during the war with Chuder, he had joined his forces with Griffith in the battle against the Blue Whale Knights, and Harry saw him later at the victory ball. "That's Sir Owen of Midland."

One of the squabbling knights elbowed Owen in the jaw, knocking him away. "And what would you have me do?! Forgive this traitor?!"

Owen rubbed where he had been struck. "I would ask that you not throw the shame of our kingdom in everyone's face. Is that too much to ask?" the knight s saw that multiple sets of eyes were watching them now. Hesitantly, they broke apart, going back to their mingling, but keeping a distance from one another.

Standing up, Owen surveyed the scene. Doing so, he caught sight of Casca and Guts, and finally Harry. Recognition flashed before him. He approached Harry. "Pardon me," Owen offered. "But, have we met before?"

"Twice," Harry told him. From what he knew of Owen, he was one of the few knights in Midland who actually cared for the people.

"Twice?" he looked back over to where Casca and Guts were. "You… you are with them?" Harry slowly nodded. "Then… you are from the Band of the Hawk."

"Formerly."

"Yes, of course." Owen sounded apologetic. "I meant no disrespect bringing it up, I assure you."

"No, it's… it's fine."

"I do hope you don't mind me asking, but, what is your name again? That ball seems so far away at this point."

"…Harry." Much to his surprise, Owen held out a hand.

"Sir Owen. And, who might this young lady be?"

"Oh, ah, Schierke." She said, shyly. Owen gave a polite bow of his head.

"A pleasure. It's not every day that I come across one so… uniquely dressed."

"Well, um, thank you, Sir Owen."

Why so nervous?

'I don't know what else to say.'

"Well, what's one of Midland's best knights doing here?" Harry asked. Owen seemed personable enough.

"Same as every other Midland Lord here, seeking allies against the Kushan. My companion Sir Laban was sent to infiltrate the capital and rescue as many civilians as he could, but I've no word in weeks. If the king were alive, he would surely regret labeling your band as criminals. We could use a Griffith right about now." He didn't notice the scowl Harry developed. "Or, maybe… if I may be so bold, you came here with the man dressed all in black, did you not?"

"We all came with Farnese de Vandimion."

Owen looked surprised. "The Lady Farnese, truly? The last Laban and I heard of her she was pursuing… young Harry, do you mean to tell me that that man, the Raiders Captain, is the Black Swordsman?"

Even Midland Knights know about that title.

'Guts was off on his own while you were learning magic.'

"Laban and I received multiple reports regarding a swordsman who traveled the land hunting and killing monsters in human skin. Ever since an incident with a man named Wyald, we have kept a lookout for this man. Perhaps now is a bit too public to be discussing such things, but, if you were agreeable to it, would you be willing to talk privately after the event is over?"

"That… that's hard to say. We're short on time as it is, but-,"

'Hey, Harry, Schierke,' Isidro used the thought transference. 'We got a look on Roderick and Magnifico, come over here, would ya?'

"Sir Owen, I can't promise anything right now, but I'll see what I can do."

"That would be ideal if possible," Owen agreed, casting one last curious look over at Guts before heading over to chat with some other knights.

Through the use of thought transference, they all managed to meet up with the other set of terrace doors, receiving strange looks from the neighboring members of the nobility. None noticed Ivalera flying overhead dragging a tired and full Puck.

"So these are the rest of this little party of yours, dear sister?" the man who had to be Magnifico asked. He had the same blonde hair as Farnese and his brothers, but his blonde curls were cut much shorter. Being the third elder brother, Harry would guess that Magnifico was in his mid to late twenties. "How… strange they dress indeed." He smiled to hide the sneer that would have been.

'Farnese, I don't mean to sound offensive, but, I don't really like him.' Schierke bashfully admitted.

Ditto.

'Do not worry. Many people feel the same about him.' Farnese didn't sound offended in the least.

"Going over introductions without me, old friend?" a man with dark hair tied back in a ponytail strutted over smelling of sea salt. His eyes were as dark as his hair, and he had the collar of his fancy doublet loose so he could move his neck more freely. A confident smile adorned his handsome features, but this held no trace of a hidden sneer. He was probably only a year younger than Magnifico. "My, what a group indeed. The name's Roderick of Schtauffen, an officer in the Lith Navy."

This was Roderick? Harry recalled how he would look or act, with combed back hair or beady eyes, but… this Roderick just seemed… there was no other way to say it, cool. His smile did hold a certain womanizing charm to it, but he did not direct it toward Casca or any other noble lady passing nearby. He seemed entirely focused on Farnese and making an introduction with all of them.

"Sadly, or, fortunately, depending on how you look at it, Lady Farnese has given me a few details about all of you." He started with Guts. "You must be Guts. Nice to meet you, Chief."

"Likewise," Guts' tone was less expressive.

"The boy with the rusty hair must be Isidro. Nifty dagger you got there."

"Yeah, you bet it's nifty, want to see how sharp it is?"

"If trouble should arise, I have full confidence in you." Roderick smiled, not missing a beat.

Isidro scoffed. "Tch! A smart one, huh?"

"Let's see, messy black hair, and brilliant green eyes, walking with a staff; you must be Harry. Good on you, Mate." He extended a hand. Hesitating longer than he had with Owen, Harry took it.

"Yeah, that's me."

"Firm grip you got there. You'd make a good navy man."

"Sure…"

"And a girl with green hair, you can be no one else but Schierke." He bowed. "The pleasure is all mine."

"Ah, that's right," Schierke confirmed. "It's uh, nice to meet you, Roderick."

Should I be jealous?

'Keep teasing me, then yes.'

"And the lady of the hour, but not in that kind of way, the one who this trip is all about, this must be Casca."

"Frree," Casca clutched to Farnese's arm, drawing some looks from the on goers, Farnese's father being one of them.

"I look forward to sailing with you all," Roderick smiled charmingly.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure we're all eager to set sail," Magnifico waved his hand. "But before we set out, I do believe we should make this engagement publically known, don't you, Roderick?"

"If my bride to be is agreeable to it, of course." Roderick held out a hand to Farnese. "What do you say?"

"…If you feel the time is right, then yes."

"Excellent, dear sister," Magnifico flagged down a waiter and took a chalice and spoon.

"Where is this ship of yours?" Guts asked Roderick.

" The Sea Horse is anchored just outside the harbor, I had my crew move it there when I heard of this adventure of yours. I can tell you, my men are the finest of the Lith Navy, it'll be smooth sailings once we get underway. Especially once this fog clears up."

Fog? Sure enough, a fog had rolled into the city, obscuring the view of the outside; the city torchlight's just barely visible now. It was just like with the familiars back at the cottage, but there was no boy this time. Then the familiar prickle of the brand came, a sign that the peace these nobles were experiencing was not about to last.

"Guts, Harry," Schierke looked at them. Casca rubbed a hand over where her brand was.

"Attention, everyone," Magnifico cleared his throat and chimed the spoon against his chalice. "On behalf of the Vandimion family, thank you all for attending tonight's banquet."

"Hey, Roderick, how soon can we leave?" Isidro asked, picking up on the growing tension.

Magnifico continued. "In regard to the current Kushan invasion, I have taken it upon myself to secure an alliance between my family and a long time standing friend of mine, Roderick of the Lith Navy."

"Magnifico," his father didn't sound too pleased. "What have you done?"

"It is my pleasure to formally announce the engagement between good, Captain Roderick and my only sister, Far-,"

"-Aaaaarrrghhh!" a blood-curdling scream sounded from outside the hall. The nobles went silent as a bloody arm was rolled across the floor. Many ladies fainted on sight, failing to be caught by some of the noblemen. There was a growl. Something was stalking into the hall.

The familiar that entered was not a crocodile, but a tiger. The eyes were off, clouded almost like swirling pools of reddish-orange mixed with maddening purple, a clear indication that it was under the influence of a spell. And the teeth, they were enlarged, curving outward, far more than any other cat of its kind had.

The familiar roared again, leaping and sinking its fangs into another unlucky lord, ripping and tearing his limbs from his body using its fangs and claws. Magnifico dropped his chalice, too terrified to continue by the sight of the monstrous tiger. "M-monsters?! H-how? How can this be happening?!"

"Relax," Puck flew in front of his face. "My clients are highly skilled when it comes to handling situations like this."

Magnifico just gawked further. "A… talking bug?"

"Oh, you can see me now. The Tiger familiar must have been quite the shock."

"Some party crashers, huh?" Guts made ready to draw his sword. "I suppose we could take care of this. Talk about charity." He made his way to the center of the hall where two more tigers had stalked in to join the first. "Here, kitty."

Two of the familiars leaped, and Dragonslayer cut horizontal, splitting them in half. Blood soaked the once neatly polished floor.

"Did you see that?" the nobles began talking.

"He just cleaved two of those monsters in half."

"Is he a member of your army?"

"I thought he was with yours."

"Could he be drafted to join the Chuder Empire?"

"How is he able to use that sword?"

The first tiger made ready to leap at him, but Serpico discarded the clothes he had on over his sylph equipment, soaring past the other guests, he cut the familiar to shreds with the aid of the sylphs.

"That man just flew!"

"Lord Vandimion, isn't that your daughter's attendant?"

Serpico averted his narrowed gaze from the spilled blood. "That was a lovely floor, too."

More were coming, four from the main door and two leapt through the terrace windows, snarling, hissing, and clawing at whatever noble guests were within their vicinity. Puck tore a piece of chicken from a place, tossing it as far as his tiny arm would allow. "Distraction."

"You threw it right toward me!" Isidro yelled, rolling under the swipe of the familiar, using his dagger to set it ablaze. The fire wasn't spreading fast enough, however, and the familiar once again set its sights on Isidro. "Aw shit!"

"Yegh!" Rodrick drew his own fancy rapier style of blade, shoving it through the eye of the familiar.

"Huh? You?!" Isidro exclaimed.

"That really is a nifty dagger you have there," Roderick offered him a hand. "I look forward to seeing you use it more."

"Man, you're making it really hard for me to hate you right now!" Isidro yelled.

"Good job, Roderick!" Magnifico exclaimed. "As expected from the so-called 'Sailing Prince of Lith'" One of the familiars leapt at Magnifico, but it was deterred by a candle rod driving it away. "F-Farnese?!" her brother exclaimed, caught by surprise at being saved by his younger sister.

"A lady who isn't afraid to take charge," Roderick admired. "You fascinate me, Farnese. Magnifico, you're sister is absolutely splendid!"

"Schierke, the chandeliers!" Harry pointed up.

"Oh, I see!" 'Guts, get ready to get out of the way.'

He cut another one in half. "Do it."

Using their magic both dropped one chandelier. The heavy glass and crystal decoration pieces came falling down on top of the tiger familiars, crushing them under the combined weight. Guts swung Dragonslayer again, severing the heads from two more familiars. The floor now stained dark.

"He makes good of his reputation," Sir Owen stared in awe at the sight.

"That about do it?" Guts asked Schierke. "Sense any more of them coming?"

"Not at the moment, no," Schierke responded. "But I'm feeling much more hostile od out in the city, we have another fight on our hands and… wait!"

From the bodies of the slain tiger familiars, a mist seemed to be seeping out, taking shape in the center of the hall for all to see. The mist arranged itself into a face, a face largely covered by a large cloudy beard. "Hear my voice!" the mist face spoke. "What you see is not an illusion, no trick of the light. It is I, Emperor Ganishka of the Kushan Empire! Tonight marks my official declaration of war against the lands of the west. My forces of familiars, spellcasters, and human-born demons, the daka, will level this city and all who reside here. Submit, and you will be spared, resist or try to escape the city, and you will meet your untimely end! That is my divine will!"

The mist began to disperse, flying out the broken windows of the hall to go and join some larger, unseen force. It took a few seconds for the shock to wear off, but the hall was once again in an uproar. Ladies cried, men shouted, the security began ushering the nobles out, but that hardly seemed to matter at this point. People were stampeding over one another to get to an exit.

"H-hey!" Isidro pointed out the window at something. "I think we got more problems than just the Kushan."

The Emperor's forces seemed to have infiltrated the city alright. Fires were already spreading among the houses and shops and the sounds of metal on metal signaled that the city guards had openly engaged with the Kushan forces.

"I might not know what that was that just happened, but if that… Emperor was willing to make good of his threat, we best make haste to the Sea Horse." Roderick reasoned.

"Lead the way, Captain!" Puck saluted.

"Wha- a talking bug?"

"Come on, already," Guts urged. "I want out of this city already."

Outside the hall, the one guard who allowed them entry lay dead, his throat slit from a Kushan dagger, but his assailant lay next to him as well. Sir Azan, or rather, the Black Moustache Knight, stood victoriously over the fallen Kushan soldier.

"My good soldier, while I cannot bring you back to life, your memory will live on." Guts brushed past him, the others following behind him and Roderick, and soon after, Sir Azan followed.

The streets were a cluttered mess of bodies, soldier and civilian alike, Western and Kushan too. The fires burned intensely as they encountered a group of regular Kushan troops. They shouted some words in the Kushan language Guts didn't know what they were saying, and he didn't have to, a war cry was a war cry no matter what language. They leveled their spears at him, but Dragonslayer had no trouble cutting through the flimsy wooden shafts.

Before the Kushan troops could reach for their shields or swords, Dragonslayer was already cleaving them in half, sending their blood flying into the blazing fire of a nearby shop. A dozen more raced up from another street to take the place of their fallen comrades, this time escorted by a few tiger familiars.

Guts saw Harry will a wave of flame from one of the buildings over to the soldiers and familiars, setting them ablaze. Serpico followed that attack up by swinging his blade as fast as he could, fanning the flames as well as producing fresh wounds all over their bodies. They wailed in agony as they burned alive, but two of the familiars still had some fight left in them. They leapt at the traveling company.

Isidro stepped up, rolling once more under the leaping familiar and cutting its underbelly with his dagger. The second beast was bested by Roderick, who drove his thin blade through its eye. "Is this what it's usually like with you all?"

"Pretty much," Isidro nonchalantly replied. "Why? Thinking of backing out now? Getting cold feet?"

"Never," Roderick answered. "This is exciting!"

Magnifico looked like he was going to throw up from the excessive violence. "We just have to make it to the ship to get away from all of this, right? Please tell me that, Roderick."

"My friend, you know I never make promises that I can't keep."

They rounded another corner, this one filled with nothing but Kushan soldiers and something else entirely. They weren't familiars under some spell; they were red-skinned with curved horns and teeth. They were human-sized as well, holding Kushan spears and shields. They looked like human-made demons, or daka, as the visage of Emperor Ganishka had announced back at the hall.

"You got something planned, Schierke?" Guts asked the little witch.

"The city isn't the most powerful place for drawing magic of nature," Schierke sadly said. "But, even now with this fire, there are spirits to be found there that can lend their help." She closed her eyes and began a chant. The wheel of a nearby mill that had caught fire began to spin. Faster and faster it spun until the flames seemed to become a part of the wooden wheel; an actual wheel of fire.

The wheel of fire burst free of its stationary position, rolling past their group and straight down the street. Kushan and daka alike were caught by surprise when the flaming wheel came rolling by, completely flattening them, singing their flesh. By the time the wheel came to a stop, not a single enemy force remained alive on the street.

"M-magic now?!" Magnifico looked horrified. What had started as him making a family power play had now swept him along on a life-and-death adventure with only his friend and sister as the familiar faces, but seeing how calmly Farnese was handling herself made him wary.

"Good trick," Harry told her as they hurried down the street still following after Guts and Roderick.

"Thanks."

More dead civilians were piled in the next street, the corpses of some city guards were present as well and it was no surprise why. A group of daka, tiger familiars and those whale-like creatures from the beach were all gathered. On this street.

"Guts…" Schierke looked at him with concern. "Are you planning on… using it?"

"Are you ready to pull me out of it?" his eye was solemn; he knew what it would do to his body. He could just as easily lose control as he had done before.

"I am, but, if I could help ease the burden…"

"Hey!" Isidro exclaimed. "What is it you plan on doing?!"

"I'll need one of you to carry me; I won't be in my physical body."

She closed her eyes and concentrated, the shape of the Berserker helm began to move up toward Guts' head. Schierke's physical body began to droop, but Harry and Sir Azan caught her before she could fall. The helm snapped into place. Guts turned his head to look at them, and it was not the same as before.

Only the top portion of the armor covered his head, and his single eye was visible through the slit and his lower mouth could be seen as well. "It's a good thing you went out to buy supplies. I'm going to be sore as hell by tomorrow."

Guts raced forward, crushing two daka beneath his armor-clad feet. Dragonslayer whipped around, cutting four familiars in half. He leapt at the hybrid familiar, firing his cannon shot straight into its mouth like he had done previously. The beast breathed out the smoke from the blast, and as it opened his mouth, Guts ran Dragonslayer along the length of its body, letting its intestines spill out onto the cobblestone street.

This is different from before. I don't feel as much an evil presence.

'Guts!' it was Schierke's voice. 'Can you hear me alright?'

Like you're shouting in my ear. What did you do?

'I left my physical body for my luminous one. Like this, I'm able to help you hold off the evil presence of the armor. Like this, you're still in partial control.'

A familiar bit down on his leg, and he drove Dragonslayer through its skull. I still don't feel pain.

'Maybe not lesser pain, but if it's intense enough… it may be enough to knock me off as well.'

What do you mean?

'This is the first time I tried something like this. Our connection may be a little unstable. Right now, it's like I'm hanging on around your neck like you're giving me a ride.'

Whatever it is, it's working.

He sunk the claws of the armor into the sides of the chimera familiar, climbing up its side and to the top. Raising Dragonslayer high above his head, Guts drove it straight down through the beasts' skull, piercing its brain, killing it instantly. Leaping off the carcass of the chimera, Guts plunged Dragonslayer through the eye of another. He yanked down on his blade, ripping the eye clean out of its socket.

Some daka tried to flank him, but their spears couldn't find a weak spot in his armor. But Guts found one in theirs; several, in fact. He cut them from under their arms, sending limbs flying, he brought his sword down and then to the right, taking half of their torsos.

"T-this guy's unstoppable!" Magnifico awed, still put off by the sight.

"I'm not sure if I should feel safe or concerned that I'm bringing him aboard my ship." Roderick sounded more inclined to the former.

"How close are we to the harbor?" Serpico questioned. His blade still at the ready.

"A few more corners and straight on towards sunrise," Roderick directed. "Will he follow us, or is he lost in the fight?"

Guts split another daka in half. "Still here," he grit out through his teeth.

Roderick raced off down the next couple of streets, Guts clearing the way, still having partial control over most of the Berserker Armor thanks to the aid of Schierke in her luminous body. "The harbor is just on ahead!" Roderick yelled. "Through this next gate!"

Crossing under the raised portcullis, they found most of the ships anchored in the harbor to be on fire. Daka raised torches high above their heads and shooting flaming arrows at the sails and masts. Three of those hybrids were positioned on the cobblestone before the docks.

"None of these is your ship, right?" Serpico nervously asked.

"No. The Sea Horse is anchored beyond the pier. If we scavenge a rowboat, we can get there safely."

"So just clear through these freaks?" Guts eyed the swarm of enemy Kushan monsters. "Just one more thing."

He charged into the swarm, a sea of limbs was sent flying through the air as the blade of Dragonslayer carved through the daka ranks. "Quickly, see if there is a rowboat around for us to commandeer!"

Guts continued his slaughter, until an unexpected blast of water struck him from the side, knocking him back. He slowed himself by sinking Dragonslayer through the cobblestone harbor. Resting on top of one of the ruined ships was an elderly Kushan spellcaster as signified by his white turban. His bronze skin was leathery and wrinkled like a raisin or a prune. His beard was snowy white and helped to his thin lips and multitude of missing teeth.

"The good Emperor was wise to station me where a few were sure to escape," the Kushan spellcaster praised himself. "I, Daiba, high wizard for Emperor Ganishka shall see you meet your end here."

Daiba crossed his legs and his body began to levitate. He closed his dark eyes and made a series of hand gestures. He cast a near silent incantation and the sea near the docks reared up in one big wave, heading right toward Guts.

However, it was stopped short before it could reach the Black Swordsman. Harry was using his magic to hold the wave back, and casting a banishing charm, he sent the water flowing back, but not just into the sea, and back at the ship, Daiba was perched. The wave hit, and Daiba was momentarily knocked out of his trance.

"Oh ho, another magic user?" Daiba opened his dark eyes at Harry. "Western magic, you use a staff to focus your core; you have not been enlightened to experience the magic within yourself, to channel it freely."

"You sound pretty confident, old man." Imagining the sea rising to his command, Harry cast an aquamenti followed by the levitation charm, but he did so from under the boat Daiba was on.

Water shot up from beneath the boat, splintering the wood, and forcing Daiba to levitate himself over to another boat, this one only half sunk from the damage that had been dealt with it from the destructive daka.

Well, that just isn't fair, Harry thought as he witnessed Daiba self-levitate.

"A combination of magic at once?" Daiba observed. "What a feat for one so young, boy. Either you are that powerful, or it is just your staff. Perhaps both, but I doubt it." Daiba made another series of hand motions, this time the sea water obeyed his call. A giant sea snake made of water emerged, Daiba floating right to the top of its head. "But I doubt your skill is at this level."

A stream of water shot out of the "mouth" of the sea serpent, not a tidal wave, but a narrow concentrated stream that tore through some of the cobblestones of the harbor. With the supply of water coming straight from the ocean and out of such a narrow point, the water pressure could cut through just about anything.

Harry rolled to the side to avoid the dangerous stream of water that was aimed right at him. Guts had gone back to killing the remaining daka and chimeras, leaving him to deal with this Kushan sorcerer.

"Whatever is the matter, boy?" Daiba taunted. "Is the magic of this old man too much for you?"

"Didn't I say you were overconfident?" Harry asked as he sent a basic lightning spell straight into the stream of seawater. The energy did as intended, traveled back to the main body of the water serpent, and Daiba as well.

"Yeeeehhh!" Daiba yelped as he was partially fried by the blast. The water serpent collapsed back into the sea, and Daiba fell to the deck of the ship.

Most of the dock was already destroyed from earlier, so Harry took to casting ice and quick freezing spells on the water itself, creating a straight path toward Daiba's partially sunken ship. Harry climbed aboard, summoning the icy bridge he had crafted and hurled it straight toward Daiba. He was beginning to feel the popping behind his eyes. He wasn't pushing himself just yet, but he was testing the waters, seeing if he could defeat Daiba without performing a super strenuous bit of magic.

For an old man, Daiba was quick. He assumed his stance once again, and the deck of the ship cracked from beneath them. The water serpent had been re-summoned. "Impressive bit of quick acting," Daiba almost praised. "But you are still inexperienced compared to someone who has studied for over fifty years."

"You really are old," Harry summoned a wave, trying to counter the balance of the water snake's measure.

"I am an age you will never live to be," Daiba quipped as another jet of concentrated water shot out of the sea serpent.

Having nowhere to go but into the open sea, Harry cast a shield charm but drew some sea water toward him, creating a watery bubble. He could see where the water jet hit the shield, the water appeared slightly displaced, but it was holding. The one thing this water couldn't cut was more water.

With Daiba continuing his water jet assault, Harry touched his staff to the inside of his water shield and cast a freezing charm. Near instantly, the water began turning to ice, covering not just his shield, but spreading up the jet to the body of the sea serpent.

Harry shattered his shield, racing out and over to the frozen body of the giant serpent. "I guess an old dog really can't learn new tricks."

Feeling a swell of power inside of him, Harry shouted, "Bombarda!"

The frozen sea serpent shattered, and Daiba fell to the deck. The elderly Kushan went to make another hand gesture, but Harry brought his sword down, slicing one of his hands clean off.

"Arrgghh!" Daiba clutched at his now stump. Harry hit the end of his staff against Daiba's chest, and he didn't remember doing anything, but it was like the staff reacted to touching another magic user. Daiba was sent flying off the ship and into the sea.

He continued to scream, but with his remaining hand, he whistled, and Harry felt something hit him from behind. A winged creature had swooped down to pluck Daiba from the sea.

Seeing that that fight was over, Harry made his way back to the rest of the group, Guts making his way down one of the docks, killing what remained of the daka. "Did… you get a working boat?" Harry managed.

"We had to tie two together, but we have one," Farnese informed. "We just need Guts and-,"

The mist from earlier had returned, but this time not just as a face. It was a full body, but lacking limbs. Clear, but stormy like a brewing thundercloud, the mist extended as high as the tower of a large castle, and it resided right next to the harbor.

"What is this?!" Emperor Ganishka roared his voice like a storm. "Daiba, you are a failure as a sorcerer! Half our forces have been slaughtered!" Ganishka did not let Daiba respond as an arc of lightning shot from his beard to zap the winged creature Daiba had escaped on. "And you peasants, kneel before your Emperor!"

Ganishka shot out two more bolts of lightning at Guts and the rest. Serpico swung his blade multiple times to create some resistance to the coming lightning, fighting its progress and resulting in a blast that reeked of ozone. They were startled, and their ears popped, but otherwise unharmed.

Guts, however, took the lightning full on. From back with the others, Schierke opened her eyes, gasping. "Guts!"

The helm of the Berserker Armor deactivated, Guts was back to his normal self, the blast had knocked him back. "You are the Black Swordsman. You oppose the God Hand, same as I. your prowess is well known among us apostles, and we share a common foe, the Hawk of Light. Join me, and your desire will have been fulfilled. I am generous to my followers, you would make an excellent demon warrior."

Guts spat on the wood of the dock. "Fuck you! I'm human, right down to the marrow! You're just a mad dog biting at the hands of his master!"

"So be it, human." Another arc of lightning shot out of Ganishka's apostle form down at Guts. He drove Dragonslayer down in front of him, pointing straight up, the metal acting as a lightning rod, absorbing the blast.

Casca turned her attention away from the fight, looking at something else. "Zoo da!"

"What, Casca?" Farnese asked.

"Zoo da! Zoo da!"

"Zoo da?" Harry repeated, not sure she was getting at.

Casca pointed to where she was looking. "Zoo da!"

"Oh, fuck," Harry cursed.

Perched atop a nearby tower, looking like a massively winged gargoyle, was Nosferatu Zodd. Spreading his wings, Zodd took flight from his perch.

"The Emperor has shown himself! Fliers, with me! Concentrate all your power on bringing him down!" dozens of other winged apostles suddenly took flight as well, all charging the apostle Ganishka.

The first charge through saw them all passing harmlessly through the mist body. "What is this?!" Ganishka bellowed. "Interference from my arch rival! Unacceptable!" Ganishka released a torrent of lightning from his body, striking several winged apostles, dropping them like flies.

"Second charge!" Zodd yelled and again, the fliers passed through the mist without any lasting effect.

"Begone, you pests!" a shockwave of lightning was distributed, sinking more fliers, even striking Zodd.

The great winged apostle smoldered as he came crashing down toward the dock Guts was on. The apostle slammed into it as he fell, taking Guts down with the collapse. Salt water stung at his wounds, but he managed to keep a hold of Dragonslayer as the dark form of Zodd began paddling back to the surface. Feeling the armor and sword weighing him down, Guts slung an arm over the crook of Zodd's wing as he breached the surface, taking to the air once more.

Zodd bucked his back, sensing the additional weight he carried. "Get off, freeloader. Go and struggle on the ground."

Guts swung his leg up on Zodd so he was kneeling on the back of the apostle. He positioned Dragonslayer right at Zodd's neck. "If you want to keep your head attached to your body, you'll fly back up there. You're here to take that Emperor down?"

"Have you not been paying attention? That mist cannot be cut."

"Are you giving up?" guts asked. "What happened to finding a challenge? You want a mist-cutter?" he tapped the blade against Zodd's neck. "A certain witch told me this was no ordinary sword."

The corners of Zodd's mouth turned up into… a smile? "A choice to fight with the sword that once cut me… very well, Black Swordsman. I'll heed your call of truce for the time. Show me that mist-cutter of yours!"

Guts leveled Dragonslayer where Zodd's right horn would have been. Schierke, tell me where, where is this bastard located?

'He's not in this body, but… the greatest source of od is at his brow!'

"Fly straight between the fucker's eyes," Guts told Zodd.

Ganishka spotted their approach, his sky-blue eyes narrowed. The smell of ozone increased as flashes of light began to manifest in Ganishka's beard. Zodd's wings beat faster. Guts barred his teeth. Sparks began to fly. Zodd folded his wings to his sides and they shot forward like a cannon. Lightning struck, but it was too late.

Zodd and Guts shot straight through the brow of Ganishka, creating a clear hole, which did not fill back up instantly. And from leagues away, the real body of Ganishka felt the blow, clutching at his forehead where a scar had just appeared. As Zodd and Guts came crashing back down, the mist began to recede.

Guts rolled off of Zodd's back, feeling the fatigue take hold over him. Through the haze of his vision, he saw the apostle Zodd loom over him. A sickly smile was on that cat-like face. Did he want another fight? Probably.

"Can't you stand?" Zodd asked.

Tasting blood in his mouth, Guts slowly, but surely used Dragonslayer as a crutch to rise. "Satisfied, you big cat?"

"Hardly. I was hoping for another fight with you, but… both of us need to recover strength. But the next time we meet, we can bloody each other to our heart's content. It will be to the death."

Zodd kicked off and beat his wings, taking flight.

Guts watched him leave, his legs finally giving out. "Guts!" he heard someone shout, and he felt multiple pairs of hands dragging him to the small boat that would take them to the Sea Horse. "Take us out, crew," Roderick ordered. Sir Azan and a reluctant looking Magnifico complying.

"Don't worry, Guts, we're almost there."

Then there was the voice of Isidro. "This trip better not take seven years."

Dawn was breaking. It had taken all night, but Owen had managed to unite most of the Midland nobles to join their forces to force the Kushan out of the city. Many of those monsters had vanished along with that giant mist figure, and Owen wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth with that one.

He hadn't been able to speak further with that Harry lad or the Black Swordsman which was a disappointment; he would have tried to get their help retaking the Kingdom of Midland. They were once members of the Band of the Hawk and had fought with Midland against Chuder. And seeing the way the Black Swordsman handled himself back at the banquet, he could have been their most powerful ally.

He could have been a big help with what was to come.

"How many are there?" Owen asked a garrison captain as they formed a line outside of Vritannis.

The captain turned to look at him with nervous eyes. "One-hundred-thousand. That many against our ten thousand."

The Kushan main force was now bearing down on them, ready to sack the city. "Get our archers to the top of the wall, have them open fire the minute the enemy charges."

"We only have a hundred bowmen."

"Get them up there then. They need the vantage." Many of the other lords were in a panic. They would refuse to agree to a solid plan of defense. A Kushan war horn sounded.

"Here they come!"

The decorated warhorses of the Kushan came into view as they galloped down the hill to Vritannis. Was this it? Was this how he was to die? Before seeing the reunification of Midland?

Arrows were fired, but not from the wall, and now from the Kushan. On another hill, a lone archer stood, notching another arrow and firing again. A new banner came into view. This one was a white background with a blue sword with wings. "It can't be…"

Riding now over the hill was the Band of the Hawk.

Griffith himself led the charge, white armor looking shiny and new, not a dent in it. The Kushan were blindsided by this attack, trying to defend themselves, but falling victim to the lances, and the colossal war hammer of these new Hawk members.

The defenders of Vritannis could only stare slack-jawed as the Band of the Hawk that must have numbered twenty thousand, repelling this overwhelming force of Kushan. Then it happened, the Kushan began a retreat, galloping back toward the capital of Windham.

Griffith rode his stallion down to where the waiting nobles and knights were, none daring to speak first. What do they say to a man who was supposed to be dead?

"I know many of you must be relieved, but the war is not over," Griffith spoke in a smooth voice. "I also know that there is a lot of bad blood between all of your kingdoms. But I would ask for your help in defeating the invading Emperor Ganishka at Windham in three days time."

Whispering began breaking out. "He asks for our aid."

"He did just drive off the Kushan."

"He's an imposter! The real Griffith died after the war with Chuder!"

"He is not an imposter," a lady's voice spoke out. "I, Charlotte Beatrix Marie Rhody Windham, Queen of Midland, do so vouch for the identity of my betrothed."

Queen Charlotte? Owen registered in his head. He spotted the girl who looked so much like her mother sitting on a horse next to Griffith's. She looked more than a little uncomfortable. She was out of the city, but how? Owen began shouldering his way toward the queen.

"Let me through!" Owen pushed forward. "Let me through!" he had to make sure she was okay. He had nearly failed in his duty as a knight for not getting her out of the city when the Kushan invaded.

But Charlotte's words seemed to have urged some of the more reluctant of Midland's lords. The stage was being set for the final fight with the Kushan.

A/N: Big things happening next. It'll be up soon. Thanks for reading. Also, no boat hiatus.


	42. Equinox

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

March 21st, 1995

It was the day of the Spring Equinox. A majority of the winter snow had melted away, the warmer spring season bringing about a change in climate. Yet, there still was a bitter crisp in the Scottish morning air, but nothing that the early tourists visiting the infamous wonder of Stonehenge seemed to mind. Cameras flashed as the people stood in front of the ancient stone monoliths, relishing in the experience of being in one of the wonders of the world.

Tourists. Muggle tourists. They come and they see giant rocks that were mysteriously arranged by ancestors long ago, ignorant of the true magical nature of this place. Those monolithic rocks were the most deeply rooted in magical property than anything else in the world. How those idiots at the Ministry permitted these vermin to parade around this site as if they owned it was beyond Voldemort's comprehension. Actually – no, it wasn't. The Ministry just believed muggles to be completely ignorant. That was true, of course, but that did not give them the right to let a site like this be reverted into some sort of tourist attraction.

Things would be much different once he was in power.

He and his Death Eaters observed the comings and goings of these filthy muggles from a distance. If one of those muggles happened to spot them dressed in their robes, they seemed to dismiss it as a renaissance convention; but they wouldn't for very long.

Bellatrix approached him. "My Lord, is it time now? May we commence with the plan?" she was eager, her tone betrayed that much emotion in her.

"Your drive remains unchanged, Bellatrix," he soothed. "The time is near ripe, the dream I had last night was confirmation enough. Things are moving on the other side right now; we just need to perform this ritual." From the back of the Death Eater crowd, Pettigrew shuddered. "Do as you will, Bellatrix. Kill as many of these muggles as your heart so desires."

A familial, maniacal grin broke out across her face, clearly overjoyed at being given permission. With her wand in hand, Bellatrix ran down to where those muggle tourists were, most laughed at the sight of a grown woman wearing robes and holding what they believed to be a stick. A few took pictures, but their jovial time was ruined when Bellatrix shouted those two words.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A jet of green light shot from her wand, striking a small child in front of the parents. Bellatrix's laugh stood out amongst the screams as she fired off more and more killing curses. Seeing Bellatrix taking all the glory, the rest of the assembled twelve Death Eaters moved out as well. Each cast off in their own killing curse as well, striking more muggles. Pettigrew stayed behind, nervously chewing on his fingers.

"Do you not care for the sight, Wormtail?" Voldemort asked. "You don't have to. The only thing that you have to do is obey." Bellatrix cast one last killing curse, cutting down an old muggle couple. "Come, Wormtail. It won't be long now until Dumbledore arrives. No doubt Severus told him of our plan to be involved here today, but that is hardly of concern. Dumbledore won't be able to stop us." Voldemort stepped over the dead bodies of some muggle children. "I have magic from the angels, after all."

As covered in their previous meeting, his Death Eaters began to draw magical runes along the ancient stone monoliths with their wands. The marks would fade over time, the natural magic of this site would eventually correct itself, but for the time being, this was now a ceremony site.

"It is done, my Lord," Rabastan Lestrange bowed before him.

"Excellent," Voldemort turned his gaze to the rat, Peter Pettigrew. "Did you hear that Wormtail? Your time to contribute is at hand." Voldemort conjured a knife, levitating it over to a trembling Wormtail. "A ritual as this needs a sacrifice, even one as pathetic as you will fill that vacant spot with your blood."

Wormtail nervously held the knife away from him, the blade pointed at his chest. He began to cry.

"It is natural to fear death, Wormtail," Voldemort was not impressed by his cowardice. "But you can either die on your feet, the closest you will be to a man or, die crying and begging on your knees like the pathetic rat that you have always been your entire life. And Wormtail, I won't make your death a quick one."

Wormtail lowered his head in shame, tears pouring from his eyes. "James… Lily… I'm sor-!" he quickly plunged the knife into his own chest, straight through his heart. The second Marauder was dead, his blood staining the green grass and white snow a crimson red.

The recently inscribed runic symbols drawn on the ancient stone monoliths pulsated, changing to the color of Wormtail's blood, reacting to the ritual. Voldemort smiled as he felt the energy in the air begin to weigh heavily, a clear sign that it had been a success. It was close now, so very close. The angels had been communicating with him through his dreams, telling him what was going on and what to do on his end of things. And it was finally happening, the great merging was about to commence. All he had to do was hold back whatever forces Dumbledore came with, maybe even the Ministry too once they got notice of all the magical energy being tossed around. His existence would no longer be denied after that happened, but there was nothing they had that could oppose him, he had all but won the first war if it hadn't been for Potter.

His red eyes became entranced by the pulse of the runic symbols. The energy was almost palpable. Stonehenge would no longer be an attraction, a popular landmark, but an anchor to beyond. Almost like a bridge, but not a stationary one. He fully suspected that with the right method, anyone would be able to come and go as they wished.

Back in Hogwarts, Dumbledore was in a frenzy. Severus had informed him that Voldemort planned to move on Stonehenge today, but he didn't think it would this early in the morning. Voldemort was a Dark Lord, usually preferring to move at night under the shadow of darkness. To make a move in broad daylight… either he was extremely confident in his power, or he was making a rash decision, spurred on by some unknown pressure driving him.

Either way, he had to act fast. "Fawkes," Dumbledore called his trusty Phoenix to his arm. "Go alert Minerva, Filius, and Remus, they will know what your presence means." The Phoenix gave a nod of his brightly colored head, flying straight into his fireplace in a blazing glory.

Dumbledore then produced a Patronus, another phoenix. Patronus' worked against repelling dementors, but they could also be used as messengers. "To all members of the Order of the Pheonix, Voldemort has made his move. Apparate just near Stonehenge, Do not engage until I arrive." The white phoenix flew out his open window, and he summoned another in its place. "To Amelia Bones of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. A magical development is occurring at Stonehenge. Bring as many Aurors as necessary, take no chances."

Fudge may be blind to what is going on, but Amelia was one of the most unbiased people working in the Ministry of Magic at the moment. If anyone could understand the full gravity of the situation and not be blinded by the rose-colored glasses, it was her. It would take time for her and her task force to arrive, she would have to get permission from Fudge first, but she was stubborn enough to not take "no" as an answer when an emergency call had been placed.

Hurridly, Dumbledore scooped a handful of Floo powder, tossing it into the fire. "The Three Broomsticks!" green flames engulfed his body and he found himself in the fireplace of the empty Hogsmead pub.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Madam Rosmerta exclaimed. "What is going on? Two of your professors have just flooed through, they disapparated as soon as they left. Is something the-," Dumbledore did not hear what she was going to say. Now that he was past the Hogwarts wards, he disapparated as well. But there were two order members who did not instantly follow Dumbledore's orders. And both were currently at Hogwarts.

"Sirius," Remus' voice was urgent, "are you sure about this?" they were in a clearing within the Forbidden Forest, the ancient runes carved out in the soil and snow alike.

"This is the closest chance we are going to get," Sirius tried to reason. He heard thPatronusus message, he knew what was likely going on at this very minute. "If we don't do this now, then we'll be stuck waiting until the Summer Solstice or Halloween."

"I know that Sirius, I mean if this doesn't work. Those are our friends and colleagues out there right now. Any injury they sustain that we could have prevented is on us, Sirius."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Sirius nearly snapped. "Do you think I like the idea of knowing that any of our friends could die today? But, why was the Order formed, if not to combat Death Eaters. If they're at Stonehenge, they could be trying the exact same thing that we are. Harry would be as good as dead if we don't do this now!"

"If this doesn't work, Sirius…"

"Don't remind me." He placed the two knight figurines in the center of the runic circle. Opening to the correct page of the text, he began to chant.

Windham, capital of Midland.

Damn that Black Swordsman! Damn him to the deepest part of the abyss! Emperor Ganishka was in a foul mood as he clutched at the recently formed scar on his forehead. His mist apostle form was near unstoppable, how had an ordinary sword prevailed when a squad of flying apostles had failed? That's to that little stunt; he had been forced to withdraw his apostle form from battle, leaving the city to be taken by the God Hand in human disguise. The Hawk of Light would have the backing of the Holy See army as well as what remained of Midland's forces by now.

On top of that, when he and his forces returned to the city, he discovered that the inhabitants that he had been holding hostage as leverage had managed to escape as well. Damn that resistance band as well! They snuck the citizens out of the city while the bulk of his forces were away. With his leverage gone, the Band of the Hawk with the united armies of Midland would be making the final move against him now.

He still had his hundred thousand Kushan soldiers at his disposal placed outside of the city near the southern entrance. But he knew it would not be enough. With an army of apostles marching on them led by a God Hand… it didn't matter how many soldiers he stationed outside of the city, it would all be in vain. He needed power, more power than he had already as was his divine right.

He was left with one last ditch option. Ganishka proceeded to the store housing unit that had been used to birth the daka. All the impregnated women were long gone, snatched away by that meddlesome knight, Sir Laban. But the one thing that remained was the cage holding the captured and tortured apostles that he had defeated and had Daiba fashion into a shortcut to the abyss without the need of summoning the God Hand.

Daiba, the failure that he was if he was bested in magic by a boy, had examined the behelit of Ganiska, figuring out that the power bestowed upon apostles had to have come from somewhere. If enough were gathered and sprinkled with a little magic, there was a way to the darkness beyond.

"Emperor Ganishka!" the guard on duty graciously bowed at his arrival.

"Rise," Ganishka gave a lazy motion of his hand. "Open the top of the cage."

"What is it that's going in, Divine One?"

Ganishka steeled his resolve. "I shall be going in."

The guard was taken aback. "B-But, Emperor...! If you go in, how will-?"

Ganishka grabbed him by the shoulders of his armor, yanking him up to meet his dark eyes. "I am your Emperor, your one divine ruler! You will do as ordered, soldier! The sun will not set on the glorious Kushan Empire today! My strength, my success, lies with this strategy! With the power gifted to me, I shall crush these peasants underfoot!" he shoved the young guard to the ground. "Open the top of the cage, now!"

"Y-yes, Emperor Ganishka! Of course, Emperor Ganishka!"

The wrought iron top was opened and Ganishka tied a rope around his waist, being hoisted down to the swirling pit that congregated with the abomination of apostle bodies. It was a last ditch effort, he had been reborn as an apostle after being betrayed by his previous wife and son. Their lives made for his sacrifice to first become an apostle, now… he had nothing to sacrifice to obtain more. And power always came with a sacrifice that had to be made. Ganishka opened his mouth and the mist of his apostle form seeped out, covering his body as he was lowered into the pit.

The mist did not stop there however, it filled the storehouse, and out of the open windows. It was spreading all across the street of Windham, to the poorest gutter to the castle resting at the very heart of the city.

Ganishka could not see much, the swirling energy flooded all his senses. His body felt larger, though. It was like he was growing to occupy the mist that had seeped from his mouth, but it had no plans of ever stopping. There was a beating noise. Was it the sounds of the Band of the Hawk approaching, was it his own heartbeat, or… something else?

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

"God?" Ganishka uttered the word, and his mind went blank. The only word that kept repeating was the one thing he could comprehend through all of this darkness. A shining, shimmering, ray of bright light. "Light. Light. Light. Light. Light… light, light, light…"

The morning air was frigid, though it probably would not last long with the change of seasons on the horizon. But Laban could still see his breath as he exhaled, still tired from his escapade from a few nights previous. He had been able to sneak the remaining population of Windham out of the city by dressing them in the garb of Kushan foot soldiers, sneaking them out in a military fashion, so the actual Kushan would be none the wiser. It had been hours of work, but the results would speak for themselves when the time came.

Minister Foss was tending to his daughter and many other Midland children at the moment. Laban knew Foss to be a bit of a political snake, a spy for the King's second wife, but Foss' love for his daughter was genuine. His paternal instincts must have kicked in seeing how many orphans there were now; it was perhaps his best redeeming feature.

Ganishka still occupied the city, but that would not last for long. Laban and his escape party had joined with the Forces of the Band of the Hawk, led by none other than Sir Griffith. Laban had assumed him dead like so many others, but the proof was right in front of him, and with Princess – no, Queen Charlotte vouching for him, it was irrefutable. His good friend Sir Owen was among those who had traveled from Vritannis, joining their strength together with Griffith's. if Laban had to guess, he would say they had close to thirty thousand now against over a hundred thousand Kushan troops.

The odds did not appear to be in their favors, but Griffith had pulled off amazing feats back during the war with Chuder, winning victories left, right, and center like they were nothing. He had even retaken the Fortress of Doldrey, a feat that was considered impossible, and yet, Griffith had managed to do it. If anyone was capable of defeating this powerful Kushan Emperor, it would be Griffith.

However, as relieved as Laban was to see much-needed reinforcements, it did beg the question of how and where Griffith had made a recovery from the torture inflicted on him. The King had imprisoned him for a year, barely keeping him alive, and there had been no word from the scouts sent out after Griffith had been rescued about any trace of the Band of Hawk. It wasn't Laban's business to question, but it did linger in his mind as he saw Griffith seated atop his white stallion, eyeing the city of Windham from a distance. A thick fog seemed to have encompassed the entire city.

"Nervous, my friend?" Owen approached him.

"I'd be a fool if I wasn't." Laban took a chug from his wineskin filled with fresh stream water. It wasn't just soldiers from the Hawks or Midland Knights in attendance here today. The ones rescued from the city, the people from the country Griffith had rescued, the Queen and her handmaiden, the forces from Vritannis, all were here in assembly. Griffith had promised that this would end today, and Laban would hold him to his word. "We should station some elite soldiers to guard the queen, or at the very least have the civilians moved to a further location." They were a safe distance from the city, but too close for comfort. This open field provided little protection should the Kushan launch a surprise attack.

Bwaaaaaaahhh! Bwaaaaaaaahhh! Bwaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!

A war horn blew thrice. Laban and Owen galloped to the second line of Midland Knights, Griffith was insistent that his Band of the Hawk be the first to enter the fray, they would take the bulk of the enemy. "This is where it all changes," Owen wiped some sweat from his brow.

"I suppose it does," Laban swallowed.

The foggy mist that had coated the entire city of Windham was suddenly drawn in like someone sucking air through their lips. It was hard to see, but it looked to be stemming from one central location from within the city, sucking it all in until all the mist had been gobbled up. What happened next, would not have been a challenge for a blind man to see.

From where the mist had disappeared, a very solid mass was emerging. It looked to be a giant face of Emperor Ganishka, but it was a dull, leather-like flesh. No, there was another face and another. It took Laban a second, but he realized what he was seeing was a multitude of faces, all joined together to form a single – body?

That was what it looked like; a single, massive, body that had to be the width of the city itself. And it was growing. The faces, they were multiplying, spreading, not just stopping at the body, but spreading downward to form two, gargantuan legs and flat feet that could flatten their entire army underfoot with just one press. And still, it grew. Growing taller and higher, standing up full, and still finding a way to surpass the insurmountable might that it already had. The faces, however big many of them were, were now indistinguishable from one another, still present, but all joined to form the towering giant. Perhaps giant was the wrong word, this being was still growing, it was taller than any mountain, its legs, when spread, could space between the city of Windham. The "head" of this thing was not visible; it was hidden somewhere up in the clouds above. Correction, the clouds parted as the head touched them, forming an O ring around like a halo. And the arms, there were not two, two would not be enough. No, there were hundreds of pairs of arms jutting out from the straight-as a-stick torso. Each was long, unruly, wiggling about like a snake. This was no monster, this was a god. An angry, vengeful god that struck terror into the hearts of all those who looked up at its divine appearance.

"Is… t-that the Emperor?!" many a soldier called out, the smell of urine filled the air.

"We have to retreat! Sound the horn!"

But Griffith and his Band of Hawk sat on their horses, staring out at the Divine Emperor like it was nothing. Griffith raised his hawk-like helm, sky-blue eyes looking up, trying to distinguish the true face of the Emperor from this towering deity.

Griffith raised his hand, ordering any and all retreat to stop. "Sir Griffith!" young Mule Wolflame cried out. "We have to retreat! There is no way to combat against that!"

"Mule, stay with the Queen," Griffith ordered. "Only engage if you absolutely have to."

How can he sound so calm? Laban felt his beard itch. This is suicide if we attack.

Brrrrrmmm!

The Emperor had taken a step. His city-sized foot came crashing down on his own army. When the Emperor lifted his foot to take another step, tiny flecks fell from the bottom of the rounded foot. For as large as the Emperor was, he was moving slowly, the sheer size of his body weighing him down. The same could not be said for the flecks that had fallen from the bottom of his foot. Laban thought that they were just the dead bodies of the Kushan soldiers, but they were moving. Moving right toward the assembled Midland Restoration Force.

They look like… small trees, Laban realized. Like miniature versions of the Emperor.

"Those are demons!" a few soldiers took to shouting. "A god and demons! We must retreat!"

"Sir Griffith, we beg you listen to reason, we cannot win this!"

Griffith's almost angelic face remained unperturbed. He raised his hand, and the entire Band of the Hawk paid attention to what he was about to say. "War Demons, release."

There were multiple flashes of light, and the so-called "War Demons" of the Band of the Hawk became just that; demons. Gallant Sir Locus looked to be a centaur-like creature that held no trace of organic matter, just a shiny metallic surface, and a long, lance-like blade. The lone archer, Sir Irvine looked to be a giant direwolf with two horns and a strong string running between them; his torso protruded from above the hind legs, looking more wolfish himself. Sir Grunbeld, the tallest man alive, looked like a giant wingless dragon covered in glowing red and orange fiery crystals. The dark cloaked figure of Rakshas cackled in delight, holding two thin knives that poked out from his cloak. Then the form of Zodd, covered in dark fur, two large goat legs, a single horn, and snarling lion-like face.

There were others. A fast-moving green and turquoise blur that looked to be a girl with butterfly wings flying through the ranks, one with a strong crocodile mouth, ones with long, pointed heads, two mouths, dark fur, large, leathery wings; all sorts of things that should have been in children's fairy tales. This was looking less like a battlefield and more like a nightmare.

The War Demons charged, engaging in combat with the corpses of the Kushan forces transformed by the power of their Emperor. Grunbeld rammed two, crushing them with his large, crystal-covered feet, and further incinerating them with his fire breath.

Locus also seemed to dance as he galloped his way through the Kushan. His long, shiny, lance impaling three straight through. He galloped over to more, his movements blurred as his lance twirled around. But not a drop of blood staining his metallic body.

Irvine plucked some hair from his tail, and with a snap of his wrist, the hair straightened into the body of an arrow. With the organic string running between his two horns, he made a clean shot, sticking one of the approaching demons through the eye socket.

Rosine was a blur as she flew up high, only to then dive back down, cutting and breaking the flesh of the enemy demons with her extended stinger. While her venom worked, paralyzing the Kushan demons, Irvine took aim, finishing them off.

As for Zodd, he used his goat legs to kick the Kushan demons, with his bare hands tearing them in half. Growing his wings, Zodd kicked off, running three demons through with his singular horn. Giving a mighty, war cry as his opponents fell to the ground, never to rise again.

This is it! Zodd thought as he lifted a Kushan demon high above his head, breaking its body in half. This is a true war! A war between demons and gods!

Zodd tossed the broken halves at more approaching Kushan demons as the Emperor made to take another step toward them. The mighty foot sent shock waves throughout the ground, rattling teeth. As mighty as he and the other War Demons were, some seemed to be getting overwhelmed.

"To their aid!" one of those Midland Knights called, leading a weak Calvary charge. The humans were actually… aiding the War Demons? They could see with their own eyes what they were, but if one demon fought against one that was trying to end their lives, which might have had something to do with it. This would never happen under any normal circumstance of war. All the more reason for their leading God Hand to keep up his disguise. They would not follow him after the dust settled if he were to reveal himself now and end the Emperor where he towered over everything.

Zodd roared again, taking flight, and diving back down to impale more with his horn. Rosine took after his example, following a group of fliers, and swooping down to attack in a similar fashion. From the parted clouds up above from where the mouth must have been, balls of fire soared down; raining like it was the end of the world. Perhaps that isn't too far off.

The fire struck demons on both sides of the battlefield, not discriminating against any. The Emperor had clearly lost his mind to the power, moved only by basic instinct and urge. For all of his size, he was nothing more than just a puppet to power. Powerful, yes, but a failure who could not accept the role that was given to him. He wanted to defy the God Hand? Did he not think they knew all about it? They had planned it. This war, everything. Zodd knew he was just a pawn in it as well, but at least his desire for battle would be granted through this power play.

"Captian Zodd!" the God Hand in disguise called out to him. "I am in need of your assistance!"

He wasn't, of course, but the illusion had to be kept for those watching.

Zodd quickened his descent to the ground, making sure to squish some enemy demons beneath his hooves as he did do. "Sir Griffith, what would you have of me?" Like I don't already know.

"Take me to the head of the Emperor! This war comes to an end now!" Zodd offered him a paw to climb up onto his back. As soon as he was on, Zodd took to the air. The massive foot of Emperor Ganishka came crashing down once more, closer still to the rest of the forces and watching civilians.

Up he flew, leaving the fight behind and toward the true objective. The many arms of the Emperor twisted and turned, each trying its best to reach them, to swat them out of the sky, to grab them and crush them. The multitude of eyes on the faces that covered the body of this giant followed them, tracking their movement as they ascended higher and higher still, straight up to the top where the head of the Emperor resided.

Stonehenge, Scotland

Dumbledore looked at his assembled Order of the Phoenix. There was Minerva, Filius, a recently healed Alastor Moody, Dedalus Diggle, and Elphias Doge. Severus had to retain his position as a double agent, but where were Remus and Sirius? They should have gotten the message for a call to arms. He would have boded more on this if not for the scene of death that awaited them just outside the stone monoliths.

Muggle bodies lay strewn all across the ground. Bodies of men, women, and children all lay dead; killed for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. This was the work of Death Eaters for sure. The Dark Mark hovering above didn't need to be in place to figure that out.

"Do you like it, Dumbledore?" a cold voice spoke from behind one of the monoliths. "I wanted to leave a surprise for when you arrived. I do hope that it did not disappoint."

"You look much different, Tom." Severus had been telling the truth about his appearance. "And much of what you do is disappointing. We all had high hopes for you when you were back at school."

"And you opened the doors for me, and for that, I am grateful." His red eyes gleamed. "But all the magical education Hogwarts had to offer could not begin to compare to what a deal with angels could provide. The divine conquers the mortal."

"This is quite bold of you, making a move in broad daylight," Dumbledore noted. "Do you carry the protection of angels? I never took you for being very religious. And it will not save you from when the DMLE arrives. You will not be able to hide in the shadows any longer."

"Who's hiding?" Voldemort smiled cruelly. "I have nothing to fear, not even from you." The Death Eaters he had brought with him emerged.

"I would suspect not. You have your followers here with you." Dumbledore counted twelve in total.

"And you brought members from you Order," Voldemort smiled. "You are in no position to insinuate that I am a coward. Especially when you call for help from your Ministry." He looked to Bellatrix Lestrange who was glaring at Alastor. "Would you kindly give a demonstration, Bella? Show them why we have nothing to fear."

It was like a black, form-fitting smoke coated Bellatrix's body; the only visible features were her glowing purple eyes. She cackled madly as she floated across the ground like a specter through a graveyard. Her form seemed to pass right through Alastor. He kept to his phrase of "constant vigilance," firing off a handful of spells including a few killing curses before she made a pass through his body.

"Aaagh!" Moody dropped to his knees, crying in pain.

"Fitting," Voldemort stroked his wand. "Death Eaters taking the form of specter-like ghosts. You can wide that look off your face, Dumbledore, my power lies beyond that."

Dumbledore wasn't sure who fired off the next curse, but spells began flying, but none seemed to damage the stone monoliths that made up the popular structure. The Death Eaters that Voldemort brought with him all assumed the form Bellatrix currently possessed, stalking through the structure, launching spells of their own and making charges through the bodies of the assembled Order members.

Minerva was dueling both Lestrange brothers, keeping a distance so that neither would run her through.

Filius was taking on two as well. His skill as an ex-dueling champion showed as he launched several spells that kept the smoke form of the Death Eaters at bay. As skilled as Filius was, he had yet to produce a spell that caused any lasting damage to the Death Eaters.

Dedalus Diggle and Elphias Doge already lay dead, their bodies joining the slaughtered muggles, and their eyes staring helplessly off into space.

Dumbledore himself dueled with Voldemort, both wizards lobbing off jets of spells left and right. Dumbledore fired off five consecutive stunners in a row, all of which Voldemort knocked aside, a taunting smile on his new features. Kicking it up a notch, Dumbledore sent a bombarda at Voldemort's feet, pushing him back a ways.

"Avada Kedvra!" Voldemort yelled, a jet of green shot from his wand. Not able to dodge in time, Dumbledore sent his Patronus to act as a shield, taking the full blast of the killing curse. "You're not tiring already, are you, Dumbledore? I'm just barely warmed up."

"Expelliarmus!" Dumbledore went with one of the more common spells, knowing it would infuriate Voldemort to be treated like a child. Voldemort's red eyes watched as his wand went flying out of his hand. "Surrender, Tom. The DMLE will be here shortly. Your plans are foiled."

Even without a wand, the smile never left Voldemort's face. "Depalso!" Dumbledore was knocked back off of his feet by Voldemort's use of wandless magic. "Like I said, Dumbledore, making a deal with angels was more beneficial than anything that I learned while I was at school. Thanks to them, my body was restored. I am made of pure magic. I need no wand to kill you." His red eyes shone with malice. "Crucio!"

It was like getting stabbed by hundreds of knives, his insides were on fire, his brain was melting out of his ears, he was hearing his sister's screams once again.

Several loud pops rang out through the air, and the pain lessened. He saw Amelia Bones rushing to the scene with two dozen Aurors following in her stead. The sight of the Dark Mark hanging high overhead told the entire story to them more than words ever could.

"Death Eaters, to me!" Voldemort shouted, his voice magically amplified. "Today marks the first day of our victory over fools like Dumbledore! Our ceremony here is complete, the gate is open, waiting for the bridge to be lowered from the other side!" his wand floated back into his outstretched hand. Before anyone from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement could fire off a spell, Voldemort and his Death Eaters disapparated from the scene. Only a pile of corpses, runic symbols, and the Dark Mark were left of their work there today.

Minerva and Amelia helped him to his feet; his head hung low in shame. Voldemort might have made his existence known, but it did not matter. They had failed.

Zodd came to a landing on the top of the Emperor's head. Instead of a done, the head seemed to cave in a bit like a crater. The surface was decorated with more faces of the Emperor, all much smaller than what made up the rest of the body, these were more human-sized. But there was one face that stood out above the rest. Right in the center of the crater-like head, was a face that was glowing. Unlike the others, this one had its eyes shut tight.

Offering his paw, Zodd let the disguised God Hand off of his back. At last, Femto dropped the disguise. The white armor became dark, the helm became one with his flesh, and his cape was now the leathery wings. Up here they were away from the prying eyes of the rest of the humans. No one would need to know what was about to happen up here, but they would live with the results.

Femto knelt down, his hand outstretched; ready to touch the face of the Emperor. And then there was a ripple; vertical slash that a sword emerged from. A sword that glowed, and was covered in the facial features of behelits.

From out of that ripple in the fabric of reality, a mounted figure stepped out. Sitting astride his horse was one of the ones Zodd longed to fight against; the one who called himself Skull Knight. That reality-defying sword of his was raised high above him, ready to cut down on Femto, perhaps be the first to deal the first real damage against him.

"Rraggh!" Zodd roared, charging forward. It had less to do with protecting Femto, but more to be the one to best this nemesis once and for all. There didn't need to be an audience, all that needed to happen was the fight.

But something happened. Femto caught the strike. Not the sword, but the energy that came from it, it was held between his long fingers like a quill. "I was wondering when you would show up. Void suspected you would, and Slan informed me of this sword of yours. It fit all too well. I thank you."

Femto put the strike on the face of Emperor Ganishka who opened his eyes to see it happen. The face began to split apart, a massive wave of energy being released in the process. Zodd and Femto took flight, avoiding what was to come.

Laban could not believe what he was witnessing; humans and demons fighting alongside one another to fight other demons. If the one known as the Black Swordsman were here, which side would he have fought on? He was said to slay demons, but what would he think of something like this? Hell, what did Laban think of all of this?

Before he could get ready to stab another Kushan demon, the thing suddenly dropped dead. All of the Kushan demons started to drop dead. The main body of the Emperor was releasing a blinding white light, spreading from the head, all down its body, and outward as well.

It was a giant wave of dazzling white energy that, much like an empire, kept spreading. It spread over the land, it spread over mountains, it spread through the forest, it was spreading over the entire continent, across the entire world.

From the deck of the Sea Horse, Harry felt the journey going smooth. Roderick had promised smooth seas and that was what he had delivered so far. Casca was chasing Puck around the deck, Isidro was climbing the mast. Serpico was chatting with one of the crew, and Guts was leaning against the rail; his body wrapped in gauze from the last fight.

Harry meanwhile stood by one of the rails with Schierke and Farnese, going over how to perform a spell. "And Roderick was okay with you wanting to learn magic?" Harry asked.

"He said it would be fascinating to have a betrothed who could perform spells," Farnese admitted. "I don't know if he was being serious or not, but… it is nice to know that he does not plan to impede my progress to become a witch."

"That's good to hear, Farnese," Schierke smiled at their only pupil. "Now, the thing to keep in mind about this spell is-,"

"All hands on deck!" Roderick shouted. "Get us in prime wind direction!"

And Harry saw why he was giving the orders; a giant wall of white energy was racing toward the ship ready to overtake them. No matter how fast they traveled, they weren't going to be able to outrun it. "Brace for impact!"

Harry and everyone else grabbed tight to the nearest thing nailed down on the Sea Horse. A sensation familiar to entering his luminous body filled Harry and it was like he was being pulled. Pulled up, down, from the sides, from both physical and astral.

The Sea Horse rocked, the blinding flash of white had passed, and a wave splashed over the side of the ship. Harry spit some of it out. It… didn't taste salty. It tasted fresh.

"All hands, report," Roderick wiped some water from his brow.

"Land ho, Captain!" the call came from the crow's-nest.

That wasn't possible, they were three days out at sea, and there should be no land. But sure enough, off the port side, there was land. Land and another ship anchored not too far from shore. There was an expanse of forest, and overlooking everything was an ancient looking castle.

Outside of Windham

No one could believe their eyes. There was no Windham; a new city was in place. Polished white and looking like the capital from the time of old King Gaiseric. It was a paradise looking place, fresh and new. All of their eyes were drawn toward it. But it was nothing compared to where this city was located. The giant body of the Emperor had not crumbled or fallen to pieces, but it had changed. It was a giant white tree. The arms were branches, spreading out into the sky, encompassing all, connecting not just their world, but the heavens above. it was the largest tree in the world; the World Tree.

Zodd landed in front of them all, offering a paw for Griffith to dismount. The savior of humanity pointed toward the city. And it was like a painting. The World Tree and the White Hawk.

A/N: So it finally happened, I've been hinting at it since the first scene of chapter 1 with Firenze, but this was the point where Harry is back in the HP side of things. I tried to make references to this point whenever mentioning magic by trying to fit in a comparison to a tree. With the World Tree in place, all astral layers can be connected, hence why the ritual with Sirius and Remus was able to work. I'm looking forward to writing the coming chapters, and Happy St. Patrick's Day. Thank you for reading.


	43. Chapter 43

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

"All hands, report!" Roderick commanded from the helm of the Sea Horse. The Lith warship slowed its pace in these new, unfamiliar waters.

"We're all clear below deck, Captain," the quartermaster reported.

"Aye, her hull is perfectly intact," Roderick's first mate further elaborated. "Not one leak to be found."

Roderick gave a curt nod. He pulled a spyglass from the inner pocket of his sea coat, directing it toward the other ship that was anchored close to the pebble-covered shore. He gave no further command for the moment, trusting his crew enough that he knew that they knew what they were doing.

"Do you recognize the sail?" Serpico more or less floated up to the helm.

Roderick handed the spyglass around. "Never seen it before in my life. The design is too western to be Kushan, and it certainly isn't from Lith or Midland. Chuder mainly keeps to warships, and I didn't spot enough cannon's for on the deck for that to be the case. That leaves the option for pirate ship open, but… they would at least have someone on board, walking the deck."

"Let's fire a cannonball at it!" Isidro offered, climbing down from the mast.

"Matten down the hatches," Puck said, a mix of humor and confusion.

Roderick still kept his eye trained on the other ships billowing flags. "No need to go making enemies with what looks to be a luxury cargo ship." He turned to his first mate. "Do make sure we have hands manning the port side cannons, just to play it safe."

"Aye, Captain!" the first mate nodded. He was a man of at least fifty with long, grey and grizzled sideburns that came down to his chin. To Harry, the first mate looked how a typical navy man would look.

"What do you plan on doing?" Serpico asked. "Are we to make contact somehow?"

"Frankly, I don't think anyone is on that boat, not at the moment, anyway." Roderick still observed the other ship. "They have no men walking the deck and no lookout in the crow's-nest. If I was a betting man, and I am, I would say that whoever that boat belongs to must be up in that castle at the moment."

"Yes, but whose castle?" Magnifico wiped some spittle from the corner of his mouth. The third Vandimion had not taken to the lurch of energy well.

"There is a small fishing village and outpost on an isolated island, but we shouldn't have come across it at three days out to sea. And that castle is beyond anything they could afford."

"I don't think we are at sea anymore," Harry chimed in. "I don't know if anyone else got a faceful of that splash, but it sure didn't taste like salt water."

Roderick ran a hand through his partly wet hair, taking a sniff to see if it was true. "Holy – well, color me stumped."

Farnese was equally confused as all of them. "Teachers, do you suppose that whatever that white wave was, that it was the source of our being… well, here?"

"It was magical in nature, no doubt about that," affirmed Schierke. "Surely we all felt a sensation as it passed over us."

"Yeah," Guts winced slightly as he walked over. He was still a bit stiff after getting zapped by Ganishka. "It almost felt like when you pull me out of my armor."

Serpico nodded. "I thought it was just in my head, but, it felt like the sylphs in my blade and cloak acted up in some fashion, almost like they became stronger in some fashion."

"Magic, you say?" Roderick rubbed his chin "Not caused by the three we have onboard?" the two mages and their disciple fixed the captain with a withering gaze. "Not blaming anyone," Roderick said, quick to defend himself. "But us men of the sea tend to be a bit superstitious."

The voice of Isidro yelled from the side of the boat's hull. "What the hell is that?!"

Harry caught sight of a light-red appendage breaking the surface of the water. There was a multitude of white suckers running down the length of it. The tentacle submerged itself before any weapons were drawn or spells were cast. Something big moved beneath the hull of the Sea Horse, a long, red body that dove deep into the dark waters below. Some more tentacles were barely visible as they propelled the creature down.

"I believe," Roderick didn't sound like he believed, "that was a squid. They're rare creatures; they reside in the depths, hardly ever making contact with people. My grandfather once hunted one. They're only supposed to be native to salt-water, though." He frowned. "Another mystery to all of this."

"Castles and mystery?" Guts asked, sounding as tired as he looked. "You two," he pointed to Harry and Schierke, "anyway to find out how many people there are at that place with your magic or whatever?"

"If we concentrate on od signatures, yeah," Harry nodded.

"Guts, you're not thinking of fighting again so soon, are you?" asked Schierke.

Guts directed his attention to some of the flickering torch lights coming from up at the castle, he seemed to be squinting, like the light was out of focus. "That's all up to them, and if our captain decides to go ashore." Looks were cast to Roderick.

"Hm. I have taken my share of gambits in the past, but for a situation like this… I'm not about to endanger my crew by making a rash decision. As superstitious as us sea folk are, I'd rather place my lot in with your magical talents first before making a decision that could be swimming with the fishes."

"Are you serious, Roderick?" Magnifico questioned, looking like he might throw up again. "You would go off the advice of a couple of-,"

"-Of what, Magnifico?" Farnese asked her older brother. Magnifico opened his mouth, trying to think of how to correctly put it into words.

"Ha!" Roderick laughed, despite of the situation. "My friend, you look like a fish gasping for water when you do that. And I can see that you may not have been exaggerating when you said your sister could be scary at times. Besides, have you forgotten what you saw in Vritannis? Their magic certainly came in handy next to the Chief here. Try having a little faith once and a while. Mr. and Miss. Witch, if you would so kindly…"

Taking Roderick up on his offer, Harry directed his focus toward the castle, letting go of his physical sense of self as he went to connect to a larger plane of reality. He did it no different than he would have any other time, but the sense of od that hit him was like taking a blow from Nosferatu Zodd in full apostle form. There was just so much of it, magical od, and it all seemed to stem right from the castle. Smaller flows of od, stronger flows of od, even the castle seemed to have four different types of od flowing through it. Harry knew that it was possible for objects to have od, Guts' Dragonslayer had its own, as well as the Berserker Armor and behelit too. It felt more like Flora's spirit-tree than anything else, though; ancient, perhaps close to a thousand years of age. There were people there, no doubt about that, and all of them had magic in some way.

But it wasn't just the castle that was emitting high levels of od, the forest was too. The od there seemed different though, more attuned with nature like Flora had been, but different that it felt more like how the troll cave had been when it had manifested, albeit, much less dark and feeling evil. Magical creatures lived in those woods and plenty of them too. Some od felt lighter than others, but others, well, it felt like there was a swarm of something within those woods, and not in the least bit friendly. The closest human od Harry was able to feel out, was that of two adults, standing near the shore. He pulled back to his physical body, Schierke doing the same.

"You felt that too?"

"Felt what?" Isidro asked.

"All of that od, yeah, it was impossible not to."

"And… by the shore, near the forest?"

"What's by the forest?" Isidro asked again.

"The two people."

"You saw people?" Serpico asked.

"Felt, more like it," Harry clarified. "Whatever this castle is, it's filled to the brim with magical od."

"Ooooohda," Casca tried to repeat.

"There are more mages inside," Schierke further added. "More than any living on the main continent."

"Hey, Puck!" Ivalera called to the other elf.

"You called?" Puck saluted.

"There are mages living on your home island, right?" Ivalera asked.

"Sure are!"

Ivalera directed his attention to the castle. "Look familiar?"

"Hmmm. Nope, doesn't ring any bells to me. King Danann isn't one for castles."

Well, that rules this place out as being Elfhelm. "You said there were two people near the forest of the shore?" Guts asked them. They nodded and Roderick took the spyglass once more.

"Huh? Well would you look at that?" he handed the spyglass around, letting them all get a chance to see. Standing on near the forest were two men, one shabby and the other with black hair. Both wore a set of robes.

From on the shore itself, Sirius and Remus looked out over the Black Lake, the image of a new boat was unmistakable and unforgettable to the two who just finished performing the summoning ritual. They had done it, the ritual was complete, meaning only one thing; Harry must be onboard.

"Sirius…" Remus asked, not taking his eyes off of the boat. "Do you realize what this means?"

"It worked." Sirius wanted to jump up in the air right now, give a loud yell, and swim right out there to go and finally meet his godson after all the years wasted away in that damn prison. The more sensible side to him also threw its two cents in; cautioning him of whomever else might be on that boat, it was far too big for just one person. They could be holding Harry prisoner, or he could be one of them, forced to join their crew to survive for those years he had been missing. Or, the more terrifying possibility, Harry would have no idea who he was and not know how to react to seeing him.

It wasn't as if he and Remus just performed the ritual and Harry magically materialized right in front of them and knowing exactly who they were and where he was right now. No, Harry had disappeared at a young age, he was now on a boat of some kind, and would have no knowledge of magic, how to use it, or even who he and Remus were.

Maybe for now, but if Harry were agreeable to listen and hear him and Remus out, they could sort out this whole thing, explain everything to him. Harry would… what would he want? There was only one way of finding that out. Acting on true Marauder instinct, Sirius fired a burst of red sparks into the air for those on the boat to see.

"Sirius?!" Remus asked hurriedly. "I know that you're anxious to see Harry again, but we don't know who else on that boat is friendly. They could be muggles, the design looks similar enough to be one, an old one at that."

"If they are muggles, don't you think summoning their boat off course to a strange castle more than counts as exposure?" Sirius asked. "If they are, we broke the Statue of Secrecy then instead of something they can pass off as a flare going up."

"All I'm saying is-,"

A set of red sparks flew from off the deck of the boat with a seahorse masthead. They had responded, and with magic at that. "Looks like breaking the Statue isn't a concern anymore." Sirius allowed a sly grin to slide onto his face. "It looks like they have wizards onboard." Does that mean Harry might already know some magic?

Remus fired another round of red sparks into the air, signaling back to whoever shot up the other set. They waited with paused breaths before two more sets of red lights were shot up in rapid succession. "They seem just as curious about us as we do them."

"They haven't tried to open fire on us with those cannons of theirs, so our natural charm must be holding out. Mine more than yours, of course." Sirius put the tip of his wand to his throat casting the sonorous charm.

"THIS IS SIRIUS BLACK AND MY FRIEND, REMUS LUPIN. WE DON'T MEAN TO ALARM YOU, JUST TO MAKE CONTACT. IF YOU'RE AGREEABLE TO IT, YOU CAN MEET US ON THE SHORE OF THE BLACK LAKE. BRING AS MANY ASHORE AS YOU WANT. WE'LL BE WAITING IF YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT."

Remus uncovered his ears. "A little warning next time you do that, Sirius. The whole castle might have heard you."

"You teach there, you know how loud those kids talk, I doubt that I disturbed the infamous Hogwarts gossip mill." It was a risky move though. He had no idea what type of people were on that boat, just that they had magic and at least tried to establish some sort of communication with the sparks. It wasn't Harry just yet, but it was a start.

"Well the students will have plenty to gossip about," Remus responded. "There's no covering this up. Look."

A small rowboat was being lowered down into the water, the number of figures in it totaling about eight, but they were too far away to discern any noticeable features. One of them did seem a lot taller than the others and covered in black with something large strapped to his back. The rowboat slowly and cautiously made its way toward the shore.

"Are you prepared to do the talking?" Remus asked him, not looking away from the advancing boat.

"Remus, this is me we're talking about."

"Should I feel at ease by that?"

Sirus didn't say it out loud, but he was wondering the same thing himself.

Dumbledore was held up from under his arms by Minerva and Madam Bones, the two witches supporting him as they apparated back to Hogsmeade Village. The operation to stop Voldemort from doing whatever it was he had done had been a complete failure. They had lost two Order members, and he and Moody were in a terrible state from Voldemort and his new and improved Death Eaters. The only good thing to come about from that mission was that Amelia Bones now had evidence of Voldemort's return. Between her word as head of DMLE and all the pensive memories she could use, there was no denying it at this point.

"I assure you, Professor Dumbledore, as soon as I return to the Ministry, I'll be having a few choice words with our Minister of Magic."

"Thank you, Amelia," Dumbledore wheezed out, the lingering effect of the torture curse still bogging him down. "I trust your better judgment on this." He attempted to shake free of the two witches.

"Not so fast, Albus!" Minerva scolded in her Scottish accent. "Don't go around putting too much strain on yourself. We'll be to Poppy's shortly, she'll have you fixed up and right."

"Far be it from me to pick an argument with you, Minerva." He put on a smile to hide the wince that came with every step he took. Voldemort seemed to have put more power into that curse. That or he was just that strong now. The rest of the party they had brought with them had either stayed to clear up the muggle authorities at Stonehenge, or gone back to the Ministry to file reports of their own.

Even though they were farther north than Stonehenge was, the weather seemed more agreeable at this time of morning. Dumbledore was thankful for that, it made it so much easier on his old bones as opposed to how it would be if it were snowing. The headmaster felt his vision begin to glaze over, his thoughts drifting to whatever his eyes could discern. The Hogwarts grounds this time of year were always a delight to see. Smoke lightly rising from Hagrid's Hut, the sway of the Whomping Willow. Even the two other schools transportations had added to the scenery. The pegasus' were tended to by Hagrid and the two ships bobbing in the waters of the Black Lake really – two ships? Dumbledore concentrated his attention down to the Black Lake. His eyes were not deceiving him.

"Hold on a little longer, Albus," Minerva tried dragging him along. "We're almost to Poppy. She'll fix-,"

"-Minerva, what is that ship?"

"It's from Durmstrang," she replied, not looking over. "Keep your eyes open, don't fall asleep."

"No, the other one." He wasn't hallucinating; he still had sense enough for that.

"Focus, Albus. There's no…" Minerva forgot to finish her sentence as she too spotted the second ship that was positioned in the Black Lake. Two figures that looked to be Sirius and Remus were standing on the shore of the lake, with Sirius shooting red sparks up into the air. The second boat responded in kind after a minute or two by sending up red sparks of their own.

"You weren't expecting more company, were you?" Amelia Bones asked, perhaps less confused than Dumbledore was, but not by much.

"It is as unexpected to you as it is to us," Dumbledore managed to stand up a little straighter, his vision hazed before zoning in. "It would appear this is what took priority over answering the call to arms earlier."

Even from where they stood, the sound of Sirius' magically magnified voice carried over to them, inviting whoever was on the boat to come to shore to talk things out. "Amelia, take Albus up to the hospital wing," McGonagall instructed the other woman. "I will see to this."

"Minerva, as much as you mean well, I am still Headmaster of Hogwarts," Dumbledore reminded her. "If anyone is to be down there, it is I."

"Headmaster you might be, but you still took a cruciatus from You-Know-Who. Even you are not invincible."

"I am not invincible, no," Dumbledore agreed, "But an unknown vessel has wandered onto Hogwarts ground. It is within my responsibility to deal with it above my own person."

A new development happened, but not from the boat or the shore, but from the doors of Hogwarts being opened and Severus Snape striding towards them, black robes billowing behind him as he walked. "Headmaster," Severus addressed curtly. "I trust you see what is happening down by the lake?"

"Who else in the castle has seen what is happening?" Dumbledore asked, not wanting more spectators crowing around this new development.

"The school is enjoying brunch in the great hall," Severus lightly drawled. "I saw sparks flying from out the window and have come to investigate. Should I have alerted more staff?"

"No, Severus. No, best to keep this hushed while we can. With what is sure to make the headlines tomorrow, a panic is the last thing we need." Perhaps not even tomorrow's headlines, news of Voldemort's return would blow up right away. The Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, even the Quibbler would be publishing articles about his return. Dumbledore freed his arms from both Amelia and Minerva, finding newfound vigor with his duties as headmaster, not that his strength would last long. He was barely containing his legs from shaking from supporting the rest of him. "It's best we make haste down to the lake." A rowboat was already making its way from the main vessel and toward the shore where Sirius and Remus waited.

Dumbledore was even a bit surprised himself at how he was holding up as his long strides carried him across the grounds and down toward the lake. Minerva and Severus followed closely behind, ready to support him should he collapse. He would not fall. Not now, anyway. A sense of anticipation kept him moving, driving him forward; he needed to see what this was all about. If he would like it or not, was yet to be seen.

Harry sat between Guts and Serpico as Roderick stood at the helm of the rowboat, spyglass in hand, observing the two strangers standing at the shore, waiting for them. Among their company included Schierke, Farnese, Isidro, Casca, and the two elves. Serpico and Guts rowed, while Harry and Schierke were on the standby to use magic, should the encounter go sour. The two men, now identified as Sirius and Remus, hadn't moved from their spot since calling them out to meet.

Schierke, meanwhile, was fiddling with her hat, making sure it was on straight, and fiddling with other parts of her outfit. "Nervous?" Harry asked.

"Anxious, more like it," she adjusted her hat once more. "Apart from that Daiba, these are the first mages outside of Mistress Flora that we're meeting. I don't feel any negative od from them, so first introductions are important. Besides, that castle is filled to the brim with magical od. If all goes well here, well…" she looked at Guts, "maybe they would have a method of helping Casca."

Guts' lone eye briefly regarded the witch, but never losing track of his rowing. "If they're anything like Flora, generosity might come naturally to them," Harry recalled the kind smiles that the old witch would give after every successful spell performed. She had never mentioned other mages living in Midland, just Merlin, and his visit. Harry wondered what Flora would do if she were to meet these fellow mages. She would have least given them a chance to talk, she did take him in to teach him the ways of magic.

The boat neared the shore and Harry was better to see the two men better. Both wore robes, and while they seemed to both be the same age, the shabbier of the two looked much older, with streaks of grey in his brown hair. He was old before his time, almost like Guts looked after he donned the Berserker Armor. The second man had a full head of dark hair with some well-trimmed facial hair, and a face that looked like it could turn into a mischievous smile at any point in time. But right now, his face held no confident or boyishly playful expression. He seemed almost… thoughtful, at least, at the moment.

The bow of the boat breached the rocky shore, small waves lightly lapping at the sides of the hull. No one spoke as the two mages observed the recently docked party. Taking the initiative, Roderick stepped from the boat, wearing his best and most charming smile.

"Greetings."

"Same to you," the dark-haired one spoke first. "I take it that you're the captain of that boat out there?"

"That would be me, Roderick of Lith, Captain of the Sea Horse. And you must be Sirius black, the one who called us out here."

"The one and only." The trace of that smile somewhat manifested on his face. "The shabby-looking fellow over here is my friend, Remus Lupin." Lupin offered a tilt of his head and a polite smile and wave. Lupin's eyes passed over each of them, studying their faces. As his gaze passed by Harry, it lingered. It was like Lupin was seeing a ghost, a ghost that he once knew quite well.

"Considering that you seem to be the dignitary at the moment, permission to come ashore?" Roderick negotiated with Black.

"I wouldn't call myself a dignitary, but permission granted."

So far so good.

'He does seem friendly enough,' Serpico concurred.

'Where are their staffs?' Schierke mentally asked. Harry looked, but he saw no staffs for either of the two men. Instead, they held… wands.

Wand users. Harry recalled what Flora had once told him about wands, it was practical to use, but far less powerful than a staff. The user couldn't channel or harness enough magic with it, but the spells cast would be faster to do at a much less powerful rate. Not to mention, it would fail to fully allow them access to their luminous bodies for astral magic. As a sign of good intentions, they kept their wands at their sides, not looking for a conflict. Guts was eyeing their wands as well, recognizing the gesture of neutrality, but not trust them fully.

Roderick stepped from the boat, Guts following him, ending with Farnese assisting Casca to the shore. "Much appreciated," Roderick offered a small smile, trying to establish a good impression. "I've introduced myself to you fine people, I suppose I should do the same for my companions here." It did amaze Harry how quickly Roderick was accepting all of this. He suspected it had to do with being brought up from a high standing family; a mask of sorts had to be crafted. He did take the acceptance of magic surprisingly well after Vritannis, and still seemed keen on marrying Farnese. Or he could just be a personable sort of guy; Harry did not know him well enough to make a final judgment on that just yet.

"The Chief here is Guts. I'm chartering him and his companions on their journey."

Both wizards attention were drawn to the fearsome appearance of Guts and the massive length of the sword strapped to his back. "Erm…" Black cleared his throat. "Well, that's quite the sword you got there, uh, Guts."

Guts' eye drifted to their wands that were still held at their sides. "Yeah."

"And I'm his partner, the Mighty Puck!" Puck landed on Guts' shoulder, creating quite the sight.

"Oh, you have a pixie with you," Black observed the small creature.

"Huh?" Puck looked around. "Pixie? Where?"

Ivalera flew over to him. "He means you, chestnut."

"Me? But I'm an elf! Don't they know what an elf is?"

"Forgive my friend," Lupin interjected. "The elves we are familiar look quite a bit different."

"I'm willing to bet our elves are better," Isidro boasted. "Name's Isidro by the way, you'll be hearing it a lot once I become a master swordsman."

"That is… nice to know," Lupin gazed over to Harry once more.

"My lovely betrothed, Farnese, and her personal attendant Serpico." Roderick wisely left out Farnese's last name. If they recognized her as a Vandimion who participated in a multitude of witch hunts, then this meeting just might go south real fast.

"Greetings," Farnese gave a polite curtsey, even when not in a fancy dress. "As one studying under two mages, it is a pleasure to meet others of the craft."

A small bit of confusion crossed both men's faces. Had they made the connection between Farnese and her family? "You're a witch as well?" Black asked.

"Are you attending Ilvermorny or Salem?" Lupin sounded more at ease asking this question, it kept his eyes from looking back and forth between all of them and at Harry; always back to Harry.

"Pardon, but I am unfamiliar with those names," Farnese told him. "I am learning from my two teachers."

Looks like someone beat us to the punch with the idea for a magical school, Harry mentally conveyed to Schierke.

She took a second to respond. 'That doesn't seem right. This Lupin man speaks like it's common knowledge where we are now. But for as long as I've known Mistress Flora, she never mentioned the idea of magical institutions. For as long as she was studying magic, there's no way she didn't know.'

Roderick spoke again. "Yes, our two young mages have lent a helping hand with her studies. Their tricks certainly helped us out of a tough spot a few days ago." Roderick patted both their shoulders. "The Miss. Schierke and young Harry."

Both wizards were looking at them now. Their eyes were drawn to Harry like they were seeing an old friend once again for the first time in years. Lupin shifted on his feet, looking a bit unsure what to say. Black, meanwhile, broke into a wide smile, but his eyes held a trace of longing that had just been rekindled with a sense of hope. It seemed similar to how Guts looked after rescuing Casca from St. Albion.

"Well," Black ran a hand through his dark mane, "It's certainly nice to meet you, Harry… Schierke." He directed his greeting more towards Harry. "You are… trained in magic?" His eyes never left Harry's, searching his emerald green eyes with his darker ones.

"I am," Harry answered, not looking away from Black. The other wizard looked… relieved? Concerned? Proud? Some mix between all three, perhaps.

"The two of us studied under the same teacher," Schierke mentioned. "As a pupil of Mistress Flora, it is nice to meet fellow members of the art."

Black hardly seemed to have heard her, still focused on Harry. "We're more than happy to welcome you – all of you – here." He extended his hand toward Harry. "The pleasure is mine to welcome you."Black still kept his wand at his side, so Harry slowly extended his hand to shake. "Nice handshake you got. Reminds me a lot of a friend of mine."

"Uh… thanks." How else was he supposed to respond to that? Flora had her weird tendencies, but Black just seemed awkward talking to him.

Guts picked up on the rather uncomfortable vibe. "Hey, your friend isn't into boys, is he?"

"Absolutely not," Lupin assured him. "Sirius has always been strange; I can personally vouch for that. He just gets a bit anxious when he doesn't know what to say, or how to properly say it. No doubt you all have your fair share of questions, as do we. Right, Sirius?"

Black nodded, giving Harry some space. "Right, sorry if I came across as a bit too forward."

"A bit?" Isidro asked. "You looked like you were going to start crying."

"Still no tact, as always," Serpico commented. "Not ideal for making first impressions."

If Sirius was offended by the comment, he did well at hiding it. He actually laughed. "Personally, I always found tact a bit boring, thanks for the wake-up call."

"Pardon," Lupin spoke up. "But what of the last member of your party?" Casca was still sticking close to Farnese, occasionally poking her toe in the water.

"Coll," Casca whined as she pulled her toe free.

Guts shifted slightly. "Her name's Casca."

Hearing her name being said, Casca snuck a peek at the two wizards. She shuffled closer to Farnese, not ready to meet the two others.

"Right," Roderick spoke again, "now that we're all on a name basis, maybe it's time to sort this confusion out. For as long as I've been sailing, I've never made a stop at a place such as this. I'm glad my crew isn't here to see me ask this, but, where exactly is this place? We weren't expecting to reach land this soon."

Black and Lupin shared a look as if to decide which of them was going to be the first to speak or, even how to answer the question. As luck would have it, neither of them got to answer.

"Remus! Sirius!" an old, practically ancient looking man yelled out their names in an equally wizened voice. This ancient man was running down to them, dressed in a purple robe decorated with yellow star and moon designs. It was a bizarre attire, even for anyone claiming to be a wizard in Midland society. His long, silver beard reached down to his waist, a wand held tightly in his wrinkled hand.

He was followed by three other people, two women, and one man. The first woman wore emerald green robes and had her hair in a tight bun underneath her pointed hat that was similar to the one Schierke always wore. The second woman had a monocle and wore darker and more practical robes. The other man was much younger than the one with the beard, looking to be around Black or Lupin's age. His dark hair looked greasy as it came down to his chin. The way his robes billowed behind him as he walked made him appear to be some sort of bat.

The aged man came closer and Casca anxiously pulled at Farnese's sleeve. "Oooo mn." Guts partially pulled out Dragonslayer.

"Who's the old man?"

Lupin blanched a little. "Our boss." Guts still kept his hand on Dragonslayer's hilt, clearly not trusting the new arrivals.

"Sirius! Remus! What is going on here?" the old man tried to keep his voice as calm as possible. The old man's sparkling blue eyes looked extremely tired as he looked over the landing party from the Sea Horse. "Who are these-," his eyes landed on Harry and widened. "Harry Potter."

'Harry, do you know this man?' Schierke instantly asked.

Never seen him before in my life.

'He appears to know you, teacher,' Farnese added.

"Er, how do you know my-?"

The old man started for him, dropping his wand, grabbing both of Harry's shoulders as if he were on the verge of collapse. He was studying Harry's face, but unlike Black and Lupin, he was not focused on his eyes, but the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

"Harry Potter…" his face and long, crooked nose were much too close. It was a random thought, but the man looked like an older version of the King of Midland from what Harry could remember of the man. The same king who lusted for his daughter and labeled the Band of the Hawk as enemies of Midland.

Harry pulled his sword from its scabbard, poking the tip into the old man's stomach. "Back off, old man!"

Serpico and Roderick shuffled uneasily, slowly drawing their weapons as well. The three other wand-users aimed them at the growing tension. The old man did not seem to get the point, still reaching out toward Harry like a madman.

"Is it really you, Harry?" he reached out those wrinkled hands again to grab at him.

"What's your problem?! Back up already!" the old man hardly seemed to hear what Harry was telling him, forcing Harry's hand in the matter. With his staff, Harry shoved the elderly man back, Black and Lupin moving to grab the old man's arms, further restraining him.

"Expelliarmus!" the greasy man yelled. Harry's sword flew from his grasp. The greasy man was about to utter another incantation, but the massive heap of metal that was Dragonslayer moved in an upward arc, forcing the man to step back or be disarmed himself,in a much more literal sense. He tripped over his robes, falling down, looking humiliated and full of loathing.

"Might want to watch where you step," Guts sarcastically advised. "Maybe just stay on the ground, for now, my way of disarming is a bit more literal."

"Control yourself, Albus!" the witch in the emerald robes tried to placate the restrained old man. "You're acting mad!"

"Harry Potter," the old man said almost like a prayer. "It's Harry Potter, Minerva."

"Harry Potter?" the one witch with the monocle repeated. "Professor Dumbledore, do listen to what you are saying. Harry Potter is-,"

"-Here," the emerald witch finished. She was looking at Harry now as well. She had a similar look that she was seeing someone she had once known. Her eyes quickly darted up to his scar before refocusing on his eyes.

Harry raised his staff as a warning to the witch, letting her know what would happen if she decided to act like the old man.

"Dear Merlin." The other woman's monocle fell, breaking as it hit the ground. She too looked at his scar.

Harry pointed his staff at the other woman next. If either one of the witches decided to rush at him, he wanted them to know that his threat was standing.

'They all seem to know you.'

"It is young Harry." the old man stopped resisting in Black and Lupin's hold. "How is this – oh!"

Isidro threw a stone, striking the old man. "Suck it, old timer!"

"A perfect hit," Puck praised. It would have been more humorous if it had not been for the rising feeling of tension from those who came from the Sea Horse.

"Teacher, how do they know you?" Farnese sounded concerned.

Harry didn't answer verbally, still not taking his attention away from the new group of wizards. Still trying to figure that one out myself.

Schierke stepped a bit closer, looking nervous, but prepared should any of these new wizards retaliate because of Isidro's action. The two witches tightened their grip on their wands, but made no direct aggressive moves, just looking cautious. Serpico shifted his footwork, his cloak lightly billowing. The only one to show outright anger was the greasy-haired man.

"You arrogant little-!"

"-Really want to finish that sentence?" Guts asked, Dragonslayer ready to go.

Seeing the heated tension, Roderick steeped between both sides, arms held out and sword put away. "Hey! Easy now, everyone! We were getting on so well before, no reason to muck it all up now." He looked between those from the Sea Horse and the set of wizards. "Now, on behalf of my passengers, I offer my apology for aggression on our end of things."

"Way to go, idiots," Ivalera stuck her nose up at Isidro and Puck.

"However, you can't exactly blame them for looking after their companion. Your elder seems to have lost his cool." Roderick eyed the elderly man being lifted to his feet by the two wizards whom they had initially met. "I don't know what he fully expected to happen by harassing one of them."

"You don't know?" the same greasy man asked in a drawl. "How else would you expect the headmaster to react to seeing Potter?" the man's dark eyes glared at Harry like a long-time rival complemented by an award-winning sneer. When his eyes bore into Harry's, the sneer seemed to lessen, if only slightly, replaced by a look of longing. It was quickly snuffed out as he scoffed and turned his head indignantly.

Glaring back at the man, Harry said, "Forgive me, then. How else would I react to being grabbed by a man I've never met before?" he kept his tone sarcastically dangerous. The man's sneer went beyond simple humiliation, it was pure loathing.

"Severus…" the elder man sounded tired, but more in control of himself than he had been before. "Do not be an instigator in this. Now is not the time to be fighting, I've had enough of that for one day." His blue eyes flickered over to Harry once again.

Black slackened his hold of the man's arm. "Look, I apologize for our headmaster's behavior and for Snape as well. This is just bit of a… exciting time for us is all."

"Exciting?" Schierke parroted. She sounded less than pleased with how the two other wizards had behaved.

"Surely you understand?" Lupin asked. "You are traveling with-,"

"-Me?" Harry finished. Lupin gave a slow nod. "I don't remember the last witch I met acting anything like how he just did." He made sure to sound disdainful.

"Please," Black put his wand away, leaving Lupin to hold the elder wizard. "We all have our share of questions, and I can't speak for the rest, but I'd prefer not to do it at wand, or swordpoint," he quickly added noticing how large Guts' Dragonslayer was.

Roderick let out a soft breath of relief. "Then we are in agreement then." Serpico put his sword away but kept a firm hand on the hilt. Schierke moved her staff closer to her body but still kept a vigilant eye on what the older wizard might do next. The only ones who did not instantly put their weapons away were Harry and Guts. "What is it you suggest?" Roderick asked.

"Dumbledore needs medical attention, Sirius," the witch in emerald told Black. "If they are here to talk, they can wait in the hospital wing."

"The castle?" Guts inclined his head, still not looking away from the greasy man known as Snape. "You sound a bit eager to get up there. Probably of plenty of other people in there, whatever it is that needs to be said can be said here. Your headmaster seemed full of energy a few moments ago."

"Look," Lupin stepped up to try and ease the tension, "if it makes you feel more at ease, both Sirius and myself will swear on our magic that no harm will befall any of you if you agree to talk this all out up at the castle."

"Swear… on your magic?" Schierke sounded a bit confused by that. Was he implying that he would somehow lose his magic if the promise was broken? Anyone could learn magic, Farnese as their pupil was proof of that.

"As a failsafe of sorts," Lupin explained. "Just so you know that we're serious about us not wanting any altercation."

"There is no need for me to go to the hospital wing…" the headmaster managed out.

"Dumbledore, you're not thinking straight!" the emerald witch insisted. "Just-,"

"-Hear me out, Minerva. I can manage the walk to my office; send for Poppy to meet us up there. I imagine there is much explaining to be done."

"I… yes, headmaster." The one now identified as Minerva cast a worried glance at the elder headmaster before quickly setting off for the castle.

The headmaster groaned as he put his weight on his legs. "I do apologize for how I acted. The events of earlier have been rather taxing on me." He looked to see if Harry seemed a little more forgiving; not much changed. "As Headmaster of Hogwarts, I do offer you sanctum at our establishment for my offense."

"Hogwarts?" Isidro asked, barely holding back a chuckle. "What's that?"

"The castle's name," Lupin explained. As strange as it was, it did help a little in lightening the mood, mostly because no one could believe that that was the actual name for a castle as generous as that. "And you have the headmaster's permission as well as ours that no harm or ill will shall be directed to any of you if you agree to come and discuss things in a more private setting." He namely looked at Roderick when saying this.

The Lith captain rubbed at his chin. "As much as I admire the show of peace you're displaying, I'm just the escort in all of this. If you're to ask anyone, ask the Chief."

Guts' sole eye fell on the headmaster, not looking impressed.

"Him?" Snape drawled out.

"Severus," the headmaster sent a careful look to Snape, and he went silent. "Well, Mr…" he waited for a name.

"Guts."

"Guts?" Dumbledore repeated. "Well, Mr. Guts, I can guarantee that Remus speaks true. Hogwarts is always there for those who need it." He pointed to his fallen wand. "You can even confiscate that if you please."

Using his staff, Harry pulled the wand to him, pocketing the relic. He still had his apprehension of the old wizard. While Harry wasn't impressed with how Dumbledore had acted, he didn't feel any deceit from the man now.

'Schierke, Harry, you two are the magic experts. What's your take on this?' Guts' voice spoke through thought transference.

'That Dumbledore seems a bit unhinged.'

'A bit?' Isidro joined in. 'If I didn't know any better, I'd say he has a thing for young boys.'

'That other woman hasn't said much,' Serpico noted. 'I believe she's still in shock.'

Over seeing me?

'Yes. They all seem to know you – or rather – know of you.'

Yeah, it's kind of annoying. They keep staring at my scar. Harry wasn't really self-conscious about it. Sure, there had been a time when he felt an evil presence from it after the Eclipse, but that had all stopped after the Misty Valley. Now, it was just an ordinary scar.

'Teachers, they did say that this… er, Hogwarts, is a school.' Farnese joined in. 'It stands to reason that there are others learning magic in there. Teacher Schierke, you were even asked where you attended. It may be a bit naïve, but if they truly meant us harm, I don't think they would willingly bring strangers into the place where their students are.'

'…Mistress Flora certainly wouldn't have taken a risk to put me in danger…'

'C'mon!' Isidro insisted. 'They're looking at us all funny-like. We have an answer or what?'

Guts, Black and Lupin seem reasonable enough, but that Snape guy seems to enjoy glaring at me. He knows something, they all do.

"Are you going to answer?" Snape demanded of Guts, impatient from waiting, ignorant to the mental conversation that was taking place.

"Just thinking it over," Guts answered. "In the meantime, why not go and wash that head of yours, I could be awhile."

Harry could practically hear Snape grind his teeth, making good on his end to the headmaster to not fully instigate a conflict. It only intensified when Black stifled a laugh behind a cough. Black looked at Guts not with full confidence, but a hint of admiration.

Guts turned his stare over to Black and Lupin. "You two seem the most reasonable of the bunch, you willing to keep the old man and the grease ball in line if they decide to act up?"

"You have our word," Lupin said with sincerity.

No telling how far his word will actually go, though. Harry remained a bit skeptical, but Lupin did seem sincere.

"Strange," Snape drawled once again, "that you see a reason to keep us in check, yet you're the one holding the sword. If you truly seek no conflict then turn over your weapons."

"Oh?" Guts sounded amused. "Then what? You planning on carrying all of them?"

"Guts," Serpico spoke up. "We all know that will not happen. Mr. Snape, the best we can do is offer our word similar to what Mr. Lupin has suggested; no further conflict shall come from them." Serpico opened an eye toward Guts. "That is what we want, isn't it?"

"…Sure, what you said." He put Dragonslayer back in the scabbard on his back.

"Well, glad to see we're making progress on both ends," Roderick looked relieved. "I assume that was a 'yes,' Chief?" Guts gave a slow nod, not looking relieved or distressed about it. "Well, I believe we're heading to your castle next."

"Right," Black sounded eager to talk things out. "You coming too, Amelia?"

The witch who had worn the monocle and had remained silent for most of this time gave a nod. She quickly mended her fallen monocle, putting it back in place over her eye.

Harry tried to put a scale on how big this… Hogwarts (he was still trying to get around that name) truly was. It looked to be the bigger than Farnese's family estate, and maybe about the same size as Castle Windham. Unlike Windham, there was no outer wall separating it from the city – because there was no city. There were the forest and a small hut near the edge of it, but that was it. He supposed that if this castle really was a magic school, it would be isolated; a city like Windham and Vritannis had less connection to the elements. But even still, he thought that they might see some sentries, golems, maybe those gargoyles and statues could become animated.

Through a large set of doors, they came to the entrance hall which had another set of doors. Many voices could be heard talking from the other side. This was probably where most of the od Harry and Schierke had felt coming from.

"This way, to the right," Dumbledore and Black led the way, turning from the set of doors and over to where a grand staircase was located. But the staircase was anything but ordinary.

To each floor, there was another set of stairs leading to a landing, and each moved in no logical order, one that led up soon moved to being down, and vice versa. There looked to be seven or eight floors altogether with possibly more space on the lower level.

Farnese was wide-eyed as they stepped on a staircase leading up. "Teachers, this is… this is extraordinary."

"Why thank you, young miss."

"Huh?" Farnese looked for who spoke. It wasn't any of the resident wizards. "Who…?"

"Pnnt." Casca was pointing at a painting along the wall. Much like the staircase, it was moving, at least the four men sitting around the table in the picture were moving. One raised his glass to Farnese and made a toast with the other animated figures.

"They move," Schierke was impressed as well. As long as she had been studying magic, she hadn't seen it put into practice like this before.

They got off on one of the landings, passing a cat wandering the hall. "Hey, it's a cat!" Puck excitedly exclaimed.

"Moving staircases and talking paintings, and you're excited about a cat?" Ivalera rolled her eyes.

Puck flew over to the cat. "Hey, I'm Puck! Nice to meet y-ooh!" Puck flew under the cat's paw as it tried to swipe him out of the air. He took refuge on Guts' shoulder, high above the crazed feline. "Obviously not in a good mood."

"Filch still has that cat?" Black asked Lupin.

"If it's a kneezle, they tend to live much longer than normal cats," Lupin did not seem keen on the idea.

They reached a junction in the corridor where a stone gargoyle sat guarding an alcove behind it. "Lemon drop," Dumbledore said. The gargoyle leaped aside, allowing them entry to a spiral staircase that led up.

The Headmaster was the first one up, followed by the witch named Amelia, then Snape, Lupin, Black, and Guts and the rest following behind. A smart move considering they had no idea what awaited them at the top. Pushing open the door at the top of the stairs, they were met with an oddly decorated room filled with all sorts of gadgets, gizmos, and other assortments of instruments. There was an ornate desk where the emerald witch and a worried looking woman waited for their arrival next to the flame-colored bird that was perched next to them.

"Professor Dumbledore!" the new witch ushered him over to his chair behind the desk, handing him a vial of potion to drink. "Minerva told me you were struck by the torture curse, this should help with the lingering shock."

"…Thank you, Poppy."

"You should be in the hospital wing, you shouldn't have to have walked all the way here," Poppy insisted. "What could be so important as that – oh Merlin!" her attention was now on the party from the Sea Horse, or more specifically, on Guts. The burns from Ganishka's lightning were still to fade from his neck and face, and his prosthetic arm must have been a sight for her as well if she was a healer of sorts. "Headmaster, what has happened?"

"That, Poppy, is what we shall be discussing." Dumbledore drank the rest of the potion. "Could you bring my pensive over here for a moment?"

The witch went over to an alcove near a few of those instruments to pull out a basin of clear liquid. Puck took an interest in it, sniffing the air almost like a dog. "Ah, smells like home."

"You've never seen it before," Ivalera reminded him. "How could it?"

Puck shook his head defiantly. "Nope. I know what home smells like, and it smells a bit like the mushrooms that are near the giant cherry blossom tree."

"Mushrooms, you say?" Dumbledore borrowed a wand from the medic. "Funny you should mention it; one of the ingredients to pensive fluid comes from a magical mushroom."

"Told you." Puck finally got to look triumphant over Ivalera.

Looks like we might actually be close to Elfhelm then. Harry rationalized. That wave of energy that washed over them might have just pushed them off course or – what was the headmaster doing?

Using the borrowed wand, Dumbledore put the tip to his temple and drew out a silvery substance that clung to the wand for survival. With a flick, he sent it into the basin, watching as it twirled around in the contents. "I will have to view that at a later time, for now, I believe there are more pressing matters to attend to. Minerva, could you conjure up some more chairs?"

With a wave of her wand, a chair was conjured up for each of them. They took to them save for the Snape guy who remained to hover in the corner by the window, Guts who was lingering near the door, and Casca.

"Swoo," Casca's attention and face were inches away from a shiny sword that was on display along the wall underneath another moving portrait, one of many that lined the room. The sword was of a finer make, not a flaw to be seen on its smooth surface. An inscription was etched into the blade itself, and a ruby rested in the pommel. "Swoo." Casca reached to take it from its place.

Farnese was quick to hurry over, leading her back to her seat. "No, Casca. Don't go touching that, it isn't ours." Casca sat down, but she would poke her head out from Farnese's side to look at the weapon on display.

"So," Roderick initiated a conversation once more, "where do we begin? We know that this place is called Hogwarts, but in relation is it to the mainland? Or why a saltwater creature is living in freshwater?"

"How about what you are doing with Harry Potter of all people?" Snape countered. "I'm sure that is the question that is on everyone's mind other than where this castle is. You did sail to it."

"Or why don't we start with how you all seem to know who I am," Harry demanded. "Because I sure as hell don't know any of you."

Snape gave a sharp, "Tch!" accompanied with a sneer. "My, awfully eager to talk about yourself, Potter. Already seeing us as beneath your celebrity status, eh? Such arrogance."

"Actually," Schierke was quick to speak, "you were the one to mention him first. And it would be more ignorance than arrogance."

Getting cheeky already?

'He made it easy.'

"Enough!" Dumbledore weakly yelled. "Severus, you do not need to be here. Would you rather go back and finish breakfast in the great hall?"

"He doesn't have to be here?" Isidro repeated.

Dumbledore took a calming breath, sinking back into his chair; the bird perched next to him gave a sad cluck. "Now, young Harry asked a good question, and it would seem that he is indeed ignorant to being here. Harry, you do not know who any of us are or what this place is, do you?"

"I thought my asking that was evident enough," Harry replied. "Some answer would be nice right about now."

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Very well, as you have noticed, Harry, you are very well-known here, and for good reason. Thirteen years ago, you received the scar on your forehead from a dark wizard by the name of Voldemort." The wizards local to Hogwarts flinched at the name, leaving Harry to look at them funny. "He set out to kill you when you were just a baby, killing both your parents in the process. But, when he tried to kill you, something stopped him that night, the curse that was meant for you, struck him instead. He was assumed dead, until quite recently.

"After that, I took measures to ensure your safety, placing you with your mother's sister and her family, hoping that-,"

"-Hold on," Harry held up his hand. "You put me there?" his feeling of anger was suddenly replaced by a revelation. He was back. Back to the world that he lived in a cupboard for ten years, been made into a punching bag by his cousin, and neglected by his relatives. He had assumed that was all behind him, a memory of a distant past.

Whatever that wave of energy was, it had sent him back just as the Skull Knight had taken him to Midland four years ago. He had never even told any of them that he wasn't from their layer of reality; he assumed he would be in Midland for the rest of his life. He knew that they would understand, they had been through enough to have that level of acceptance, he knew for sure Guts wouldn't judge, the swordsman had his own fair share of darker parts of his past. Farnese would probably feel a bit let down but would understand, so would Serpico. Isidro probably wouldn't know what it all meant anyway. Schierke… well, he would have to brace himself for a staff to the face. Apart from Guts and Casca, she was the one he had known the longest. She had made her feelings known, and he wasn't going to reject her, but this would be something they would have to talk out, that, as well as just where they fully stood in terms of a relationship. Problems for later.

Black chimed in, sensing a more hostile tone taking over. "You were supposed to come with me, actually."

Harry raised a brow. "You? Why you?"

"Well…" Black ruffed up his black locks, the ghost of a playful smile danced across his lips. "Your father named me godfather."

For a brief moment, it was like Harry felt his brain shut off, taking in what Black had just said and replaying it over to make sure he hadn't misheard. "You… knew my dad?"

Black smiled for real this time. "We were the best of friends. Moony too." Lupin gave a nod of confirmation. "This school, Hogwarts, we were all classmates here, housemates too. We were as thick as thieves. I was best man at your parents' wedding, James actually made a bet with me to see who could eat the most cake the fastest." He gave a healthy laugh. "I never ate so much in my life!"

Harry thought Black's laugh suited him. It just seemed to fit on his face so naturally. "So why didn't you?" Harry asked. "If you were such good friends, why didn't you take me in?"

The question must have struck something sour with Black, his smile slowly faded. "I was… preoccupied."

"Oh yeah?" Guts spoke. "With what?"

"Twelve years in prison."

"Wrongfully accused, and locked up without a trial," Amelia interjected seeing some of the worried gazes that were directed at Black. "The real culprit was another close friend of your parents, he was the one who sold them out to… to…"

"Voldemort?" Harry guessed, and some of them flinched, again. They freak out over me and jump at Voldemort's name.

"Yes," Black answered. "Once the traitor was found out, my name was cleared. One of the first things I asked for was to see you after all those years."

'Well it looks like we know why he and Lupin were so eager to discuss things,' Serpico concluded. 'The son of an old friend, and all.'

"You look very much like your father, Harry," Lupin told him. "I knew you were James' son as soon as I saw you."

Snape gave a dry laugh. "And he matches personality as well." He said that with as much venom as possible.

"And you have your mother's eyes," Dumbledore added, sending a glance to Snape instead.

"I'm surprised you noticed my eyes, you seemed more interested in my scar," Harry told the elder wizard. He would much rather learn about his parents as they lived than know of the memory of how they died. His scar seemed less ordinary now and more of a notice-me beacon, something he could live without.

"Again, I extend my apologies," Dumbledore said. "Four years ago, I was fully suspecting that you would walk through the front doors and follow in your parent's footsteps." He rummaged through a drawer on his desk, pulling out a letter. "Hogwarts has a magical system of sending letters to all enrolled students. This letter was addressed to you." He slid the letter across the desk.

Sure enough, Harry's name was written on the envelope, but where a location was written, there was just a question mark. "So, my parents enrolled me here before they were killed?"

"It was their wish that you attend as they had. Which makes me ask, if not Hogwarts, how is it you know magic? And how did you acquire that staff?"

"I learned from the same teacher as Schierke," Harry began. "Mistress Flora of the Spirit-Tree."

"Flora? I can't say I'm familiar with either of those names." Dumbledore eyed the staff. "May I?"

"The old man is asking to see Harry's staff," Isidro whispered to Puck, much louder than he intended. "I knew he was into young boys."

Harry held the staff out but did not let it out of his grasp. As much information as Dumbledore was giving, an exchange of information would have to be made at one point. Dumbledore leaned over his desk, adjusting his half-moon spectacles. His blue eyes widened a considerable amount.

"Did you make this?" it didn't sound like a question, at least, not the one he didn't know the answer to.

"Not this one." He carefully watched what the headmaster would do next.

Dumbledore rose, retrieved a book from his shelf and began to skim through the pages.

'What's this nut up to?' Guts mentally asked.

'Teacher, do you suppose he knows about your staff?' Farnese asked.

Her question was answered by Dumbledore holding up the book for Harry to read the text. "This passage describes the design for a staff that was once carried by Merlin. It was labeled as a missing myth, but, not so missing anymore."

"Merlin?!" Minerva exclaimed. "Surely you don't mean to tell us that he has a relic of Merlin!"

Dumbledore seemed to have not heard her. "A staff carved from the wood of an elder rowan tree. Once carried by Morgana as well, a staff that channels the magic of previous users at personal risk. Still capable of performing tasks, and chooses a user based on personal worth."

"That does describe Teacher Harry," Farnese spoke. "I've seen him use it before, we all have."

"I don't doubt young Mr. Potter's worth," Minerva said, "but how is it he came about it?"

"From the same person I learned it all from," Harry answered. "Merlin visited her and left it behind to keep it out of dangerous hands. You can't have it if that's what you want to know."

"Careful," Snape spoke once again. "You may have a staff that once belonged to Merlin, but that does not give you a right to deny the headmaster."

"You headmaster agreed to meet with us, and just because I'm enrolled here doesn't make me a student that can be bossed around." What is it with this guy?

If possible, Snape's sneer got even worse. "Listen here-,"

"-Mr. Potter is right, Professor Snape," Minerva surprisingly defended. "While he may have lacked tact, it is his right to refuse if he deems so necessary." She spoke in a strict tone, something Flora hardly ever used.

"You may all relax. I have no interest of robbing you of your staff; I doubt that I would be able to use it. I can only advise that you be careful of how you use it and ask the question that has been plaguing me for years now; just where have you been to have acquired something like that?" his blue eyes looked like twinkling stars.

"I told you, I got it from my teacher in her spirit-tree."

"And where is that located?" Dumbledore insisted.

"Just outside of Enoch Village, in Midland."

Falconia, that's what it was called.

The capital that Charlotte had known and grown up in was a thing of the past, a distant memory. The city that stood now was like the Kingdom of Gaiseric had risen from the ground to retake its place on this earth. The outer walls stood a hundred feet tall, there were two full coliseums spaced on east and west of the city districts, all houses had a unique appearance to them, but still keeping with a design that was ancient and modern. Statues of griffins lined the walls of the city, looking pristine with their white marble look. The castle, if it could be called that, was easily twice as tall as the previous and more than twice the length. It was styled like the spread wings of a white hawk about to take flight.

It was so foreign, but so expected of a miracle worker like Griffith.

Inside the place was just as glamorous as the outside would have it believe. The main entrance to the palace was not by a drawbridge, but a winding, zigzagging staircase that led up to the top, unique only to a city like Falconia. Her room was thrice as big as her previous one had been, and she was fine with it. Her old room brought back memories of her father and what he had tried to do to her that one day. She was glad that the old castle was gone, transformed into something beautiful. More than once, she felt she was going to get lost, having Anna escort her as Griffith led the way around.

It was three days since the battle with Emperor Ganishka, who still remained as the largest tree in history; standing as tall as a mountain, legs/trunks spread to reach different ends of the city dubbed Falconia. But the Ganishka tree and the city weren't the only changes the world was seeing.

Beasts, hydras, unicorns, yetis, trolls, and yes, even dragons had all seemed to have been reborn into the world. Every now and again, Charlotte would spot a dragon flying in the distance, but never near the city, never near the city.

Giant rocks formed from the Kushan Army's demons after the blast held some sort of property that kept those type of creatures away.

"Falconia is now the only safe place left for humanity," Griffith told her as they sat in the garden of the palace located at the top of the "head" of the bird palace. To get up, a winding staircase led to it which gave her a strange sense of vertigo.

The garden presented a very spring-time feel to it, seeming to have its own temperature to make it feel as inviting as possible. They sat at a table under a gazebo, enjoying the sound of an artificial stream that was planted a short distance away, a small white bridge crossing over it.

"Is that the reason for all the new arrivals?" every day new people were flocking to the city, usually being pursued by some type of mythical creature of old.

"It is the only explanation," Griffith concluded, plucking a flower and putting it in her dark brown hair. Charlotte felt her cheeks redden from his act. "You will forgive me if I excuse myself to go and check on the retrieval team's arrival."

Sir Irvine was usually the one sent out to bring back survivors and accompanied by Sir - General Laban. All those who participated in the fight had been promoted, it didn't matter if they were from Midland, Chuder, or even Kushan Lands. At this point, the people were sick of fighting, sick of seeing death, and if the creation of Falconia didn't stand as a monument to all of humanity, Charlotte didn't know what did.

"Of course, Griffith." While Charlotte was the legal Queen of Midland, Griffith was still her betrothed and the unofficial leader of this City of Falconia as well.

He planted a kiss on the back of her hand. "Until I return."

He's always so charming. Like he knows how to do and say everything so right. Him, this city too, both are so grand, mesmerizing, pristine, and… foreign. Where had that come from? No, Griffith is the same as he has always been, an enigma to everyone, but captivating with his light. This city is still so new like Griffith. Of course, it would seem foreign at first. He had still to share with her the story of how he made his recovery. He is still as grand as this city, though. Still charming, eccentric, and…

…Empty. Zodd watched in boredom as one of Locus' Lancer Apostle units bit into the leg of his opponent; a three-headed hydra.

The city that had been birthed from the fall of the Emperor had also seen fit to cater to the needs of the apostles in the form of a spherical pandemonium located behind the main palace, only accessible by a narrow bridge. Here, the apostles could fight to their heart's content against the mythical beasts that were captured and brought here.

It is so empty it is lacking. Zodd watched as the corpse of the hydra was dragged away to be made into food for all the apostle spectators in attendance. What is the point in fighting a mindless beast? It was fighting for sport, a mockery of the real thing.

"Thinking of entering?" Zodd looked to see Locus coming up next to him. "You wouldn't even need to transform to defeat some of these creatures."

"Exactly." He didn't bother to hide his displeasure.

Locus made a face. "Why discontent? This city has been tailored to cater to the needs of all beings. No one is denied entry to Falconia, even Kushan soldiers are being permitted entry. I would have thought that you would relish in this setting."

"Fighting for sport is not fighting a true battle. These creatures, no matter how mythical, are still creatures of instinct; they do not possess the mind of a warrior."

"Well, I'm not about to offer myself up in service of a challenge to you." Locus gave a half-smile. "You're a more complex man than I first thought, Zodd."

"Think what you will," Zodd watched Grunbeld enter the arena next against a Yeti. "I'll be off."

"Not going to stay and watch?" the crowd gave a cheer as the next match started.

"I know the outcome." Unlike the thrill of a true fight.

A/N: Happy Easter! This was a pretty dialogue heavy chapter and the first part of how everyone will react to the situation. Thank you for reading.


	44. Chapter 44

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

"Midland?" Dumbledore repeated, the name was clearly foreign to him.

"Yeah, Midland." It did not surprise Harry that Dumbledore did not know the name. Midland resided on a different astral plane than this world. He watched as Dumbledore's brows furrowed in deep concentration.

"I'm Sorry, but I am unfamiliar with that name." the local mages looked at Dumbledore like he had said something startling. Clearly, Dumbledore not knowing something was a big deal to them.

"Unfamiliar?" Serpico parroted. "The war with Chuder? Emperor Gaiseric? Princess Charlotte? Even if this is an isolated place, the country should be known."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I do not know of what you speak."

Isidro scratched at his head. "I didn't hit you that hard with the rock, did I, old man?"

"Dro's arms may be scrawny, but he can throw," Puck furthered, complementing Isidro on his skill in throwing rocks.

"I do not believe any of us are familiar with such a place," Dumbledore stated. "Unless it is code for something, you have us confused."

Guts eyed the headmaster questionably. "You seriously don't know?"

"I do not."

'What's the big deal?' Isidro mentally conveyed. 'Don't old people have a record of losing their memory? How can he not know?'

I have a pretty good idea as to how Harry answered. He might as well just say it now.

"This is a different astral layer."

He was faintly aware of Guts' eye gazing at him; Schierke looked at him quizzically, as if to see if he would elaborate. "Teacher?" Farnese quietly asked, sounding concerned. Serpico had opened his eyes slightly as well, looking worried in a way.

"Like magic?" Isidro asked, as expected, relatively ignorant to what it all actually meant. He wasn't completely alone in that regard; Roderick looked equally as confused, still new and ignorant to what magic could actually do and how much there was to it beyond what he had already witnessed.

"Astral layer, Mr. Potter?" the witch, Minerva eyed him. "What is that you speak of?"

"What?" Harry asked. "The astral layers, different planes of existence. Understanding them is one of the aspects of learning magic. Do you have another word for it?"

"And what kind of a question is that?" Harry was really starting to hate this Snape person. "Layers of existence as a key to learning magic? People are born with or without it, nobody can learn it from scratch."

"You're joking, right?" Harry asked he was sure this was the man's way of trying to infuriate them.

"Snape and joke don't go together," Black stated. "The only time they fit is when you say 'Snape doesn't joke.'" He received a snarl from the greasy-haired man. "But, on this occasion, I have to agree with him. Magic… people just have it, and I certainly never heard of these astral layers."

"T-that can't be right," Schierke voiced. "If you don't know of the astral layers, then it should be impossible to perform magic. Mistress Flora and I suspected Harry could perform it through hereditary means, but he got to where he is now from studying how to do it all. I was much the same."

The other witch, Amelia, adjusted her monocle. "Are you saying that you are a muggle, then?"

"Muggle? Sorry, I don't know what that is."

"You insulting her, or something?" Guts asked his attention now on the older witch.

Lupin interjected. "Muggle is a word for someone who is non-magical, it wasn't meant as an insult, I assure you." He was looking at Guts' hand which had moved upward, if only slightly, toward the hilt of his sword.

"Oh," Schierke looked like she was unsure if that was truly what it meant. "I wasn't born with magic like Harry, but I did learn it, so I guess that I'm not a… muggle."

"My teachers speak the truth," Farnese backed them. "I am studying the art myself and they have already explained to me the concept of astral layers."

"Tch!"

"Something funny?" Guts looked at Snape again, his lone eye narrowed.

"I find it amusing that instead of answering a simple question, Potter has seen fit to construct an elaborate lie in which he has dragged several muggles into the mix, claiming to have been in a different world and playing into one of the Ministry's greatest fears of muggles learning magic."

"You're calling me a liar?" Harry asked. He was sure that of all the journeys they had been on, nothing had gotten under his skin like Snape was doing.

"When a story is riddled with holes like yours is, it is quite easy," Snape drawled out like oil. "If you were in a different world like you so claim, how do you explain how that ship sailed into the Black Lake? Saw fit to make an entrance, did you?" he wore a triumphant sneer.

"Actually, Snape, that was Moony and I's doing," Black cut in before Harry could explain just how much of an idiot Snape was acting like.

"You?" Harry asked, once again. "What did you do?"

"Yes, Sirius, what did you do?" Amelia asked, curious as well.

"Should I explain it?" Lupin asked his friend. "I might do a much better job at conveying what needs to be said."

Sirius gave a mock-like hand wave. "The stage is yours." He stroked some of his facial hair, ready to listen.

"Well, I've known Sirius a long time and while he may be a fun-loving prankster, he does care for those important to him. Once he was out of Azkaban, Sirius asked Dumbledore where his godson was. He was told that everything was being done to find Harry, but no results were conclusive, only theories. As expected, Sirius took matters into his own hands; he went through the Black Library and found a book about a summoning ritual. The both of us visited the home of Harry's aunt and uncle for some belongings, speaking of which-," Lupin dug into his pocket and pulled out the two figurines that had once belonged to Dudley, handing them to Harry. "For what it's worth."

It felt like his head was filling with water, his arm felt like lead as he took the two cheep pieces of plastic. The white knight's paint had faded, revealing a layer of black underneath, and the black knight was still broken, looking even more run-down than before. He didn't say "thank you," or anything else, just nodding for Lupin to continue.

"We waited until a day when magical energy would be at its highest before performing the ritual. And the rest… well, you can guess for yourselves."

'So, is that the blast that came over us?' Farnese asked.

'I don't think so,' Schierke answered. 'It felt more powerful than a simple ritual, but… maybe it presented the ritual the energy that was needed. If this place really is in another astral layer… that blast might have…'

Amelia was speaking again. "You do realize that the Ministry has banned the use of magical rituals, correct?"

Black rubbed at his facial hair. "Moony might have mentioned it. You're free to take it up with Fudge, but with everything that's going on, I think he'll have his plate full without a trial for the head of House Black."

"Why am I not surprised," Snape made no attempt to suppress an eye-roll. "Black and Lupin always thought themselves above the law. But even so, them performing a ritual does not confirm Potter's cock-and-bull story about being in another world. That ship could have been summoned from anywhere on the globe."

"A-hem," Dumbledore lightly coughed, opening a drawer on his desk and pulling out an old tome. "While Sirius and Remus' action was hasty, and Mr. Potter's story seems outlandish, every story has a hint of truth to it." He flipped through a few pages, stopping on one he had bookmarked. "Sirius, you might recall when you first inquired about Harry's whereabouts I showed you this text. I had to call in a few favors with the unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries to get it, but it was written in part by Merlin who documented his journey through the layers of magic." He had the skeptics attention now, and much to Harry's pleasure, Snape did not have anything to say to rebuke that.

"However," Dumbledore continued, "it is important to mention that this was written in Merlin's later years when his mental health began to deteriorate so there is no telling how much truth there is to any of that. But, if you don't mind my asking, if you truly were in a different world, how is it you got there, to begin with?"

Harry expected major skepticism for this next one. "It happened on Halloween, there was a Skull Knight who-,"

"-Headmaster, are you hearing this?" Snape cut him off. "His tale is growing taller with every question you ask."

"A Skull Knight?" Dumbledore repeated. "Funny that Mr. Potter should mention something along that line of phrasing. Merlin wrote that once he crossed the layers of magic he was greeted by a knight of skeleton."

Snape looked ready to retort, but a sharp chuckle from Guts beat him to it. "So he knew the bonehead, too? Glad that got cleared up before you could question that bit of information." It looked like Guts gave Snape a friendly pat on the shoulder, but there was no camaraderie to be found, and a pat from someone of Guts' strength was enough to make Snape's knees buckle from under him. Snape had to grab onto the edge of the alcove to stop from falling. His dark eyes glared at Guts with loathing. Black hid a laugh from the sight of it.

"Are you alright, Severus?" the other professor asked, giving Guts the stink-eye as well.

"…Peachy," Snape said through grit teeth.

"What else does that say about the bonehead?" Guts continued, not even concerned by the look he was getting from the one professor.

Dumbledore's blue eyes seemed to twinkle as he eyed Guts. "Are you saying you are familiar with this individual?"

"He comes and goes as he likes. You'll never get a straight answer out of him." Yeah, that pretty much summarized every encounter with the ancient one.

Dumbledore's eyes did not lose their twinkle. "You do realize that this text was written several hundred years ago? If you do know of this figure, how do you explain that?"

Guts gave a lazy shrug. "He was pretty good friends with a witch, I figure she had something to do with how he's still up and riding around."

"Dark magic, then?" Dumbledore assumed, much to Schierke's displeasure.

"No," she replied almost instantly and with much conviction. "Mistress Flora used to say that magic was only dark based on intent. Levitating someone high enough and dropping them could kill just as easily as setting someone on fire. The same could be said for trying to save the life of a friend." Her face got more red with every word.

'Teacher…' Farnese mentally reached out. 'Are you alright?'

'Aggravated. I don't care if this is a different world, I won't have them suggesting that Mistress Flora was some kind of dark sorceress.'

Minerva eyed the younger girl cautiously. "That was quite the analogy you made, young lady. But do understand that some practices are labeled as dark for a reason. You would agree, Madam Bones?"

The other witch nodded. "I would. There's no telling who might abuse the practice. Like a summoning ritual for example." Black twiddled his thumbs, finding one of the instruments to be of great detail. She continued, "However, if Mr. Potter speaks the truth, then there would be no Ministry like ours to regulate such a practice."

"So it would all come down to the word of Mr. Potter," Dumbledore's eyes landed on him once again.

Lupin cleared his throat. "Professor Dumbledore, you have a pensieve, if anything could help get the facts straight, that would be it."

Puck tilted his head. "The thing that smells like mushrooms?"

"A magical item used for viewing memories," Dumbledore explained. "If Mr. Potter was agreeable to it, we could get to the bottom of this by viewing select memories that he-,"

"-You're going to take his memory?" Isidro asked, appalled. "I knew you were up to something, old man!"

"A pensieve does not take a person's memory," Lupin told him. "It does the opposite, it's designed in a way to help someone remember."

Isidro's face fell. "Oh."

Guts' attention was on Casca, who was poking at an instrument like a cat would do to a ball of yarn.

"I believe Mr. Potter still has my wand from earlier."

Harry pulled the wand out just enough to show that he had it. "What about it?"

"I don't mean to question your honor or integrity, but please understand how your story must sound; there is cause for speculation. If you could prove your claim…"

"By letting you see my memories," Harry concluded. "You realize how personal that is, don't you?" he could remember quite a lot of unpleasant things from along the journey. A certain black sun stood out above the rest.

"Unless you would rather give consent to have your mind read, then-,"

"-That seems like a pretty big jump from him lending you his memories than you just seeing what you want," Guts said in a near icy tone.

Roderick, who had been silent for much of this, finally offered his input. "Look, I don't claim to have known young Harry here for a long time, but I can tell an honest man from an untrustworthy one. This whole concept of magic and other worlds honestly makes my head hurt, but if he says that's what it is, how is a devilishly handsome captain like myself in a position to disagree?" Serpico's raised a quick brow, and Farnese looked at him in a strange way. Roderick noticed and gave a small wink.

"I am sure we would all like to agree with Mr. Potter," Madam Bones followed up that statement. "But without any actual proof, there is little we can do to believe what has been told to us."

Harry briefly met gazes with the elderly headmaster sitting across from him. Those blue eyes of his seemed to twinkle alright, but beyond that, they held a certain desperation, this man wanted whatever he could go on, maybe either for a personal agenda or maybe just for altruism and the belief that people were worth believing. Of course, Harry did not trust the older wizard as far as he could throw him; his actions before on the beach demonstrated a lack of self-control on his end. The pensieve sitting on his desk cast an eerie bluish glow, cold, yet inviting at the same time. These other wizards were looking to see into some of his previous experiences, and most of them weren't pleasant ones. His time spent with the Hawks' remained as a golden age for what he could remember about them, and his time studying magic with Flora and Schierke had been pleasant after the storm of despair that had been the Eclipse. Unless the Skull Knight rode into this office on his skeletal steed, then it would be a great satisfaction to prove that Snape idiot wrong. The encounters with Zodd, the rescue at the Tower of Conviction, slaying the trolls, Guts going Berserker, it would more than likely overwhelm them. It would show them that they wouldn't be able to strong-arm them or him into doing what they wanted now that he was back in this world. And maybe… persuade them into making a deal. Flora had been able to partially undo some of the damage done to Casca, and now…

"If I was going to agree to this," Harry slowly began, "how much would be enough?"

"That is entirely up to you," Dumbledore answered, his eyes seemed to have a glimmer of hope.

"Are you truly considering this?" Serpico asked, his own eyes partially opened.

Ivalera flew over to whisper in his ears. "Just between you and me, you got nothing to prove to these fools. I might talk big myself, but I always know that I'm right in the end."

Schierke looks at him almost pleadingly. "You don't have to, you know?"

"I do. But it might just help us out." He pulled the confiscated wand out. "What exactly do I need to do?"

"First, think of the memory," Dumbledore instructed. "Once you have it, put the tip of the wand to your temple and pull away. Then, just tap it into the pensieve."

Thinking way back, Harry pictured the scene clearly in his mind before doing as instructed. A glowing, silvery strand followed the wands movements as he tapped it into the pensieve. He repeated the process several more times, letting the strands fall and mesh together in the magical liquid.

"Thank you for your compliance, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore gave a small nod of his head, his half-moon glasses sliding down a way on his crooked nose. "Minerva, to save the time, would you kindly enlarge the pensieve?"

With a silent wave of her own wand, the professor enlarged the pensieve so that it occupied the entirety of the desk. The headmaster and the other locally assembled witches and wizards gathered around it like a campfire, their eyes fixated on the swirling pool of clear liquid as it began to change in color.

Dumbledore looked around at the setting before him and the others who had gathered around the pensieve, wishing to learn the full story of what had happened. Sirius and Remus were here, no surprise there. Minerva, Poppy and Amelia, too, again, no surprise. Severus was present as well, probably looking to see for himself just how much of a liar he believed Harry to be. Dumbledore would need to have a serious talk with his head of Slytherin House over his behavior. He had not helped at all in giving Harry a positive view of Hogwarts.

Harry and his companions were not present, probably having already known the story, to begin with.

They were on a grassy hill, a much younger version of Harry was nearby, looking up at an imposing figure on horseback.

"Merlin's beard…" Remus remarked as seeing the individual who sat astride the steed. It was the figure of a man clad in armor that resembled a skeleton. A black cape hung from his shoulders and a few spikes on the top of the skull helm gave him the impression of wearing a crown. A pair of glowing eyes looked down on a young Harry. It was as Merlin had described, a knight of skeleton.

"We will meet again, Wizard." The Skull Knight bit farewell to Harry, leaving him alone on the hill overlooking a camp below.

If Dumbledore was not focused on learning more about Harry's journey, he would have tried to find out more about this Skull Knight who seemed to have been the cause of Harry's sudden disappearance all those years ago. But his parting words of meeting again promised that he would perhaps see more of this figure later on.

The scene shifted to down in the camp below.

"He's sneaking around," Sirius observed as Harry tried his best to avoid detection as he darted between camp tents, looking for something.

"What is he doing?" Minerva asked as Harry snuck into a tent with food provisions, taking what he deemed necessary.

"I suppose those relatives of his only had enough for one mouth to feed," Sirius bitterly joked as Harry made his way to sneak back out and then-

"So, just what the hell are you doing here?" it was the muscular man – Guts. And he looked so different. His spiky hair was the same length, but there was no white streak. Fewer scars adorned his face, save for the one running across his nose. He had both of his eyes and arms. Dumbledore had assumed the man to be at least forty years of age, but looking at him now, he looked like a late teen, putting the man's real age around twenty-three or twenty-four.

The scene shifted again, and they found themselves following behind Guts as he led Harry into a tent that was much larger than the rest. Two others were there, one Dumbledore recognized as the one woman who acted like a child. Her hair was much shorter here, reaching just past her ears. Instead of those sack-like clothing, she was dressed like a faux-knight, and her eyes held no trace of child-like innocence as she looked at Guts and Harry enter.

The second man – if it was a man – looked to beautiful to be real. Long white hair, icy, sky-blue eyes and pale complexion, Dumbledore almost mistook him for a vampire, a very beautiful vampire.

The beautiful man spoke, looking at Harry. "It looks like we have the making of a master thief before our eyes. Right, Casca?"

"Griffith," a name to put to the man, "he could be-,"

"I think if he were a Chuder spy, he would have looked for stealing information or lives instead of food." He seemed totally indifferent that Harry had been caught stealing from him. No, not indifferent, amused even. It was something old Salazar Slytherin could admire.

They listened as Griffith laid out three options for Harry to choose from, ending with him choosing to accompany them back to a city called Windham, a name completely foreign to Dumbledore who traveled all of Europe. These people dress as knights and yet they mention a city of unknown name. if the sight of the Skull Knight wasn't proof enough, the evidence was piling up by the second.

Another scene change found Harry alone in a tent with the woman – Casca. She tossed him a new set of clothes that fit him much better than the ones he had on that must have belonged to a boy three times his size. She made such an observation known. "He seems… well rounded."

Sirius and the memory of Harry both gave a stifled laugh. Where was this personality to the girl?

The night turned to day and the memory version of Harry sat in the back of a wagon with a blonde boy of around his age. They talked for a bit until three horn blasts came ringing out. They were set upon by what looked to be bandits, but between the force of someone like Guts, the swiftness of the Casca woman, and the command of Griffith, the bandits were quickly picked off. But one remained. He was going to take a shot at Griffith, but a bolt got him first. A bolt that had been fired by Harry.

"Oh, Dear Merlin!" Poppy cried as she watched the man fall, dead from what Harry had done.

"H-he killed him," Remus looked as pale as a full moon. Minerva looked much the same, she could not comprehend how the son of two of her favorite students could end a life.

"The boy is deranged…" Severus tried to hide it, but even he looked uneasy.

"Harry…" Sirius said sadly.

The memory held for a moment before a blonde youth came riding up to offer Harry some comfort and advice. "Hm. How can I put it? There are good people and bad people in the world, right? And sometimes good people do bad things, and vice versa, right? Well, a good person can do a bad thing and still be a good person, do you know why? Because as long as they acknowledge what they've done is wrong, and it wasn't easy for them to do, they still might be a good person."

Was that the logic Harry governed his life by? It was spoken masterfully like the youth believed it himself as a way of comfort, but Dumbledore wished he could have given Harry another outlook. To do good was to do good. If everyone went by that logic, someone could kill and fell sorry for it, but another person would still be dead. Is this what Harry truly believed?

The next few scenes passed by rather quickly, or perhaps they felt quicker due to the fact they just witnessed the Boy-Who-Lived take a man's life. There was a city, Windham, which certainly wasn't anywhere to be found in Europe. Many of the scenes included Guts or Casca, or the two of them together, usually arguing. Strangely enough, it reminded Dumbledore of James and Lily, but with far less teasing on the male end, and more hostility from the woman.

More flashes, more battles, more death, and finally…

This one was rather fuzzy as if Harry was barely conscious, but the beast looming over him looked solid enough. "What in the blazing hell is that?!" Sirius exclaimed at the sight of the monster. It had the legs of a goat, the body of a muscular giant covered in black fur, a lion-like face, two demonic horns, and a tail. A true demon.

Guts and Griffith lay injured next to Harry as the demon advanced on him. "A valiant try, but unsuccessful." He made ready to stomp Harry's head in when something caught the monster's eye. "Hm? What a unique scar. It is different than the one I know, but I recognize a brand when I see it. His life belongs to another." The monster got ready to slay Griffith when his paw strayed again. "It cannot be. The Egg of the King, the crimson behelit! So, it's that kind of ploy. We'll have to put our battle on hold. But I'll leave a word of warning – no. A prophecy. If you call that man a friend, take heed. For when his ambition collapses, death will pay you a visit! A death you will never escape!"

"An actual demon…" Remus ran a hand through his graying hair. He looked much older now than before. He knew Harry was alright, he was back in the office, but still, even Moody would have been hesitant about facing a creature like that.

Some time must have passed from the encounter with the monster to this next one, Harry was walking with a crutch and he was with Casca in a garden outside of what looked like a castle. "Father, may I please join Elize and Cousin Adonis in the gardens?"

A teenage girl came into view with her dark brown hair done in buns on the side of her head reminding Dumbledore about a certain muggle character from those Star Wars movies. Casca motioned for them to rise and bow their heads as the girl passed.

"Who's that?" Poppy and the younger Harry both asked.

"The princess," Casca had replied.

That couldn't be right. The royal family of England knew about the society of wizards that lived on the island, Dumbledore had met with them on occasion as his duties as Chief Mugwump, and this girl was not a member of any English royalty.

The memory Harry and Casca watched in amusement as the young boy named Adonis scared his cousin Charlotte with a garden snake on a stick. Feeling ashamed, the boy let the harmless serpent go free. It slithered over to where the subject of the memory sat, and he caught the reptile like a seeker in the making before it could slither away. The two memories shared some back and forth about how it wasn't scary, looking innocent enough. That was until they heard the sharp hisses that came out of Harry's mouth.

"The boy is a Parselmouth?" Severus asked in surprise. He was clearly horrified by the idea that Harry possessed an ability that only Salazar Slytherin and Voldemort had. That, and he was equally terrified by the idea that if Harry had attended Hogwarts on time, he might have been sorted into Slytherin House.

The memory Casca had a typical muggle reaction, eyes wide like a doe and standing up in shock. It ended with a young Harry looking like he was trying to figure out what he had done wrong.

After it was confirmed that Harry had a magical talent, it shifted to a calmer and composed Casca offering an apology and some words of comfort for her previous reaction in a sisterly fashion.

"Muggles in a medieval setting who aren't going to burn a wizard at the stake?" Sirius rhetorically said. "That might be the strangest thing so far." The joke was lacking. He had made it lighten the mood after seeing his godson kill a man and encounter a monster. It didn't work.

More scenes passed by, Guts taking him to an aged blacksmith to forge a sword, more battles, overhearing Griffith's standard for a friend, Griffith telling Harry that the unseen dream of Harry's was much closer than he believed. There was a grand ball, Guts leaving after a duel with Griffith, Harry following after. The Skull Knight appeared to them once more, and much like the demon warned them of a coming danger.

Betrayal. They were set upon by knights of the land, Griffith was nowhere to be seen – kidnapped and tortured, presumably. Time passed and a rescue mission was put into practice. With the aid of the princess, they traveled below a tower, down to the deepest level. A growing sense of dread filled them at the lone occupant of the cell.

Poppy was in an instant flutter. "Good heavens!"

Griffith's body was a shell of his former self, hardly any muscle or meat remained; he was missing fingernails and large patches of skin. His back looked to have been flayed and he appeared castrated as well. Having experienced the pains of the cruciatus curse, Dumbledore didn't even want to imagine how this Griffith might be feeling.

There was an escape, Guts clearing the way as a plethora of guards made their way down the tower. The man's battle tendency was beyond extreme, slaughtering the men left and right.

Merlin… Had Harry been traveling with a man as ferocious as this? Maybe that's why it came as no surprise when the memory of Harry put a sword to the princess' neck, using her as a hostage.

They were in a field now. Griffith was placed in the back of a wagon as the other memories hustled about, ready to make a quick getaway if necessary. The princess, strangely, did not seem to hold any animosity to Harry for taking her hostage, she was fixated on just one person.

"Please, we're safe for the time being, all I request is a moment alone with Lord Griffith." The princess pleaded, trying to poke her head into the wagon where the man was. She was clearly head over heels for the once proud-looking man, and Dumbledore suspected if Griffith's current state had something to do with this girl.

Memory Harry shook his head. "Griffith's… been through a lot. He just needs time to rest right now."

"Then allow me to assist," she insisted. "Anything that I can do to help, I will try my best to do. If I truly am joining you all in your travels, I will need to make myself useful. Please."

"You still can," Harry tried to reason. "Just, for right now the most you can do is give him a little space. But… when he's feeling up to it, you can be the first to come and visit him."

That seemed to brighten up the princess as she flung her arms around his neck for a hugging embrace. "Thank you. You mean it?"

The memory Harry looked a bit unsure. "Uh… yeah, sure."

Sirius shook his head. "He's mature for his age, but he knows nothing about how to woo a lady."

Dumbledore could agree about the first part. Harry was mature for someone his age, maybe even on par with older students or graduates. It most likely came from the setting he had been in for a few years, one that was much harsher and that deprived children of childhood.

The wagon that Griffith was in began to move, the driver being Griffith who had somehow managed to handle the reigns. Guts was the first to grab a horse and take off after him, Casca ordering Harry to stay and watch the princess and the handmaiden.

"What will happen to Lord Griffith?" the princess looked pale and on the verge of collapse.

"He'll be fine," Harry tried to assure her. "Guts and the rest will bring him back, he just… he just felt overwhelmed is all." He said that just as a large, dark shape began moving to block out the sun. It was the start of an eclipse.

It changed again. Harry was in a cave of some kind, his leg heavily bandaged and propped up. Guts came into view, and Poppy gasped again. His entire torso was wrapped in gauze, his left arm missing at the elbow, and right eye shut tight as a trail of blood leaked from his closed lid.

"Auuu! Oooo!" Casca played with a young girl in the cave pool, her demeanor of a fierce knight was gone, replaced with the child-like one that had been eyeing around Dumbledore's office.

"Well what has happened?" Amelia asked, confusion written all over her face. "Where is that Griffith man, where are all the others? What did that to them? And what are those marks?" Harry and Guts had one on their necks and Casca had it on her collar, just above her breast. They looked to have been branded like cattle. The way she was acting compared to how she was before, it reminded Dumbledore of what had happened to his sister all those years ago.

So many questions were being raised, and the memories kept flying past them. Guts being gifted that giant sword from the blacksmith as well as his prosthetic arm, Harry and him going their separate ways, leaving Casca in the cave of the smith. Harry encountered a man who turned into a giant ape-like creature, and fighting and slaying it.

"…Creatures that turn into men," Lupin said in awe as he watched Harry kill the beast.

"What was that, Remus?" Minerva asked, equally as stunned.

"A student mentioned something in my one class about creatures that turn into people, I thought she meant animagi, but… could she have meant this?"

More flashes, more memories, finding Schierke and the woman who would teach him magic. Him making his own staff, eventually setting off, reuniting with Guts, saving a girl and fighting another one of those monsters. Harry let this one go not because he believed the thing could do better, but because he wanted her to suffer knowing her life was nothing but meaningless. It was cruel, nothing at all like how the Boy-Who-Lived should act, more like a reimagining in one of the many stories written about him after he defeated Voldemort.

Then there was the scramble to get to another tower, how he met the boy of their group, an assassin man who briefly joined them, defeating men with angel wings, making a peace with a religious fanatic like the blonde girl who claimed to now be studying magic, and then…

"Is that… Griffith?" Remus asked as the memory of the destroyed tower showed a pure flawless being climbing onto the back of the same demon as before, this time with just one horn.

They were back at the blacksmith's now. Harry and Guts were doing battle with a man that could rival Hagrid in height and muscle, both was trying to get to a now fully clothed Griffith who stood behind the mighty warrior. After more fighting, the warrior shifted into the now familiar demon.

Then it was troll slaying, clearing out a village of small hairy beasts that looked nothing like how they knew trolls to be. In the troll cave, Harry and Guts fought what looked to be a lady made out of intestines. She would have been very beautiful if she didn't seem to give off an aura of darkness. She marked both of them with scars on their chests, making Poppy cringe. They were saved by the Skull Knight once again.

Another change, the tree of Flora was on fire, a battle was taking place outside. Guts wore a new suit of armor as he fought a giant of a man. He moved like a true demon in that wolf-like armor, he was beyond a master swordsman, he was near unbeatable.

More fighting, more traveling, Guts and that horned demon worked together to bring down a man made out of steam, and Harry dueled a wizard much more experienced wizard. They boarded the boat, and then… everything went white.

Dumbledore had to blink a few times as he came out of the trance that came with looking into the pensieve. His colleagues were looking equally as stunned and horrified as he felt on the inside, but pushed down with years of experience in a political sense. He looked across the desk at the arrivals who had no doubt been talking while they had been viewing the memories.

The stare from Guts remained as cold and threatening as it had been before, maybe even more so now. Casca, the woman who was confirmed to be a once proud warrior still continued to entertain herself with some of the instruments around the office. And Harry, it was like Dumbledore was seeing him for the first time. The shy awkward boy from the start of the memories was now a young man who had been forced to mature long before his time when he could have been spent making friends at Hogwarts, playing Quidditch, and studying like most boys his age. He wasn't a boy who would just obey what a teacher told him, he would question it, try his own way.

"Well…" Dumbledore cleared his throat, "… you have certainly seen fit to prove your case, Mr. Potter." He waited to see if he would say anything on that. "It would seem that you are owed an apology."

"There was a gap," Severus voiced in place of an apology. "One moment you were rushing headfirst to try and rescue that Griffith man, the next you're in a cave with heavy wounds."

"I showed you what was necessary," Harry said with a hint of ice directed at the potions master. "You wanted me to prove my case, I proved it."

No doubt reminded of James, Severus retorted. "If you are hiding something, then it stands to reason that those memories might have been fabricated."

"Oh, bugger off, Snivelles!" Sirius jumped in.

Severus' eyes narrowed dangerously. "What did you say?"

"I'm saying to stop acting like an unimaginable ass," Sirius specified. "Harry didn't have to show us anything at all. So if you want my opinion, just shut the hell up."

"Gentlemen!" Amelia gained their attention. "If the two of you would kindly act your age, I do believe Mr. Potter is owed credit where credit is due."

"For refusing to comply and give the information?" Severus sarcastically drawled.

"For performing feats that far extend what could have been asked of him," Amelia sent Severus a narrowed glare.

"You would praise the boy for risking his life?" Severus shot back.

"No, but I would advise you keep your mouth shut on matters you are ignorant to, Professor Snape," Amelia advised. "After witnessing all of that, do you really wish to get on the bad side of any of these arrivals?"

The boy, Isidro whispered to the elf, Puck. "She means us too, right?"

Puck whispered back. "Especially us."

Poppy was making a fuss. "I should have brought more supplies from the hospital wing! Sir," she looked at Guts, "I'll be back with some supplies, I'll apply them to your wounds to-,"

"-Calm down, lady," Guts interrupted. "I don't want you coming at me with any of your stuff, that's what the bug is useful for. Save it for when a kid gets a splinter."

"You're wounds are beyond a splinter!" Poppy was instant.

"No is still no," Guts' tone lowered. "Isn't listening suppose to be a trait of medics?"

She was about to go on a rant about the importance of why he should not refuse treatment, but Dumbledore had to intervene. "You have endured much, all of you, and for that, you have my sincerest of apologies for questioning the truth." The blonde youth, Serpico, gave the closest thing to a polite nod of the head, probably just out of a means to be well-mannered. "But addressing the topic of a gap in memory, I assume it was left out for good reason?"

"You don't need to see that part." Harry seemed… afraid to dive back into that part of his memory. The boy was no coward, his actions proved that, but everyone had an unpleasant memory of something or other. And whatever it was, it was the cause of their injury, Guts' loss of limb, and Casca's current state, one that reminded him so much of his sister.

"Your privacy is your own, Mr. Potter, you have provided more than enough information to support your claim." There was more to magic than meets the eye after all, however outlandish it might be. "From what I gathered, you seek to restore this woman to her former self."

"Huu?" Casca briefly regarded them before returning to looking at the instrument she had been eying.

"For the longest time, yeah," Harry confirmed as much.

While the young woman reminded him a great deal of Arianne, she also had some similarities with Alice and Frank Longbottom. Two good people who had their sanity and minds destroyed through heavy trauma. "Hogwarts has always been open to those who are in need of assistance, but I am unsure how to help in this situation." Even at St. Mungos, both Longbottoms remained unchanged, even unable to recognize their own son. Guts looked ready to say something. "However, as Headmaster of Hogwarts, and as a means of apologizing for my previous actions, I offer sanctuary for the present time."

"Well," the captain, Roderick began, "that is certainly generous of you, headmaster. But, do forgive me, but coming from a well-to-do family, I was always taught to look a gift ship in her cannons before setting sail."

"I ask now that Voldemort has returned, to share a rather valuable piece of information with young Mr. Potter."

"Oh?" Harry raised a brow. "And what is that?"

"The reason as to why Voldemort came to your parents' cottage that night to end your life. There was a time I would have prolonged revealing this piece of information by telling myself that you could not handle it, that you should preserve your innocence, but… recent events must be taken into account. I would only ask that I only reveal this information to Mr. Potter in private."

Harry was quick to deny him that. "Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of all of them." He referred more to those he arrived with than the residents of this world.

If he had been a student, Minerva would have scolded him, but instead, she looked to Dumbledore expectantly, unaware of why two of her students had really died that night in Godric's Hollow. "It is quite a sensitive topic and pertains heavily to you alone." The reality of another world of medieval society didn't seem as difficult as the truth.

"And whatever you tell me I would just tell them anyway, so why not just say it now?" Harry was dead set against being with Dumbledore alone.

"And as friends to both Lily and James, I think we have a right to know as well," Sirius unsurprisingly sided with his godson.

"Sirius, the truth-,"

"-Is something you've kept hidden long enough. I admitted to being the one responsible for Harry being back, and he revealed his journey to us. What have you revealed?"

"It was never my intent to come across as being untrustworthy," Dumbledore defended.

"Yeah, really great way of showing it," Guts snarked. "Everything you've said could have been told by any of your people. Now, are you going to tell him why this guy is after him or not?"

Dumbledore was silent for what felt like an eternity. "…Voldemort has always been a superstitious person, even by wizarding standards. He believed he was always destined for more and more power, killing anyone who stood in his way of gaining more. Shortly before you were born, a prophecy was made. It said-,"

"-Stop," Harry raised his hand for him to pause.

"It is a lot to take in, I know, but it is the truth. The prophecy pertained to-,"

"-Stop," Harry said once again. "Don't talk about prophecy. After all, I showed you, of ordinary people defying odds, you think I would believe some prophecy? Zodd gave a prophecy about never being able to escape death, and we're still living."

This wasn't going like he expected. "Harry-,"

"-Unless you can give a reason as to why that doesn't involve prophecy, there's nothing more to say about that."

"…" Dumbledore had nothing.

"Well we were talking while you were looking in that pensieve," Harry went on, uncaring about the prophecy, "for however long we're here we'll keep to Roderick's ship, the only thing we really want to ask at the moment is any information about magical remedies." He referred to Casca.

Sirius was quick to respond. "I'd be more than happy to lend you some books from the Black Library; I never used it for much anyway."

The blonde girl, Farnese said, "Thank you, Mr. Black. That would be a most gracious help."

"That about all you wanted to ask?" Guts asked Harry.

"For now, yeah."

"Mm. Then that's about it, wouldn't you say?" he was looking at Dumbledore. "Unless you're prepared to go on about your bullshit prophecy."

Definitely not like how he expected. "No, I have said my share of the matter, I can only hope that in time Mr. Potter would care to listen."

"Right," Roderick nearly dragged the word as he rose from his seat. "As long as we've established some kind of setting, I'd like to return to my ship. One of you wouldn't mind leading the way, that'd be a great help, you know, your staircase and all."

"I'll go," Sirius offered. "It is my fault after all." No one disagreed with him as he led them out, back to where their ship was anchored.

"Just as arrogant as his father!" Severus began as soon as they were gone. "His abilities, while impressive for someone his age, fall short of Hogwarts standard."

"Is that how you see him, Severus?" Minerva asked, her accent flaring up. "To me, Potter looked more powerful than any seventh-year student with full N.E.W.T marks."

"To have lived in a world such as that…" Remus was still trying to come to terms with all of it. "Demons, evil spirits, no wonder he didn't take a threat like You-Know-Who seriously." Indeed. The most powerful beast Dumbledore had slain had been the basilisk that one year after blowing the entrance open once Myrtle had told them where it was. The Sword of Gryffindor had come in handy that day, but some of these monsters looked twice as dangerous as the snake.

"Speaking of that particular individual, I should be returning to the Ministry," Amelia made her way to the fireplace. "The rest of my team is probably already chewing the Minister's ear off. Best to get there to calm things down, though, they won't be for long."

"You mean to tell about Harry's return?" Dumbledore already knew the answer to that.

"As a Ministry Official, it comes with the job. Just be prepared for the fallout. Once I give my report, there's no telling how much will be labeled as true or dismissed as a hoax."

The deck of the Sea Horse was relatively quiet by the time they arrived back. Farnese's brother, Magnifico had quickly demanded answers as to what was going on and Roderick took it upon himself to try and gently break the news to him. After that, Roderick had ordered that the ship be moved further away from the castle and maintain a safe distance. The knowledge that Harry was practically famous among a group of wizards didn't sit right.

If Roderick wanted to make that call, it was fine with Guts. Those wizards had come across as more than a bit off the wagon, especially the old man and the grease ball. Whenever the latter had opened his mouth, Guts could feel the voice of the Beast of Darkness telling him to just rip his throat out.

He pushed those thoughts away, but he knew that everyone else had been thinking something along those lines at one point or another. Guts hoped his "pat" of the back had been enough indication to let the man know what was to come if he continued to act like a prick. He should probably wash his hand after touching the man.

They set anchor on the other side of the lake, the castle still visible from the many lights from inside, but they looked much less bright. Guts would have chalked it up to it just being they were farther away, but to him the lights seemed… dull, grey, even. His vision was probably feeling the effect of his last usage of the Berserker Armor.

He sat on the rail of the deck, looking out at the castle full of mages. He was nearly the only one on the deck at the moment. One crew member was up in the crow's nest, and two more were at the helm. Nearly everyone else was just trying to make sense of all that had happened in such a short time.

"Guts?" it would seem he wasn't too alone.

"Hey," he greeted the short witch.

"You're not resting?" she sounded concerned.

"It's only midday. Besides, wouldn't really be able to get too much with everything going on over there."

"Hm." She nodded.

Light waves lapped the side of the ship. "Some view, huh?"

"I suppose, but it's far from what I'd think a magic school would look like. It feels… disconnected from deeper layers." She sounded melancholy.

"It'd fit royalty, but not a mage, but what do I know about any of that," Guts somewhat agreed. Flora's place had felt more open than a castle. Maybe he was just saying that because he had stormed his fair share of castles as a mercenary. "So how's Harry processing all of this?"

She tilted her head. "Why are you asking me?"

"I just figured you'd know."

"I haven't really talked to him about it yet. Coming to terms with all of this, finding out he's famous here, I didn't want to add bombard him with questions. Right now he's just sleeping it over."

"And when he wakes up? Planning on giving him hell?"

"Well… I wouldn't say it like that…"

"Hmph."

"What's that mean?" Schierke asked.

"Nothing, just assumed you'd be mad is all."

"Are you mad?"

"Not at him, no. I thought you would be, he never told you he was from this… astral plane or whatever, did he?"

"He didn't tell you, did he?"

"No. But Casca, she always thought the story he gave when we found him was pretty weak. It was one of the things I agreed about with her." They always butted heads at first until Guts became used to her temper and just learned to deal with it.

"Right now… I guess it's just accepting that its fact. From what he said back there and before, I got the sense that he didn't care for this world, at least, not the people in it anyway." She meant his relatives. "But, that Sirius Black seemed kind enough."

"Well, Harry is his godson, right?" Guts said. "I can't speak for the man, but he seems to be trying to get into Harry's good books."

"He did agree to lend us anything to help with Casca's recovery," Schierke mentioned, holding her hat as a breeze passed by.

"Yeah, he did. But then what?"

"Huh?"

"…Nothing much, just wondering about something." Guts knew how they looked at him, like a guy who knew how things would play out and somehow come out on top. But he had no idea half the time, he went on his instinct, never really knowing the outcome unless it involved a fight. If Casca was healed, where do they go from there? Do they try to find a way back to Midland, or do they stay here? All were unknowns.

"Oh," Schierke said, looking like she wanted to say something.

"What is it?" Guts asked.

"Well… it is a bit sudden, but before all of… this craziness happened, Farnese was asking what kind of woman Casca was before. Harry really only said she was a great fighter, really."

"He wasn't wrong," Guts affirmed. "She had a fire to her, kind of like when you hit use that staff like a club. For a girl who weighs less than a sparrow, you can pack a punch."

"T-that was only once," she seemed flustered. "And… he deserved it for making me worry."

"I bet." Guts was silent until he saw Schierke was looking at him like she wanted to know more. "But Casca…" he rarely talked about how she had been before that cursed day, but Schierke had proven herself to be a loyal ally, "… she was really stubborn, not really a prim and proper lady type." A breeze passed by again. "Loyal too, you could depend on her to do something and do it right. Short tempered, she was always snapping about something."

"And someone worth risking everything for?" she didn't ask in a sarcastic or mocking tone, just curious.

"There aren't many people that are, But Casca… without a doubt. It's like when you pull me out of my armor, I guess. You just see the person you want to be brought out; somehow you believe that they're worth it." A breeze passed by again, taking Schierke's hat with it. Before it could land in the lake, Guts caught it. "Heh," he chuckled, putting the hat back on her head. "Now I'm acting like some noble knight. Or maybe…" he looked at those lights again, "maybe I'm just losing my senses."

They stopped only briefly at Malfoy Manor, just long enough to get everything all set up. Down in the cellar, more runes had been drawn on the wall of the room where prisoners would have been kept from the glory days of Death Eaters kidnapping and torture raids. Voldemort had had another dream from those who call themselves the God Hand, things on the other end were all complete, the layers, were more like doors at this point, and when he felt the summon of the fifth angel, he had little choice but to comply. Although he would have happily remained here for a longer time, he had his own business to deal with instead of answering a summons.

The last rune was drawn to make the shape of an archway on the side of the wall, each one glowed purple with energy as Voldemort ran his hand along each as he saw in his dream. Once the last rune had been touched, they glowed an almost blinding blue, a sign that it had been a success.

Now it would function much like the barrier to get on to Platform Nine and Three Quarters, just walk into it, and you would arrive on another side entirely.

For this visit, he would be bringing with him his select few Death Eaters whom he had granted pseudo-apostlehood. Lucius had argued to go as well, but he had shot him down. Someone had to stay and keep up on the news the papers were bound to be putting out soon about his return.

"My Lord," Bellatrix spoke, moving to stand at his right, "this barrier, where is it we are crossing to?"

"To the city of an angel, Bella. And a muggle city at that."

"Muggles?" she repeated with disgust, spitting on the floor of the cell like the word was poison. "What business can muggles offer us?"

Rabastan spoke next, "Are we to raid them, my Lord? We love the way they squeal when they're being tortured."

"Quiet, all of you!" he silenced them when he heard the laughs. "You have your personal freedom allotted to you, but you still obey me, understood?" the cellar was filled with many "Yes, my Lord," followed by the bowing of their heads.

"I can understand your bloodlust, but do try to keep it contained until we return." He didn't have the power necessary to oppose the angels just yet. First, Potter would have to fall, then he would deal with those who lorded their power above his own.

When he passed through the magic-made barrier, it felt like he was being pushed back, but it wasn't nearly strong enough to keep him from pushing forward, the connection still being fairly new and all. And when he came out on the other side, he was faced with open fields in front of him, and one trunk of the biggest tree behind him. Like the rest of the city that it towered over, it was pure white.

"New arrivals?" Charlotte asked Anna as Sir Owen led a group of people in robes into the main chamber of Falconia's high standing palace. She shouldn't be too surprised, people were flocking to Falconia like moths to a flame, it was the only safe place for humanity left.

"Hm? Oh, yes, they were found just outside the walls from what I heard," Anna said, the chamber they were in was nearly deserted save for them, Sir Owen, the arrivals, and of course, Griffith.

Griffith spotted her and smiled, beckoning her to come and join the conversation he was having with the leader of the bunch. It was a handsome man of perhaps fifty, but a very youthful looking fifty, so much so that he could pass for thirty if he so chose. His rich, dark hair and sharp features really set his appearance as being one of nobility, but not one that she had ever met before.

She walked over with her hands folded over her front, intent on making a good first impression for Griffith and this newcomer. "How do?" she greeted not with a curtsey, but with a stiff nod of her head. It was always said that queens do not bow to just anyone.

"Ah, Charlotte, allow me to introduce a new arrival from an island nation north of Lith, a newly formed nation of England," England? It seemed fitting to the man in a way. "This is Lord Tom Voldemort." She swore she almost saw a flash across the man's dark eyes at the mention of his first name.

"How do, Lord Voldemort?"

"Quite well," he felt out any formal title such as your grace, your highness, or queen. But she extended a gloved hand to him, and he kissed her glove rather quickly, almost like he was ashamed to have to have done it. If he was from a newly established nation, his pride could be excused. However, the one woman of the bunch he had brought with him was flaring her nostrils like a bull about to charge. Charlotte though the woman to have pretty features, her current expression was not complimenting them at all.

"I trust your travel was a safe one, Lord?" Griffith asked, his close-lipped smile even managed to be charming.

"Uneventful, Lord Griffith. But your city is a marvel. I was wondering if there might be a place where we could talk to discuss a certain matter."

"Oh, of course. Please, follow me, I'll escort you." Before leaving, Griffith planted a kiss on her hand as well, leading the lord to a more secluded spot within the palace. The rest of the party remained firm in the center of the wide hall, not looking impressed in the slightest by all Falconia had to offer. The woman had even pulled out a twig and was using it to curl his hair.

"It is my pleasure to welcome members of a new fledgling nation to Falconia," Charlotte initiated conversation with the people. The only one to remotely look at her was the woman, but it was not the look someone would normally give to a royal highness, it was the look a person gave an insect. She went about twirling her hair.

"Is the city not to your liking?" Charlotte asked, unaware of how the architecture was in their homeland. "Falconia's design is quite advanced compared to all others on the main continent. It is like a city of dreams almost; do you think your lord is pleased by it?"

The mention of their lord got the woman's attention. "I'm sure that my lord has seen grander."

"Oh. Well, your nation must be quite progressive with art and design," Charlotte felt a bit put out. "I would love to hear about your island home. Up north, I imagine it must get quite cold."

"North is always cold," the woman blandly replied.

"Of course, forgive my broad question. I was only curious. I've never traveled to Lith or any nation farther north, lady…" Charlotte left the greeting to extend, waiting for her to fill in her name. She did no such thing.

"Erm," she felt her throat become dry, her attempts at building a peaceful relation was being overcome with anxiety. Had she offended this woman in some way? "Have I said something to offend you?"

"Offend me?" the woman repeated. "Apart from seeing my lord kiss the hand of a muggle?"

"Muggle?" she repeated like she had been slapped across the face.

Sir Owen who had been watching the conversation stepped in. "What was that you called the queen?" his usual calm demeanor was lacking.

"A knight?" the woman took in Owen's appearance, seemingly amused. "Not many of them where we come from."

"You may be a visitor here, but standards still stand," Owen warned. "I suggest that you apologize to the queen this instant.

The woman's face broke into a wide smile, one that did not complement her features in the slightest. "Apologize? You have no idea what the word muggle means, do you?"

"No, but I know an insult when I hear one. Apologize."

The woman licked her lips in a quick motion. "The only thing I am sorry for is being in the presence of a muggle."

Owen showed a bit of live steel. "You wench! You-!"

"-Allow me."

Charlotte turned to the new voice, and for once, she was glad to see who it belonged to.

"Go and summon a guard, they will not be necessary. Queen," Zodd's cat-like eyes gazed down at her. "Go to your desired." She did not need telling twice as she quickly left to find Griffith. Owen, sensing trouble, went to go and scramble the palace guards.

Zodd watched as the woman let out a cackle. "A brute?" she was not afraid, not yet. "A muggle is a muggle, no matter how big." Her fellow members laughed.

"You looked to start a fight by insulting the girl," Zodd knew bait when he saw it. He drew his sword and ax, watching as they aimed those wands at him, nothing at all like how the one boy had done. He dropped his weapons, he would not be needing them for this. "I will oblige your request. As an apostle to a pseudo such as yourself." That put their guard up.

"Apostle or not, you are still a mugg-gah!" Zodd's hand wrapped around her neck completely, lifting her off the ground. Two of the men made ready to fire, but Zodd threw the woman into them, knocking them over.

He grabbed one by the head, bringing the man's face to his upcoming knee. The sound of bone breaking gave his senses the pleasure that they had been missing. But the man was still alive, weakened, but the powers of pseudo-apostleship keeping him alive from the force of the hit. Perhaps some real challenge.

He backhanded another, moving into his exposed front and ripping the wand from his grasp. So reliant on magic. The boy had the physical prowess to back up his fighting style. These are worms! He found himself agitated he was dealing with such sloth.

"Filthy beast!" the woman was up and recovered. Her body and eyes looked to start glowing, signaling a change in her pseudo-apostle from.

"Already?" Zodd asked, the thrill of the fight starting up once again. "You would access your full power when I have barely unleashed? Do what you will, it will not end in your favor."

"You-!"

"Enough!" a voice washed over all of them getting them to instantly stop the fight. Only one could do that. The disguised Femto walked calmly toward them, Voldemort following behind. Zodd spotted the queen hiding at the end of the hall, her face mortified and white. "These are your followers," the disguised God Hand told the smaller apostle. "I trust you will deal with their misbehavior?"

"Of course… Lord Griffith." It looked painful for him to say it.

"Master!" the woman shouted. "You do not have to bow to-!"

"-Stay your tongue, Bellatrix, your gift can always be revoked." She shut up instantly.

"They have power, but lack discipline," Zodd told their master.

"I will deal with them," Voldemort said. "You merely caught them off guard."

"Perhaps, but they paled in comparison to the boy wizard I fought."

"What?" Voldemort asked.

"He was worth more than all these weaklings combined, a good opponent." He observed the others face. "Oh? Was it you who marked him? The boy still lives to my knowledge. But if you try to kill him as you are now," he eyed the wand held in the other apostle's hand, "you will die yourself."

"Magic is might," he whispered in an angry tone.

"Spoken like one who has not trained their body to fight, like one who relies on a greater power."

"Zodd," the disguised God Hand spoke, cutting off the retort that the other apostle was going to say. "Would you please escort the queen back to her chambers?" the girl was still a distance away, nervously trying to blend into the wall. "I will deal with the situation here."

Zodd nodded, ignoring the hateful look he was getting from the apostle. "Come," was all Zodd said as he passed by the terrified girl. As expected, he had to wait for her to overcome her fear before following a dozen paces behind. Escorting the queen seemed on par with that fight, he had been expecting so much more from magic users, and they hadn't even fired a spell before he dealt with all of them. Perhaps that boy was a rarity among his kind.

"Uh…"

"What is it?" Zodd asked, annoyed that she had spoken.

She seemed to shrink in on herself. "…What will Griffith do with them?"

"That is for him to decide. Their lives are irrelevant to you."

"You fought them."

"Some fights are worth it, most are not. They were weak but will live. It only got the blood pumping for a brief moment or two. They acted in a way that provoked a response, I had been hoping for more challenge on their end."

"…So… it had nothing to do with defending honor?" She spoke lacking confidence, lacking fire, spoken like a lady, nothing at all like the line of previous rulers of this land. Nothing at all like the other.

"Yours? You are betrothed to one who is unrivaled. One honor sullied is the same as both sullied, but a fight needs no honor to be a true fight. It is what is desired. That is my desire, to do battle and to see battle. You desire a being for the memory he provides, that was why you ran to him. You, a girl who is not a fighter, but one who is content to play a victim, to act in a way that others would like, to appeal to your desired. To others like those who mocked you, they see through your victim act."

"I... I... do not mean to come across as that, not to them, and not to Griffith." Was she perhaps aware herself of how she appeared on the outside. "I am not strong like Griffith. I... can do only what I know, to go to him."

"He is your desire, a beacon of light for you to cling." And one that is unattainable for a girl such as yourself, you are nothing but a stone to him. "If you had not sought him out, this palace would be tainted with blood." What a shame that would be.

"Y-you would have killed them if you had not been stopped, just for desire? Even if it the fight mattered not?" she still kept her distance.

"Would you, a girl who weighs little more than a sparrow, kill to save the one you desire? To feel what it is you want, to bring out another side, the side that feels desire, how far would you act?" he left her at her bedroom door, stalking off once more to recall a time of a true fight, his with the boy wizard, the Black Swordsman, and another who was the farthest from that girl, making him wonder how she was of the same make. Time did fade all traits.

A/N: Not a lot to say this time around. Thank you for reading.


	45. Chapter 45

Hairul The Nightrage Beast: Zodd is always on the lookout for strong opponents, and the Death Eaters were lacking in that field to be sure.

"Potter was here?"

They sat in what Voldemort presumed to be a solar toward the back of the hawk-like palace of Falconia. It was a circular room with a high ceiling, light curtains fluttering with a passing breeze of the open terrace door. Like the rest of the city, it was grand, pristine and white, and carried a feeling of emptiness.

He was no architect, but he didn't have to be to see that this place was lacking any real substance to it. The place was swarming with muggles, after all. Filthy, disgusting muggles, they walked the streets free with smiles on their faces like their lives actually meant something. How the being sitting across from him could stomach it, Voldemort did not know.

The disguised Godhand sitting across from him regarded him with a disinterested glance. "Indeed. Zodd spoke the truth; he encountered the boy whose fate is tied to your own."

"It will not be for long," Voldemort insisted. The prophecy referred to one who was his equal and he had never been one to share. The fact this being before him could be considered a god was the only thing stopping him from firing off his favorite spell.

"Do you know the full context of the prophecy?" blue eyes met his red ones.

"I know enough." Only what Severus had overheard before being discovered. "I would assume you know it in its entirety?"

"Of course. Causality governs all, that is how prophecy is made."

"And for that, I am grateful." But not toward a once-muggle. "The power bestowed to me has made me magic incarnate. Potter's end will be swift."

"Perhaps," the human Godhand did not sound convinced. "Zodd spoke many a truth, your followers lack proper knowledge of their gift, and, if you were to face the boy now, you will die."

"Potter is a boy with no exceptional magical talent," Voldemort argued. "I have-,"

"-Have you seen him in action?" those eyes, they were like walls of ice.

"I have not. But you have?"

The Godhand developed a sort of faux coy smile. "On occasion. The boy whom you say to have no extraordinary magical talent held his own against the apostle who made short work of your subordinates, he is quite imaginative when it comes to casting spells, and he even survived an encounter with my cohort, Slan." Potter survived against the Godhand?! "You look dumbfounded, Lord Voldemort. Would you like to confirm it through one of the others?"

"They… are here as well?" his eyes scanned the room for any subtle movement; any shift of shadow, down to check the floor was still solid and not the face of Conrad or Ubik.

"They are not like me, they were not reborn into this world through a host, but it is open to them. Unable to change their appearance to how they once were, they reside in the lower level of this palace, unable to fully leave." Those icy eyes found his once again. "You could just as easily talk to them as you would to me."

Damn him! Voldemort internally cursed. He knew what that was; it was a power-play. He was at a disadvantage before, but that was just confirmation that he had no control except perhaps where to steer the conversation.

"A tempting offer, but one I must refuse." If only he could use a few choice words. "But back to Potter, I was told that when the time was right that he would come to me. I am in the land where he resides; once the moment comes I will end him." And then I'll deal with you and the other four.

"And he will, your showdown with him is inevitable. But that is not why you were summoned here. There is more to this world than just your obsession with the boy, and Falconia is the first example of such."

"You could have informed me of such through dreams as you have always done," Voldemort pointed out. "If there is another phase to the plan, I hardly see why I had to come here for such a matter." Other than to waste my time.

"Dreams can only convey so much. Face to face interaction is much more preferred in this case. As you might have noticed, Falconia is home to many other apostles like yourself, each making up a part of my band as well as-,"

"-I have my own followers, and none of them would see me pledge my allegiance to someone else. You are fully capable of-,"

"-Do not interrupt me."

An invisible force seemed to be pressing down on Voldemort's shoulders, making his upper torso bend forward. His head remained at an angle to where he could still see the majestic face of the one called "Griffith" looking down at him like a benevolent god.

"My apologies…" Voldemort said through clenched teeth. "I forgot myself." Forgot myself in that I ever made a deal with four once-muggles. Enjoy it while you can, Femto.

The force removed itself from him, allowing him to sit up straight once again. "You are forgiven. Many of the newer apostles still have a more rebellious side to them it comes as no surprise that your underlings saw fit to harass my betrothed. It is excusable."

As it should be. The little doxy probably said something to offend them in the first place.

"Will you punish them for their action?"

"As I see fit." Not entirely.

"I see. I leave them to your judgment." He didn't sound too concerned for the girl

"So what is it I was summoned here for if not to be a part of your new band."

"As I was saying, this world has undergone a great change since the end of the war; creatures that are common on your side of things are considered a rarity here, myth, even. And now they are returned, a true miracle brought to life and Falconia is the only refuge that is offered. Our worlds are more or less aligned; the connection is still fairly new. But there are other points in your world with strong connections to magic, yes?"

"There are." After his time in Hogwarts and Borgin and Burke, he had scoured various locations for objects related to the founders to become Horcruxs. He had learned of many a magical place, Egypt had strong ties, as did Japan, Africa, and many parts of Eastern Europe. "Do you plan to invade there next? Pardon my bluntness, but the weapons here are primitive compared to the ones on my side of things. Loathe as I am to admit it, muggles there are quite advantageous when it comes to weaponry, leagues beyond what your army may possess."

He still remembered from the first war, one of his Death Eaters had been shot with a gun while raiding a muggle neighborhood. Not to forget the World Wars and the devastation that came from it. On second thought, do it. Invade, and let it all crumble around you.

"Hm." He seemed completely unconcerned. "And the people on the other side, they are diverse?"

Diverse? "In what sense?"

"Culture, society, faith."

"Very." It was absurd. "Do you seek to appear to them as a god?"

"Not through myself, I don't. Patience is key in that regard. You have answered all for now." He rose from his seat, Voldemort doing the same.

"That is all? What will happen now? I do not plan on staying in this city longer than I have to."

"The golden rule of apostles still stands," the Godhand informed, "do as you will. You made it here easily enough, you can make your way back."

"And what of Potter?" Voldemort did not like how nonchalant he brushed aside the topic of the one who was his rival.

"As you've been told, he will come to you." Those eyes never seemed to blink. "If you wish to seek him out, it is within your full right to do so; ambition is a powerful tool for those like us." Me more than you. "Just look at Emperor Ganishka, a once proud apostle turned to a tree to bridge our worlds. Ambition was his ally, but he strayed too far from his path, wouldn't you agree?" He mentioned it with a smile on his face, but his eyes conveying the hidden meaning of consequence.

"Absolutely." Voldemort followed him from the room, a dark shadow hung over his eyes.

"Is that the one?" Locus' question was pertaining to the individual escorted over to them by the ruler of the city.

"He is indeed," Zodd confirmed at seeing the displeased-looking wizard. The disguised Godhand sent them a silent nod of the head.

"Captains," he greeted both War Demons, "do show this man around and escort him to where his underlings are residing."

"Of course, my Lord," Locus put a mailed hand to his chest, bowing his head like a proper knight should. Zodd was less formal, giving only a nod of affirmation. Let Locus and even Grunbeld act the part of a knight, all of them were still monsters in their own right.

"Very well, I have other affairs to set in order; I trust you'll carry it out to the best of you ability. Good day to you both." He walked off, white hair barely disturbed from the breeze of the open terrace where Zodd and Locus stood looking out over the city below, leaving them with the newest arrival, the wizard.

"A warm welcome to you, lord." Locus bid his greeting to the other apostle who didn't see fit to offer one in return. "If you would, follow us. The ones who came with you were temporarily detained for their transgression."

The queen was by no means a fighter, but she was a source of conflict. Zodd mused. Perhaps it is the only way she can only be considered of the same make as those before. The same make that he was grateful in a way for previous conflict, but compared to someone of previous warrior caliber, the queen was the biggest disappointment.

Locus continued. "You should be pleased to know that their injuries are healing remarkably fast. Impressive considering that they sustained those injuries from Captain Zodd."

The warlock narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. "Yes, impressive indeed. Had they not been caught off guard things would have ended quite differently."

"They are meant to be your soldiers; soldiers should always anticipate a fight." Zodd professed. "It would have ended the same regardless."

"Brute force is your ally, but compared to a high power, it is a leaf in a stream, washed away."

"Spoken like one who has yet to grasp the reality around him." He was seriously starting to wonder if that boy wizard was a rare of his kind, he had been nowhere near this incomprehensible. "You have been an apostle for how long, a year? Maybe less? What have you accomplished in that time?"

"I would not be here if I had not accomplished a feat on my end," the warlock did not back down. "But I see no reason to explain it, I've nothing to prove." Your attitude would suggest otherwise.

"Ahem!" Locus stepped between them, his long, dark locks swayed with each turn of his head. "Another altercation is not about to erupt, is it? I would rather not have to explain why to Lord Griffith."

The one called Voldemort curled his lip, but said, "No. No trouble at all. Lead me to my subordinates." He was clearly displeased, but like every other apostle, he knew better than to upset one of the Godhand. He could make subtle japes or talk down to other apostles he believed beneath him, but never to the Godhand. And should his behavior get out of hand like he allowed his followers to do, there would be no getting out of that.

Acting like the noble knight he fancied himself to be, Locus led the way through the maze that was the palace of Falconia. Voldemort's eyes casually glanced between every pillar, every corner, not trusting them or this city fully, only to the extent that they were under orders to do no harm unless he were to act as an aggressor.

"You are very quiet," Locus said out loud.

"Conversing is not necessary," Voldemort responded, not sounding thrilled. "I will be sure to tell as much to my subordinates. Their power is a blessing but they seemed to have forgotten themselves." He only seemed to be saying that as a way to assure them that he was in control over those who followed him, like a lion roaring for a display of power.

"Power such as ours is a blessing," Locus added, "the heat of a fire. Extraordinary to behold, and dangerous if burned."

Spoken like a real knight of the land. How long will you keep up the act? Locus had no one to win over or fool, he was among two other apostles here.

Voldemort's red eyes seemed to shine darkly. "Then the one who underestimates that power would be a charred crisp." Zodd could feel his stare. This apostle was arrogant, but he did have a fire in him to fuel his drive. In that regard, he was not so different than any other soldier.

"The boy wizard who you marked, you seek to kill him?" Zodd asked.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes to resemble a snake. "So is my destiny."

"I once issued a prophecy to him, he survived. Expect him to try and struggle against it, as well as the swordsman he travels with." The ultimate struggler.

"The Black Swordsman?" Locus recalled what Grunbeld had said. "The one who fights like a hound out of the abyss?"

"A muggle then?" He seems awfully fond of that word. "You have bested a few of my Death Eaters, but given your state, it is… believable. But one who is muggle to the core, that would be of no concern."

Locus seemed ready to shed some more light on this "muggle" swordsman, but a warning growl from Zodd shut him up. If this warlock apostle wanted to put his faith in prophecy and his abilities over reality, let him. The golden rule of apostles was to do as you please. Zodd would tell him no more, nor would he play with the notion of what would happen if this apostle did encounter the Black Swordsman.

He did not need a prophecy to know that outcome.

You-Know-Who and Boy-Who-Lived

By Rita Skeeter

No, you are not dreaming, dear reader, the title is not a ploy, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned after all these years. Largely believed to be dead, this dark wizard made his return loud and clear on the spring equinox by publically attacking the ancient site of Stonehenge, leaving nearly two dozen muggle tourists dead.

Amelia Bones, the head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement received word of a disturbance on the site and took a team of Aurors to investigate. They were in for the shock of their lives when they arrived to find the bodies of muggle on the ground and the Dark Mark hovering up above. But what is truly disturbing was how You-Know-Who appeared.

According to Auror John Dawlish, You-Know-Who did not appear as he did at the height of his power, rather, as a youthful looking man with sharp features, a man whom you would casually pass down Diagon Alley.

Could this new look mean that his dark powers have lessened, or perhaps, strengthened over time? You'll be pleased to know that this reporter got to ask that question when Minister Fudge held a press conference shortly after it was brought to his attention.

"Any appearance is concerning," Minister Fudge answered. "We are talking about the darkest wizard to ever exist."

Minister Fudge went on to say, "There were next to no signs of his return, this has come as a surprise to us all. I've done my duty and informed the Muggle Prime Minister about this and the site of Stonehenge is now under magical confinement. Please understand that your Ministry is doing everything in its power to make you feel safe."

Safety is something that we all desperately need with uncertain times ahead of us; and how better to feel safe and secure than the return of our young savior, Harry Potter.

That's right, you read it here first, Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, The-Boy-Who-Lived has made his glorious return as well. Amelia Bones has had the privilege of meeting with our savior while escorting Headmaster Albus Dumbledore back to Hogwarts only to discover a muggle ship anchored in the Black Lake.

"Yes, yes, it is all very exciting news," said Minister Fudge. "I believe this has been something we have all been anticipating. I wish I could have been there to shake Mr. Potter's hand and extend a proper welcome."

When asked what was discussed with Mr. Potter, Amelia Bones was very tight-lipped saying, "Mr. Potter's privacy is his own and I do not wish to shatter any sense of trust that could be established with him or those he travels with, so I shall refuse to answer any questions pertaining to what was discussed."

I don't know about you, dear reader, but that seems awfully fishy and selfish on Madam Bones' behalf. Whatever was discussed surely pertained to his magical education, as the only thing Madam Bones was at liberty to reveal was he was in possession of a rare magical artifact. I'm sure that once the third task rolls around, we can expect to see our savior in action as he will no doubt compete for glory and sportsmanship in the tournament he was chosen for. That, of course, raises the question of how soon will Mr. Potter officially enroll into the esteemed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardery?

Not only that, but making his return in such a fashion, he must be trying to inspire us with a promise that he will save us as he had when he was just an infant from the terror of You-Know-Who.

This is looking to be an exciting time for Hogwarts as the students eagerly await the opportunity to meet their savior. Perhaps a lucky lady will even get the chance to win over the heart of our young hero in the process.

For more on the story of Harry Potter, turn to page 7.

"Where did you get this?" Harry crumpled up the newspaper with moving pictures, tossing it to the other side of the ship's cabin.

Schierke had pulled up a chair next to his cot, reading it alongside him. He had been in bed since returning to the Sea Horse, the whole ordeal had given him a strong sense of vertigo, even with all the things he had been through on the journey, he never expected to be back in this world, let alone deal with the fact he was famous among a society of wizards.

"An owl flew over with a copy of one," Schierke pulled out two other presses. "Along with these two." Harry looked them over to see that they were two more papers about him and this "Voldemort" character. Did he make that name up or something? Harry had to wonder. It was far from the strangest name, but still outlandish. "Owls have been flying to that castle since sunrise," Schierke went on. "They were even stopping at the other ship; too, they must be trained to stop where people are."

"Really?"

"Probably. It's still up on deck, hooting. Serpico suspected it wanted payment for the delivery, but Puck wants to befriend it and keep it as a pet."

"At least he's looking on the bright side," Harry did sort of envy the blue elf on his positive outlook sometimes, he was just feeling overwhelmed now that he could use some.

"He is," Schierke agreed. She kicked her feet across the floorboards, not meeting his eyes. There was something on her mind.

"What is it?" he asked.

She lifted her head. "What do you mean?"

"You fidget when something's on your mind."

"Well… a number of things more like."

"Like what?" they were probably more or less the same things he was still coming to terms with, but he should still hear her out.

"This place, mainly, their society, people, things mentioned in this paper, this Voldemort person, all of it." Yeah, more or less the same.

"I know, it's jarring."

"The way this… Rita Skeeter, wrote about you, it's like you're some kind of demi-god," Scheirke recalled. "She assumed so much, no one can honestly believe that you would just up and join their society, would they?"

"I don't know," Harry ran a hand through his already messy black hair. "That Dumbledore didn't seem too stable and he's the headmaster of a school. Then there was that Snape idiot, he hated me at first sight."

"Well… yes, you have a point," Schierke agreed. "Sorry."

She had him confused. "Sorry for what?"

"For not standing up for you more back there. I just… learning that there were other mages out there, I guess I assumed they would be more like Mistress Flora so I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, it was probably as much a surprise for them as it was for us. But after reading this… my opinion has lessened significantly." She tried her hardest not to pout.

"Things still worked out." She looked at him curiously. "…For the most part."

"You mean, for now." She corrected. "From the sound of it, it sounds like they're expecting you to compete in some sort of tournament."

"They can expect it all they want, doesn't mean that it's going to happen." He offered a small smile.

"They'll probably insist."

"Well, let the headmaster deal with that then," Harry answered. "A part of the reason why I even agreed to let them view my memories was to show them that we aren't to be pushed around. With the way he was acting, I didn't want him trying anything again, and if someone does say something about this, or even try anything, it won't go as smoothly as it had before."

"You sound serious about that."

"You sound serious when you said that," Harry offered. "Like I would just abandon you all to take part in some game."

"What about saving an entire people from this dark wizard?" Schierke furthered. "Don't want to fulfill your duty as Boy-Who-Survived?"

"Pretty sure it's the Boy-Who-Lived, and… did you just tease me?"

"I don't know what you mean. They seem fond of making up long-winded names; I might as well give you one, too."

"Then I would think you would be more creative instead of just rehashing that one," Harry argued. "You could at least make up one from the things I actually remember doing. They praise me for beating this guy when I was a baby, but how could I have done anything?" a bit of ire surfaced. "No one is alive to remember what happened except for Voldemort and I doubt that he would just calmly talk to me about it."

"So… do you believe what the headmaster said about Voldemort believing in a prophecy?"

"If he does, that's his business. I made my stance clear."

"And now that you're back, you're not worried he'll come after you?"

There was a method to how she was asking her questions. "If he does, we'll deal with him. After everything that we've encountered and trying to accomplish, an evil wizard seems the least of our worries. Besides, I survived the fight with that Daiba guy in Vritannis and he used magic."

"He killed your parents, though…" was that what she seemed so anxious about, bringing up the subject of his parents?

"Yeah, he did." She looked at him expectantly. "What?"

"Do you not care about that?"

"Schierke, what do you-?"

"-Let me finish, please." He shut up. "I… didn't mean to phrase it like that, but… they were still your parents. I… never knew mine, only Mistress Flora, so… aren't you at least curious about them? About the life you could have had here? The two men we first met, Black and Lupin, they knew your parents, if Voldemort didn't believe in whatever prophecy, you could have had a normal life here. If it were me, I'd… I'd be curious, I'd want to know more, but… even here the goal hasn't changed, healing Casca takes priority. But after that…" she struggled to find her next words, but Harry could guess along the lines of what it was she was going to say.

"You'd want to know if I'd want to learn more or try to find a way back to Midland."

"…Yes. It seems a trivial thing to want to ask, but… it has been something I was thinking about."

"Schierke, this world might have been where I was born, but I don't think of it as home. My relatives, I hated that place, and after seeing just a few reactions to how these wizards view me, I wouldn't want to be here either. Don't get me wrong, Midland has more than its fair share of faults, too." Demonic apostles, religious zealots, an incestuous king were to name a few. "But it is all of yours home. We all have our own motives for traveling together, but it works somehow. Even after this is all over, I'd like to be somewhere where I could be with the people I trust."

"… You mean that?" she sounded hesitant, cautious.

"Of course I mean it."

"…Then… why didn't you tell us you were of a different astral layer?"

He realized the order in which she had asked her questions. "Oh." Yeah, there was no getting around this one and it was bound to come up sooner or later. "I guess… when it first happened, I didn't know what the hell was going on, I was just some scared kid who was just along for the ride in someone else's story and this was before learning about magic and the likes." She listened but dared not to interrupt him. "Honestly, I never even thought that I would be back here again, the place I lived before, I assumed it was just a part of the story I was done with, I never knew there were people who would have wanted me back."

Harry could understand Black and Lupin's motives for that ritual, but that didn't mean he was particularly happy about it, being pulled from their destination to a place that had the means to fully heal Casca. That was probably sounded contrived since Guts was willing to go to any means to achieve his objectives, but Harry at least trusted the Black Swordsman over the wizards.

"And even after learning about magic, the astral layers, I didn't tell because… it never seemed important." She looked a mix of perplexed and mildly irritated. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant more like… I stopped thinking about it." Now she just looked… perplexed. Perplexed, but still hearing him out. "Like I said, I thought it was just a part of the story I was over with, it had nothing to do with not trusting any of you or anything like that. Hell, I probably would have at one point, but compared to everything else, it didn't take precedent."

Schierke was silent, absorbing what he had said and eventually nodding her head. "Hm. I see. I think I figured it out."

Now it was Harry's turn to be perplexed. "Figure what out?"

"You."

"Me?" Harry pointed a finger at himself.

"Yes, you." She sat up straight in her chair. "You're not a coward, far from it, you're just ashamed."

"Ashamed?" he parroted.

"Yes. It's as you said, you felt that your past was irreverent; you were just a part of someone else's story. Before, that Snape man mentioned that there was a gap when they viewed your memories. It was of how Casca became how she is now, wasn't it?" his silence was answer enough. "And from what you told me previously, and from what was said up in the castle, your relatives weren't the kindest of people so you wouldn't want to bring them up. In Midland, you had a new life, a new start for yourself, but it was with another story, one that you were along for the ride. Maybe that's why you went back in the troll cave to help Guts, to try and make some change in a way, to move past what came before; you feel ashamed of all that has happened and for not being able to have changed it." She looked him in the eye, two sets of green meeting. "Am I wrong?"

Harry stared back at her, taking each and every word she had spoken in. She wasn't wrong. At first coming to Midland, it hadn't been his story, but it had felt like a leap above living with the Durlsey's. With the Hawks, he had value to him, even if he was just a spectator to the events going on around him, just a kid who was taking part in a much bigger story. And then the Eclipse came, the day where everything he thought he knew came out from under him. After it happened, Guts chose to surround himself in darkness to fight monsters and gods, Harry had chose to try and move forward, to learn more about the world and of magic, distancing himself from what had transpired, because he knew that he had been useless back then, only contributing to taking a willing hostage.

"You're right."

Both of them were silent now, perhaps waiting for the other to say something. Schierke eventually caved.

"Do you feel ashamed now that you're back?"

"I feel frustrated that we were pulled off course. I feel weirded out that a bunch of people view me as some sort of… miracle baby, or whatever, but… not ashamed, not now. In the grand scheme of things, nothing has changed. We still all have our own motives, and Casca… she still comes first." Perhaps one benefit of being here was the fact that Black was his godfather. Based on how he behaved, he clearly wanted to be a part of Harry's life if only by virtue of his parents' memory. If he could find something that could be a clue to healing Casca, there was an opportunity to exploit that.

"I spoke with Guts yesterday," Schierke mentioned. "He said something very similar about that. And if you truly believe nothing has changed, does that include…" she rolled her hands, waiting for him to pick up on what she was getting at.

"You and me?" Harry guessed.

"We never really had a chance to talk about it, and I thought it would be selfish if I brought it up with everything that happened since." She had broken eye-contact.

"I said nothing has really changed," Harry reiterated, patting her hand. "Unless you want one of those students to win over the heart of their hero, as Skeeter put it."

"Oh, I'm sure that you would revel in the fame." She joined in on the joke but she still seemed insecure about it as well.

"Anything I can do to convince you otherwise?"

She quickly looked at him before gaining a contemplative expression on her face. She scooted closer, tilting her head and putting a finger to the side of her face. Harry waited for her to say something, but he was met with a curious glance. Schierke now tapped her finger against where it was on her face.

Oh.

Leaning forward, Harry was going to peck her cheek when his mouth came into contact with the end of her wood staff. "Ow!" he clutched his mouth, swearing he could taste a splinter.

"Sorry," Schierke apologized, "but for everything, you still kept it a secret for far too long." She fiddled with her fingers. "But… I can at least understand why." She rose from her chair. "Even if you believe nothing has changed, why not prove it? Farnese is expecting us for a lesson in ten minutes, unless she chooses to enroll in that school, of course." She reached her hand out. "Who knows, maybe it'll end up making a difference."

Still rubbing his mouth, Harry looked at her outstretched hand. He took her smaller hand in his larger one. "Yeah. I'm sure she'll love to hear all about it." He didn't even bother to look at one of the other fallen papers, one being much more quirky than the others. The Quibbler.

Crumple-horned Snorkack Spotted, You-Know-Who, and Harry Potter in Midland.

By Xenophilius Lovegood, Chief Editor/Publisher

Let fly and let loose a variety of words, the existence of the mystical crumple-horned snorkack has gained another cause for existence from a lovely Norwegian fellow I met on vacation a few weeks ago. Lovely chap, truly, while my Nordic tongue can use some improvement, it hardly mattered as he pointed me to what I suspected to be the majestic beasts mating ground.

While many nargles floated around his head, the site showed all the signs of a mating ground. Trampled grass and scorch marks from when they bump horns for shows of dominance.

This may seem trivial, but I believe it is a far step above mentioning any news about You-Know-Who as likely every other paper will be doing so as well. And, of course, it is cause for speculation about Harry Potter as well. But I can guarantee you that what you read here is absolutely 100% factually true. A good friend of my daughters, whom she refers to as Sonia has met Harry Potter on one such occasion in a city called Vritannis.

Sonia was kind enough to share the details with my daughter who wrote to me about their interactions. Sonia is a girl of my daughter's age who resides in another realm of existence in a country of Midland and would explain where Harry Potter has been for all these years.

For more information on Midland and those who reside there, please, fold this page in half, bend the right corner and look at it upside down.

"See, I told you that he would mention you."

Sonia listened as Luna read off what her father had written. Her room within the palace of Falconia was located near the top of the falcon design with her bed placed near the open terrace, directly underneath one of the branches of that massive tree. Because of it, it was like Luna was right in her room, she wasn't, of course, Sonia had reached her hand out through the projection of her, that was how clear she appeared.

"What else does it say about me?" Sonia asked, hanging upside down off of her bed, looking at the image of Luna on the floor, turning through the pages with those absurdly neat looking glasses on. Luna claimed it helped with reading the paper, and Sonia wished that she knew how to read so that she could one day try them on.

"I told father that you were an exceptionally unique girl with an ability to see what others could not." Luna smiled as she said so.

"Ohhh!" Sonia mimicked a love-struck maid. "You have a silver tongue about you Ma… Mad… uh… what was that word you once used? That… French word?"

"Mademoiselle."

"Yeah! You have a silver tongue about you, Mademoiselle Lovegood." Sonia corrected herself. "Keep going! What else does it say?"

"Everything you told me about everything, but many people won't believe it." Luna didn't say it sadly, just as she normally would.

"What?" Sonia fell off her bed. "Why not? It seems perfectly believable to me." Something was off. "Wait a minute! Are more kids making fun of you?"

"I am missing my left shoe," Luna wiggled her exposed toes freely. "But lost things always have a way of finding their way back."

"Doesn't that make you mad when they do that to you?" Sonia asked. She considered herself a pretty mellow girl, but even she had her limit, like if someone were to badmouth Griffith.

"Not too much," Luna turned a page of her father's paper. "I feel sorry for them, mainly."

"Huh?"

"I feel sorry that they have nothing better to do than to steal other people's things. It's quite sad."

Sonia folded her arms. "Yeah, well, if I ever get the chance to talk to some of these girls, I'm really going to… let Irvine teach them a lesson." Sonia didn't see much of the wolfish archer, but he was her favorite out of all the Hawks.

That at least got a laugh out of Luna. "I don't know how they would react to that. Many of the students here aren't use to danger."

"A lot of people here aren't used to danger, but now they're living in a city overlooked by a giant tree that used to be a giant and they're living better lives than before," Sonia offered. "Who would have guessed? And if it wasn't for that tree, I would still need to look at Griffith to be able to talk to you."

"I'm glad that you don't have to be around him to talk to me anymore," Luna said. "I don't feel comfortable when he's around."

"Huuuuuh?" Sonia tilted her head at a near-impossible angle. "You're not still on about that, are you?"

"Do you mean that you don't feel put off by him?"

"Why would I? With Griffith, we have this city, rich farmland outside the walls, us being able to talk. I can't think of anything bad about him." Sonia didn't like people badmouthing Griffith, but Luna was her friend so she had to at least hear her out on why she thought that.

"Doesn't he seem too perfect?" Luna asked. "My mother used to say that things with impurities are always the best because you know that they're real."

"So… what? Do you mean he's like Irvine and the others?" Sonia hadn't quite got that impression of Griffith, just that he was something… more.

"No." Luna answered. "Just too perfect to be a human. I worry about you when you're around him."

Well… Sonia could see how she could see it like that. Griffith was polite and well-spoken, but authoritative enough to command an army of demon warriors. He was calculating, but charming in how he treated people of every background; playful, but serious, knowledgeable yet never pretentious, poised but not overly so. In short, it was like everything a person should be all rolled into a knight-in-shining-armor. But was that really a bad thing?

"Okay, he's practically perfect, but so what?" Sonia asked. "He even gave me a position as High Medium and he even gave me this hat thingy, too. Look!" Sonia reached into the trunk at the end of her bed to pull out the cranial ornament. "Don't I look terrific?"

"You look like you just remembered that Griffith has summoned you for a reading." It wasn't Luna who spoke, but a voice from Sonia's doorway that belonged to the young Mule Wolflame.

"Hiya, Mule!" Sonia greeted. "That's pretty bold of you, entering a lady's room without knocking."

"I did knock," Mule informed, "but you were too busy talking to hear me." He looked around the room. "Who were you talking to anyway?"

"You still can't see her?" Sonia laid down parallel to Luna, pointing right at her vivid shape.

Mule rolled his eyes. "Still keeping up the act of an imaginary friend? Fine. Do as you will, just be at the ceremony hall in five minutes. Griffith has everyone who's attending gathered already." He exited her room, leaving her alone with the image of Luna.

"What ceremony?" Luna asked.

"Oh, it's just this thing for people who lost loved ones during the war to get a chance to say a final goodbye. Since I'm a medium, Griffith thinks I might be able to get in contact with their spirits." Sonia wiggled her fingers for spooky emphasis. She stopped at seeing the concerned look she was getting. "It's safe. Griffith will be there."

"If you truly believe that."

He stayed quiet as he observed Lady Farnese in her practice. She was kneeling in the salt drawn circle, candles lining the circumference, eyes closed as she focused her attention on remaining clear of mind. Well… as clear of mind as circumstance would allow.

Her two teachers were trying to keep their cool about them, but Serpico could tell that Schierke's ire was starting to surface, not from any wrongdoing on Lady Farnese's behalf, just the noise.

"Remember, Farnese," Schierke began, "the key to accessing your luminous body can't be through force. Instead, you have to be of peace of-," KaBANG! WHEEE! "-You have to be of peace of-," Fwooooohhh! Phweeeeeeee! Her eye was starting to twitch. "Peace of-," she stopped herself short, looking out the porthole of the ship as if to anticipate the next sound. When none came, she continued.

"You have to have peace of mind. Feel your physical body become weightless as you experience a new-," KABAAAAA! WHEEEEEEEEEEEE!

She slammed the porthole shut, touching the end of her staff to it, and tracing the outline. If Serpico had to guess, it would be a charm that canceled out the noise. He had been awake when the owl flew to the ship carrying a set of papers with it. He saw a flock of owls flooding to the school this morning, probably delivering the same news. Now that the word was out, a group of students seemed to have gathered on the shore, firing off sound spells to get the attention of those aboard the Sea Horse. And it was oh-so-annoying.

Serpico had to hand it to Harry though, in spite of all of this, he was keeping his cool about him and not giving in to the fame he apparently had in this world. On that topic, Serpico would have been warier, but he was in no position to say anything to Harry about keeping it a secret, Serpico still never told anyone that he and Lady Farnese were half-siblings, so he was in no place to judge in that regard. And Lady Farnese perhaps saw this new setting as a way to further her studies, unperturbed.

Except for the spell-fire, of course.

"That's better," Harry told Schierke as she took up the position she had before on the floor of the cabin.

"Teachers, what does a luminous body even feel like?" Farnese asked. "How would I know if I've achieved it?"

"It'll be like you're looking at your body from someone else's point of view," Harry explained. He rubbed his lip which was bearing a small cut from what looked to be wood. One glance over at Schiekre cleaning off the end of her staff was as good a guess as any.

"And… what exactly can I do once I've found it?" Farnese further questioned.

"Mostly make contracts with the spirits of the land or even call upon the Four Elemental Kings for assistance," Schierke answered. "You leave the land of physicality to join forces with something beyond comprehension."

Farnese nodded, probably not fully understanding the full concept, but still not willing to give up either. Serpico watched as Farnese began concentration again, his own eyes traveled to the porthole window, the flashes of light still flying high into the sky, exploding with unheard sound. He was actually quite grateful that they decided to move further away from the castle, the noise would have been unbearable if they hadn't.

Oh? His narrow eye caught sight of something moving through the water, and it wasn't the squid that resided in the depths. It was small and going at a moderate pace, a small one-person boat.

He glanced back over at his half-sister and her two teachers. "I don't think my mind is clear enough."

"Perhaps some water to ease your thoughts?" Serpico offered a cover excuse to go investigate. He excused himself, making his way up to the deck of the ship.

As expected, he wasn't alone. "So, you saw it too?" Guts was casually leaning on the rail, his sole eye never losing sight of the incoming boat.

"By chance, yes," Serpico admitted. "It was too far away me to see who is in it.

The man from the crow's nest called down to them. "Should we warn the others, mates?"

"Don't bother," Guts told the lookout. "I'll see what I can do."

As the boat neared, it slowed its pace, coming to a near stop as it pulled up parallel to the port side of the Sea Horse. In the boat was a boyish-looking man with a build that suggested he had been athletic once in his youth, even sustaining a broken nose on more than one occasion.

"Good morning!" the man called up to the two of them. Guts didn't respond, but the man hardly seemed interested in that. "Borrowed one of the first-year boats, but it's worth it if it means seeing Harry Potter of all people." He smiled up at them.

"Just who the hell are you, you loon?" Guts asked. Serpico had been encouraged to admire tack in people as a child, but Guts always undermined that, but not always in a bad way.

"Ludo Bagman," the man called up. "Judge in this year's Triwizard Tournament. Can I just say, to have young Harry Potter compete is an outstanding honor. The hope that he will bring to everyone, a jolly good show!"

Ah, he is one of those who views Harry as a savior. And Serpico thought the headmaster had agreed to offer sanctuary for the time being. This is a point against his word to be sure.

"What the hell is it you want?" Guts asked, his tone as stoic as ever, but with the tell-tale signs that it would not go in this man's favor.

"Why, to inform Harry of his duty as a champion of course!"

"Ah, I see." Guts turned to Serpico. "Fetch me a rope, will ya?"

Serpico cocked a brow, but Guts gave him a look that said, "just do it." Guts tossed it over the side, allowing Bagman to grab onto. Guts began pulling him up, stopping short when Bagman was at the rail.

"Welcome aboard," Guts said, letting the rope fall free, taking Bagman with it. He hit the boat he came in with a sharp cracking noise, leaving Serpico to believe that the man might have broken a bone or two, or at least dislocated something.

"Uuggh!" Bagman moaned as he clutched his leg.

"Looks like you need some help there," Guts sarcastically called down. "Why not visit that healer? Try keeping her busy, why don't ya?"

Bagman fumbled around in the bench of his boat, eventually getting to a sitting position, with his wand pointed out, the boat moved back toward the castle, the sole occupant casting a sour glance back at the Black Swordsman.

"I expected something like that was bound to happen sooner or later," Serpico gave an empty sigh.

"They'll probably be more," Guts mentioned, taking a new position and leaning on the rail. "A shame too, with the two, almost three, mages we got, the adults aren't as mature as them." He shrugged. "Magic, huh?"

The ceremonial hall was located in the top center of Falconia's palace, large and circular with enough room to fit nearly two-hundred people, and Charlotte suspected that's how many people showed up for this. The event was not exclusive, meaning anyone from the city was welcome to attend, a complete contrast to how things had once been done, her step-mother would have had a fit to be sure at the sight of all the commoners who were in attendance.

But it was as Griffith had said, "We have all lost someone in our lives, high and lowborn included, so why should one be left out of witnessing this event?"

They were wise words like always, Charlotte expected nothing less from Griffith. She was even pleased to notice that none of the arrivals from the day previous were in attendance. Lord Voldemort, she wondered if he was born with that name as it sounded made up to her, or his followers were nowhere to be seen.

That word the woman had called her, muggle, while she did not know what it meant, it stung. It stung and she had run to find Griffith, to tell him of what had been said. She need not to have worried once she found how Zodd had handled them. The man was a brute, but he had been effective in his methods. He was even harsher to the words he spoke to her as he escorted her back to her room. It was painful to admit, but the demonic warrior was right, she did play the victim. She ran to Griffith for help, because Griffith was that torch, that light that inspires people. Much like this place in its beauty.

The ceiling was open to one small branch of the World Tree that hung above. The branch dipped down through to opening before heading back out to make a shape that resembled a U. in the center of the room, she sat on Griffith's right and the medium girl, Sonia had his left along with the High Pontiff of the Holy See. The man was at least eighty years of age, missing most of his hair and teeth with low-hanging jowls giving him the appearance of an old hound dog. He looked to just be clinging to life, but he had promised Charlotte, "I won't die until I see you married to Lord Griffith, only then will my purpose in life have been completed." It was a touching sentiment from a man she hardly knew, and she made sure that she would say a prayer for him to maintain his health.

"Sonia," Griffith addressed the blonde girl, "are you ready?"

"Uh-huh!" Sonia gave an enthusiastic nod, her ceremonial hat nearly falling off of her head. Griffith placed a hand on the girl's shoulder and the crowd waited with baited breath for what was to come.

"Daddy?" a young boy's voice called out. A shimmer of light was drifting down from the branch above, a shape begins to take the form to that of a man in armor. He looked like just mist at first, but the closer he came to this young boy and his mother, he took on a more solid, but still transparent blue hue.

And he wasn't the only one.

More lights drifted off, floating to find a specific person. Ghosts. She was seeing ghosts, they all were. Not the kind of ghosts' parents would tell their children to scare them into behaving, but the remnants of people who had once been a part of their lives. And they wept. The living wept as they were reunited with a version of a loved one, not forever, but presented the chance to say a parting, to say words that were left unspoken in their time with the living.

"Griffith," Charlotte whispered to him, "how is this possible?"

"The dead never leave us, loved ones, ones who came before; they share some part with us, the living. This city is that of miracles, a connection to those we once knew is not impossible."

Ones who came before? Charlotte kept a look out for any light that might come her way. She had been only six when her mother had passed, she could not even remember what she had looked like, but Sir Laban and Minister Foss would tell Charlotte that she looked just as her mother had. Perhaps she would get the chance to talk to her, just one last time, to show her how much she had grown from a child, to introduce her to Griffith, to perhaps gain her blessing to one day marry this man.

No such spirit came. The only spirit that looked in her direction was that of a man she did not know. He wore a mix of ancient jewels on his hands and arms that mixed well with the tribal pelts that draped his shoulders. His would-be dark-hair was done in three long braids down his back, a bit of scruff on his chin. He could not have been more than thirty. He wasn't looking at her so much as he was just looking and taking in the scenery like it was all new to him. That was when his eyes slowly traveled over to hers, their gaze locking, and two sets of blue eyes met. Blue eyes very much like her own.

She did not know this spirit. She did not know what this was, or who he was connected to, she had never seen anyone she knew who resembled this man. So why, why was he staring at her? He didn't move closer, nor did he seek someone else in the hall to visit. She did not know this spirit, so why…? It was a fleeting feeling, but one she had felt only once before in her life on a fateful day as it raced past. A timeless sort of feeling.

It was like a soft whooshing sound as the spirits one by one began to fade. Griffith was watching her and eyeing the spirit of the man from the corner of his eye, his hands supporting a sleepy-looking Sonia. "My apologies, everyone. But this ceremony has to be cut a bit short on account of our medium's current state. I do hope that you all were able to make a final peace with those you have lost."

It snapped Charlotte out of the trance she had been in. "Oh! Will she be alright, Griffith?"

He nodded. "This was her first practice with it. I imagine it took a lot out of her to perform."

"That is understandable. I wish you could have seen people from your past. The people who made up your first Band of the Hawk, I think they would love to see you know, to know that their bravery has made way for all of this to be possible."

He seemed to give a sad smile. "I imagine they would as well." It didn't occur to Charlotte until after, but Griffith still had yet to tell her the full story. Perhaps once they were married. Yes, there would be no secrets between them then.

A/N: A lot of back and forth went on this time, next will be more HP-centric. Thanks for reading.


	46. Chapter 46

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

How long had he been here? How long had he been sitting? How long had it been since he had closed the curtains to block out the sun? All those questions were pushed to the back of Sirius' mind as he combed through book after book in the Black Family Library. The collection of texts and tomes mainly consisted of dark spells passed down through each generation of Black. He hadn't wanted to be back here so soon after finding the text for the ritual he and Moony performed, he had done enough reading then, and he hadn't wanted to see another book again for a good long while. Maybe it was punishment for slacking during his Hogwarts days.

His eyes felt heavy as they skimmed over another passage of the book he was reading. Nothing. Again. With a lazy flick of his wand, Sirius sent the book back to where it once rested on the shelf. One. There has to be at least one.

There was a creak of a door being opened. "Sirius?" Lupin's voice called into the room.

Sirius nonchalantly waved a hand. "Present and accounted for." Another book was summoned to the desk at which he sat.

"How long have you been up?" Lupin must have taken notice of his bloodshot eyes.

"Never went to sleep." Sirius directed his attention to the table of contents for his newest research.

"You haven't slept since Harry was brought back?" Lupin sounded alarmed. "Sirius, that was three days ago. How are you even holding it together?"

Sirius gave a ghostly smile that would have better suited him if he was still locked up in Azkaban Prison. "Muggle coffee works wonders when mixed with the proper potion."

"If that was the case, you would be bouncing around the walls in a frenzy. Perhaps your elf brewed it wrong?"

"He probably forgot to add the sweetener, but I'm glad you're here. I could use your help."

"Too right you are." Lupin didn't go to pull up a chair, he pulled the curtains aside, letting sunlight shine through at last. Sirius nearly hissed at the sight, covering his sensitive eyes from the near-blinding light pouring in. "Were you bitten by a vampire last I saw you?"

"If I was, sleep wouldn't be an issue now, would it?" Sirius drew the curtains to a more comfortable setting. "But now that you're here you can help me sort through these." He levitated a stack of books to the corner of the desk.

"And what project are you working on this time?" Lupin questioned, reading the title of the top one. "Mystic Mind Arts by Anastasia Greengrass." The text dated back to when the Black and Greengrass alliance was strong, probably written by the Greengrass the both of them attended Hogwarts with.

"Two projects actually," Sirius clarified, levitating a stack of history books up as well. "Take your pick, what stack do you want?"

"What I want is to make sure that you are okay," Lupin grabbed him by the shoulders, easing him down to sit back down at the desk. "You do know that I have duties to attend back at Hogwarts, don't you?"

"So take the day off," Sirius offered a solution. "Imagine how we would have reacted if we found out class was canceled for a day."

"How you and James would have reacted?" Lupin specified.

"You honestly expect me to believe with all that's happening kids are going to care if a class is being held? How many students showed up when news of Harry being back was announced?"

"Per class or total?"

"Surprise me." Sirius took a sip of his coffee and potion mix.

"…Three. Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger, and Luna Lovegood. And speaking of which – look at that." A copy of the Quibbler dropped on the desk. "It would appear Miss. Lovegood is more knowledgeable about this Midland than any of us."

"The Quibbler is actually right?" Sirius asked as he read over the article in the bizarre magazine. "She learned all this by talking to someone from that land? How?"

"One more question to the list," Lupin folded the magazine, stuffing it back inside his tattered robes. "Miss. Lovegood has always been… peculiar. Her mother was much the same, remember? Perhaps she's something akin to a seer, a medium perhaps?"

"And how many people believe what's written there?" Sirius had a good guess, he just wanted to make sure.

"Sirius, this is a magazine that talks about the existence of crumple-horned something's. Not many people are bound to believe it." Based on what Harry had agreed to show them, Midland was filled with creatures far worse.

"Well… let them think what they want," Sirius let that thought slide for now. "Like I said, we got work to do."

Lupin opened the book on mind arts. "And what exactly would I be looking for?"

"Something on memory restoration, mental healing, that sort of works." He started on the history side of things.

"For the one girl who travels with Harry?" Lupin asked. "Casca?"

"That would be the one." The girl was an enigma to be sure. When Sirius first saw her, he thought her to be simple in the head based on her child-like outlook and behavior; but seeing those memories… the girl she had once been was far from that. She kind of reminded Sirius of Lily had Lily been a lady in a medieval setting. No wonder Harry seemed to look up to her based on what he saw, he would have received no affection like that from someone like Petunia. Or maybe he would have if Petunia hadn't married such a bore of a walrus. "Based on what we saw, their entire quest revolves around restoring her back to how she was."

"I'm aware of that as well," Lupin sounded cautious of how he was going to phrase his next set of words. "While that is a feat to see you pouring yourself into a study like this, who are you really doing this for?"

Sirius replied with a very intellectual, "Huh?"

"Who are you doing this for?" Lupin repeated. "Are you doing this for her, for Casca out of the goodness of your heart? Or, are you doing it for Harry and what it could mean going forward?"

"Moony, I don't-,"

"-Let me explain. This young woman is clearly very important to the man, Guts, and to Harry both. If you were to find something that could potentially yield results, would it be because you want to see Casca for who she is, or because Harry would be grateful to you because of it? Based on how things went during the meeting, Harry's first impression of the Wizarding World must be fairly negative." No thanks to the Snivelles or the Daily Prophet. "And if Harry's views got shifted to see the benefits on this side of things, maybe he would be convinced to stay."

"You think me that selfish?"

"I think of you as a godfather who wants to do right by his dead best mate. Why else would you have gone through with the ritual to bring him back when you didn't even know if where he was was any better than what was going on here? I saw him just the same as you, an exact copy of James, save for the eyes. You didn't think about how the press would respond or how others would react, you just went on instinct. And he wasn't how you expected him to be, was he? The trust we established was fickle at best, and by helping to heal his woman, maybe you think he would be grateful enough to stay. We would have James back if he did."

"…" Sirius didn't respond instantly as would be fit his quick-wittedness. "I... will admit that having Harry back would make me the happiest I felt in years, and now that he is… he isn't how I imagined. He's more mature than a fourteen-year-old should be, and probably more magically powerful than any Hogwarts student. And… he is very much like James when it comes to those he cares about. Remember all the trouble we went through to become animagi to help you during transformations?" Lupin gave a tilted nod.

"Regardless," Sirius continued, "what I want, is for Harry to be happy, and as it stands, helping to heal that woman is their top priority." Even if Harry chose to turn his back on all the people of this world in favor of what he had in the past, Sirius could at least understand that much, he was the same, he would have at least completed his role as godfather after all these years. That way, James would be proud.

"I see," Lupin skimmed a page of the book. "So, you intend to wing it after as always?"

"You read me like a book."

"You're resorting to puns now, Padfoot?"

"I wrote a book all about puns once. It's a real page turner."

The two of them sat, each reading a different text, Lupin taking to the pile about mind arts, and Sirius digging into the stack related to magical items of history. Alongside searching for any tips or tricks that might yield results for healing the mind of Casca, Sirius was multitasking with researching another bit of information that could be of use. And this was strictly Harry related.

"You wanted to speak with me, headmaster?" Snape spoke with his usual tone as he entered the office of Hogwarts Headmaster. Normally he would have been in class at this time, but there was no real point for it considering the only student who would have bothered showing up would have been the one Gryffindor girl.

"I did indeed, Severus," Dumbledore finished bottling a memory from his pensieve. "Please take a seat." Snape complied and Dumbledore jumped right to the point. "I wanted to see if there has been any word about what has been going on with Voldemort."

"I made the journey to Malfoy Manor last night. He wasn't there."

"A move of headquarters, perhaps?" Dumbledore inferred.

"No." Snape quickly shot that notion down. "A number of his followers still remain there as guests of Lucius' hospitality. I assure you, the Dark Lord remains staked at the manor. He would appear to be out at the moment."

Dumbledore ran a hand down his long, silvery beard. "Then perhaps it is best that I inform Madam Bones of this development. She could gather a team of Aurors and I could summon the Order as back-up."

He sounds so unsure of himself, Snape observed. It was so unlike the Dumbledore that everyone knew. He was prepared to lead a raid against Malfoy Manor so soon after sustaining injury from the events at Stonehenge. Has he something to prove? But to who?

"Headmaster, the Dark Lord is most likely only temporarily at leave. I noticed that his most loyal of followers were absent as well." The one's who have that power. The ones who sold their souls to a metaphorical devil. "It is likely that he will return soon." The headmaster still appeared deep in thought. "Unless you wish to attack head on, in which case Hogwarts will find itself with a job opening."

"No, nothing of that sort, Severus, but it will have to happen if we are to make any sort of dent against Voldemort. I was just wondering how much young Draco knows of what is going on."

"Draco Malfoy is very much aware of the Dark Lord's presence at his home if that is what you are wondering. He has only met the Dark Lord once, and from what Narcissa told me, the Dark Lord has asked Draco if he was up to the task of scouting out potential talent for future Death Eaters." Not that the young scion has the stomach for it himself. Draco is all talk, nothing more.

"Hm. A heavy burden to put on a young boy. Is there any chance that he-,"

"-He shares his father's pride and he enjoys flaunting his wealth. He has not received a mark. Narcissa has assured me as such."

"And Narcissa?"

"Following her husband as is expected of a pure-blooded wife. But even she has her limits to how much her husband will expand his hospitality to certain guests."

"Such as?"

"As I was leaving, Fenrir Greyback arrived. It would appear that some discontent werewolves have pledged themselves to the cause of the Dark Lord. It won't be long before dementors and giants flock to him as well."

Dumbledore seemed to age before his eyes. "That is all troubling news indeed. Thank you, Severus. Your position as a double agent has been invaluable."

Snape gave a curt nod. "If that is all, I will return to office. Papers still need to be graded." He had barely risen before Dumbledore spoke again.

"Actually, Severus, there was one other matter I wanted to discuss with you."

"Yes, headmaster?"

"Harry Potter." He spoke the two words that he had been dying not to hear.

"What about Potter, headmaster?" I'd rather not discuss him at all.

"About your behavior before. You know what I am talking about, Severus?" those blue eyes held a faint twinkle.

"I only acted in accordance to how he did nothing more, and nothing less. I saw him poke at you with a sword, I disarmed him. When he made outlandish claims, I saw fit to raise a voice of reason. When he and those he traveled with showed signs of disrespect, I-,"

"-Saw fit to escalate tension?" Dumbledore's eyes momentarily lost their twinkle.

"That was not my intention."

"Do you expect me to believe that, Severus? After Harry relinquished some of his memories, your first action was to call him out on omitting a part. You saw what he and the others are capable of if you had said any more it is likely one of them would have done something rash."

"And if they had, they would have to face the consequences of the Ministry," he mentioned. "There would be consequences for them should they have gotten violent, it is a two-way street."

"I am not saying it isn't," Dumbledore only partially agreed. "But what would the Ministry do? They know nothing about Harry, they still view him as a long-awaited savior and nothing else. If an altercation were to occur, what do you think would happen?"

"The boy would lose his hero title." Not such a bad thing. "And he would be forcefully separated from his companions."

"And how do you foresee that going?" Dumbledore asked. "Death. The ground would be paved with blood. The Ministry would try to obliterate the memories of the muggles he travels with, and Harry would have his staff confiscated and his person forcefully entered into Hogwarts and the Triwizard Tournament."

"He is already enrolled in the tournament."

"Severus," Dumbledore fixed him with a stern look. "I thought you smarter than that. We both know Harry to be telling the truth. Des your grudge against James still blind your perception of Harry as he is now?"

"You mean to tell me you didn't see him strutting as if he owned the place when escorting him to this very office?" Snape asked. "Just look at the type of riff-raff he travels with." A loud-mouth brat, two muggle girls who apparently learned magic without being born with it, a deranged woman, and a man so violent and arrogant he and James Potter would have been best friends. No wonder Potter looks up to such a man.

"Curious," was all Dumbledore said at first. "I wonder if you would be so bold as to say any of that to their faces." Those eyes had their twinkle again. As gifted at occulmency as Snape was, Dumbledore still had a powerful mind probe.

"I would rather they keep to their ship and not cause any misdeeds to any Hogwarts student." Least of all my Slytherins.

"Is that the only reason, Severus?" Dumbledore questioned. "Do you pretend like this is not something personal, as if you are not reminded that James Potter, the man you hate, once saved your life? The anguish you felt at seeing Lily marry another man, that has nothing to do with it?"

"Lily made her choice, I have acknowledged as much." Does he intend to call me out on the past? We have discussed as much before.

"Acknowledged it, but never come to terms with it," Dumbledore explained. "Harry might be James' son, but he is Lily's as well. You have seen his eyes, haven't you? And I thought you would perhaps be a bit more sympathetic to what that woman is going through. From what was shown, they would do a great deal to get her back; would you not do similar if it were Lily?"

"If she were Lily, I would have cured her the moment she became the way she is. Do you call me a liar on that?"

"No," Dumbledore stared at him. "But I would say that even you are not above being a hypocrite. You called Sirius and Remus out for summoning Harry back, but have you forgotten about your past misdeeds as well?"

"You vouched for me on that behalf," Severus recalled the time after the first war had ended. "I would not be a professor here if I was still guilty of those happenings."

"No, you would not be. However, while Harry may have his attention on other matters, there is still the possibility that he may care for the memory of his parents. Knowing how he is, what would happen if he were to discover it was you who told Voldemort part of the prophecy to begin with?"

"You mean to tell him?" No, he wouldn't do that.

"No, I would not. I just want you to be aware that we all have our limits, Severus. If you ever encounter Harry again and act as you did before, consequence is a two-way street."

"Is that all, headmaster?" Snape asked eager to leave already.

"It is." Wordlessly, Snape stood up and made his exit. His black robes billowing behind him as he left.

"How much longer, lad?!" the voice of the wagon driver managed to break Rickert's concentration.

"Just a minute longer, no longer than that!" Rickert yelled back, not even bothering to look up. "Erica, hand me the-!"

"Here, brother!" Rickert felt the familiar piece of equipment be placed into his outstretched hand. He muttered a silent thanks to the young girl in the back of the wagon as he went back to repairing the busted wheel of the covered wagon.

It had only been a few days since that wave of whiteness washed over the cottage that once belonged to Godo where he and Erica resided, and in that time, strange happenings had begun to occur. They started out innocently enough, Erica had come running in while he had been hammering away yelling about how she had seen a unicorn walk by. Rickert had dismissed it as her imagination running wild until he saw firsthand that the pure white creature had followed Erica back to the cottage.

Then there were the creatures with potato-like heads that began popping up out of the ground. Rickert could only assume that they were gnomes, there really was no better way of describing them, but they were harmless and Erica had fun chasing them around the outside of the forge.

But at night, they were awakened by the sound of a bone-chilling moan. Climbing down the side of the cliff had been a twelve-foot tall creature covered in shaggy white hair and wielding a large tree branch like a club. Rickert wasn't sure, but he thought it looked to be a Yeti.

The monster attacked the forge, banging on the door with its club and demanding entry. It scared Erica, and Rickert had led them out the back to where Godo kept his shed of arms and armaments. He and Erica both gathered as many supplies as possible before heading out into the night with Erica. He had no idea where to go, just that Godo's old cottage/forge would not be safe for them for the time being.

And as it turned out, they weren't the only ones trying to find someplace safe. A decent sized caravan of travelers had heard rumors that the capital was now the only safe place left as all sorts of creatures long thought to be extinct had all of a sudden started popping up again all over the land.

There were talks of trolls, giants, gremlins, and yes, even dragons.

"It just flew right up to the top of the castle tower. I saw it from the servants quarters." One kitchen wench had described the ordeal. "It was a light green color with red and yellow eyes that petrified every knight in attendance. The castle had to evacuate, no one could kill the thing!"

Guts could if he were here, Rickert had thought. With that sword of his, he could kill just about anything. It has been some time since they last met, maybe Guts had killed a dragon in that time, it would at least make his sword live up to its name.

But since then, Rickert had used his tinkering skills to make fast acquaintance with two older gentlemen who were in need of a pair of hands for repairs on their wagon. It was an easy enough task to accomplish for one who trained under a master blacksmith like Godo had been, but there were times where even he felt the added pressure that looming danger brought.

The rest of their traveling company had already loaded up their wagons, spurring the horses on from the sound of heavy footsteps advancing from somewhere in this forest. "It's now or never, lad!" one of the elders shouted, nervously looking for whatever was coming their way.

"Almost… got it!" Rickert yelled as the wheel snapped back into place. "Go!" Erica offered him a hand as she helped pull him in back, the horses pulling the wagon as fast as it would go.

"You did it, brother!" Erica yelled wrapping her arms around his neck, cutting off his flow of oxygen.

"We're not out of the woods yet." Literally.

Even with the horses running at full speed, the monster that had been pursuing them reared its ugly head. It was a thirteen-foot-tall bird of prey. With the legs and claws of a lizard, the body of a swan, and the big red bloated head of a rooster with a row of serrated teeth in its beak. It was so bizarre that Rickert had no idea what he could even label this thing as being. But whatever it was, it was hungry for flesh. It eyed their fleeing wagon with its black, beady eye and made a bee-line for them.

"Lad, if there was a time to use any of those fancy gizmos you loaded up in back, it's now!"

"Right! Erica, hand me some of those pellets."

She fished in her bag, producing six of the same miniaturized explosives that Guts had loaded up with before departing once again. "Here!"

Sparking the fuse, Rickert tossed the handful of explosives at the advancing monster, six simultaneous bangs went off, searing the feathers and flesh around those beady eyes. The monster clucked in anger, flapping its wings as if to take off for a flight.

"What else?" Erica asked.

"Load up the machine with some bolts!" Rickert instructed, the both of them scrambling to stuff as many bolts in as possible.

"Uh, you squirts might want to hurry it up!"

The monster's wings seemed to expand to a length that would support the bulk of its weight. It was either a new tactic on its end or blind rage that it had actually been wounded so easily.

"Are all yours in, Erica?" Rickert asked, stepping behind his creation as Erica gave him a thumbs up. Not taking his eyes off the chimera bird, Rickert turned the crank from the stand mounted repeating crossbow. It worked similar to Guts' own secondary weapon of choice, spitting out bolts as fast as the user could turn the crank.

Rickert was pleased to see that a majority of bolts found their mark on the beast, but it soon became wise to the act, using its wings as a shield to protect itself from the barrage sent its way by Rickert. The monster bird glared menacingly at their retreating wagon, using its talons to kick up some dirt as a sign it was about to charge them straight on.

"How much longer until we're out of the woods?!" Rickert asked, knowing that they weren't about to last long.

"Not quick enough." Rickert only partially looked away to see that the path that they and the other refugees were traveling on was blocked by a large log.

Sensing its victory, the bird kicked off toward them, flapping is wings for an additional boost of speed.

"All units, open fire!" a voice shouted and a whole new barrage of arrows joined in alongside Rickert's, peppering the beast with additional hostility. The forest was alive with the sounds of galloping horses as mounted knights appeared, a man in his thirties with a well-kept beard seemed to be leading them.

More intensity was put onto the great bird, but that only seemed to enrage the creature further. Then a lone archer stepped forward. He had a large black bow with an eye design in the center. His attire consisted of dark purple and he wore a purple hat with a feather on his dark head. He removed his hat, handing it to the lead knight.

"Hold this for me please?"

"…As you wish, Sir Irvine."

He notched an arrow, took aim and let fly. He had to have the best precision out of any hunter alive; his arrow sailed past the wings before they could close around its face, striking it in the eye. The giant bird clucked in pain but still remained alive.

"Not that one then. Something bigger." He began to change, dark hair grew over his body, and his body cut off at his waist to the point his lower half became the body of a large direwolf with a large pair of antlers. Irvine plucked hair from his tail and with a flick of his wrist they molded into a large, dark arrow. He notched the makeshift arrow on the thread running between his antlers, taking aim once again.

"Let us see if this will suffice."

The arrow seemed to break a barrier of sorts as it shot clean through the armor-like feathers and came out the other end of the monster. The raptor-like legs crumbled from beneath the now dead weight of its body.

"A clean shot," was all Irvine said as he trotted over to where the log blocked the road. Using his antlers, Irvine lifted the obstruction with ease allowing the caravan to proceed under the knight's escort.

"Thank you for the assistance, Sir Irvine," the commanding knight said, handing Irvine his hunting hat back. Although he smiled, the knight seemed hesitant, and Rickert would be too. A man had just turned into a monster before their very eyes to… help them?

"Not at all, General Laban. I trust these civilians will be safe in your hands. I'm to meet up with Rosine from the other team to check on her progress."

"Er… yes, of course. As you were then."

Irvine gave a polite bow of his head before stalking off further into the woods in search this other team.

"Brother, what was that?" Erica asked from beside him.

Rickert wished he had something to offer her as an answer. The closest thing that came to mind was when Guts and Harry faced off against Zodd that time on the Hill of Swords. He wanted to reassure her, this… whatever Irvine was seemed to be on their side, saving them even. Whenever she would call him brother, it made him want to assure her of everything. He wasn't her brother of course, but she had been calling him that since Godo had passed and he couldn't be a bastard and tell her otherwise.

"Is the girl alright?" the now promoted Laban asked as he rode up alongside their wagon.

"I… she's just a little shocked, sir," Rickert added the last part, remembering common courtesy for members of Midland's knights. It had been so long since he had left Godo's and been a part of society.

Offering a wry smile, Laban handed a canteen of water over for the pair of them. "Aren't we all? You travel to Falconia, correct?"

"Falconia?" Rickert repeated.

"Oh, sorry, Windham," Laban remembered. "The name has changed from Windham to Falconia."

One of the elderly wagoneers answered. "We're going wherever it's safe. We heard the capital is the one place where that's possible."

"Aye," Laban offered. "That it is. Falconia is… a city like no other. Grand and pure, like it was pulled out of a book. Refugees are always flooding in, and not just people from Midland, Chuder, too, even some Kushan."

"That sounds so unlike how Windham once was," Rickert recalled how the capital had been during his time with the Hawks.

Laban smiled either out of nostalgia for his old home or the hope the future brought. "Falconia seems to have room for all." He took notice of the mounted repeating crossbow. "Did you make that?"

"Oh, well, yes… I just went with the design that was drawn out, sir."

"Brother, don't downplay yourself!" Erica lightly chided him. "You made changes from the drawing, you made it better."

"Erica…" he felt a bit embarrassed, especially in front of a general.

"You have a natural talent then. Once we arrive in Falconia you can make a deal with a smith or innkeeper; repairs for a room. There's word that one innkeeper is quite popular, helping out anyone in need."

"Thank you, sir!" things might actually look up for them.

"Don't thank me for that, you can thank our leader," Laban told him. "Without him, I would be more hard pressed about living in a city with people like Irvine, although he is out in the woods most of the time. But without Griffith, none of it would be possible."

Krrrrcckkkk! Splrarrgghh!

Bits of bone and brain went spraying out as Zodd forced his large fingers into the eye sockets of a creature that could only be a giant. It was a creature bigger than himself in his human form, but nothing that immediately warranted his transformation into an apostle.

Another giant lay dead with Zodd's ax embedded right between its eyes. Its leg would twitch every two seconds but it was not getting back up, not ever. These giants had been sighted just outside of the city intruding on territory that was to be cultivated into farmland for some newly arrived farmers.

New arrivals were showing up all the time to the city and he found it more interesting to be out than in. If he were to stay, the only source of entertainment he had was Pandemonium, and that was fighting for sport, a complete mockery. Here, he could feel an unrestricted fight not just confined to a single arena. He had broken away from his group of fliers, leaving the girl, Rosine to oversee that. She was uninterested, but Pandemonium didn't fit her needs either and she seemed to enjoy spending time with Irvine, the apostle who nurtured her back to health after sustaining fatal wounds.

Zodd could tolerate Irvine over most of the other apostles, unlike the rest, Irvine accepted that he was a monster and not a glorified knight but still kept to himself as he most likely had done as a human. The fact that he was a gifted hunter and marksman only served to complement him further. Hunting was one such activity Zodd had participated in while he was just a human. He had caught a multitude of pelts for his once tribe, but no prize could ever compare to the black lion.

It was a mythical beast, said to only show itself to those who were most worthy of the hunt with fur as soft as a cloud of darkness but fangs and claws sharper than any blade crafted by man. Its roar could cause earthquakes and raise the dead. When it ran, the wind followed behind it and not even the great barrier that was the sea could halt its movement.

Who in his tribe had seen it? That was so long ago, but he had wanted to be the one to find it, not for the glory or praise, but because of what it was – a challenge.

But even after all his time spent as an apostle, even after his tribe lay dead and forgotten, the life and ones he had before lost to time, he had never seen the black lion. How ironic that his apostle form should partially resemble as such.

"YEEEEGGHHH!" a lesser giant yelled as it advanced on Zodd, seeing him kneeling over the corpse of its brethren.

In human form, Zodd was dwarfed by the advancing giant, but not out skilled. He picked up his large, curved Kushan made blade and sidestepped as the giant brought its club down where he once stood. The giant was too slow to react as Zodd used his elbow to slam his full might into the back of the giant's knee.

Kraccck!

"Yooooooogggghghh!" the giant howled in pain as its knee was shattered by the force of Zodd's impact. In a desperate attempt, it swung its club around, looking to smack him away like a fly. As the club rounded on him, Zodd used his sword to knock the strike down and allowing him to grab onto the giant's arm and climb up onto its shoulders.

"Even you are smart enough to know what happens next." Zodd hooped his arms around the front of the giant's neck, pressing the sword into the fleshy meat and pulling back with his might. Crimson drops of blood fell as the cold steel sank deeper and deeper into its neck.

From behind, Zodd pressed his knee into the back of the giant's neck adding two forces of pressure until finally – slrriiipp!

The giant's boulder-like head fell from its body, blood staining the beard that had been growing out of the chin. Zodd spared a second glance at the fallen foe before turning his back on it. For its size, it went down far too easily.

And he felt it.

A smile that could be as close to joy for Zodd spread across his face as he recognized that feeling, recalling the first time he had felt that presence. At last.

His form grew taller, his body was covered in thick, dark fur as the horn grew from his head and he stood in his full apostle form. For what was to come, he would be taking no time in gauging the others strength, he was beyond his human form.

"So, you show yourself at last, Old Rival."

Zodd stared down the Skull Knight who watched from the top of his skeletal mount as he always did, observing the fully transformed Zodd. "I have been here for some time; perhaps your senses are getting dull. Living for over three hundred years will take its toll eventually."

"Spare me the talk, far too much of that has been happening for my taste," Zodd nearly spat. "You have come here to settle our rivalry? I didn't even have a chance to combat you on top of the Emperor. Your little stunt seemed to have backfired."

"Perhaps. I did intend on containing your master, but I fully anticipated what would happen should he counter my attack."

Zodd snarled. "Always the one with foresight, Your Majesty. Draw your blade and let us commence already." Zodd grew his claws out, light reflected off their sharp surface.

Skull Knight remained passive atop his steed. "You are as eager as ever. Has nothing changed since we first encountered? But then again, you were just a human when you called me 'Old Rival.'"

"A human no longer." That life was over. Gone. Dead. He had been on the brink of death like so many enemies in battle. He could have accepted his demise there at the hands – no, not the hands, they hadn't been able to stab him, riddled with arrows and trampled all over. He was not weak to have nearly died; he had been weak to have fought his death. But from that weakness and sacrifice, he was gifted new strength.

"No, a human no longer. But I have not come here to challenge you, Immortal One."

"You would deny me a fight? Fighting is what defines beings like you and I. There were stories about you when you lived about how you were nigh unstoppable even before that armor of yours. Perhaps it is you who is losing yourself over time. With that witch gone, how is it you still ride? Do you fear one swing of my claws will be the end of you?"

"Death comes for us all, you know this." Skull Knight remained composed on his steed. "If you recall our first encounter, you tried to slay me rather recklessly beginning your rivalry with me. I let you live because I recognized the talent you had, it was to be admired even."

"I will not aid you, if that is why you are here," Zodd growled out, insulted that that would even be brought up.

"No. I require no assistance, I will not even be here long; other matters demand my attention. I deny you a fight and cannot guarantee when one will occur, but you have seen the potential for one, have you not?"

Zodd knew exactly what he was referring to. Or rather, who he was referring to. Femto's ambition was all but complete; there was only one potential roadblock for him now, but even then it wasn't an issue all things considered. A moth to its flame.

"So why are you here?"

"You will listen then."

"Not for long. I might pounce if you lose my interest."

He listened to what the Skull Knight had to say. He didn't like it. He hated it in fact. But… a worthy opponent deserved to be heard out. But even Zodd knew the potential conflict existed, one that had been building for a thousand years and now resided with one so weak. The only thing he could do now would be to observe how future events played out and then make his move.

"The next time, Immortal One, our score will be settled."

Zodd scowled as the Skull Knight rode off. After all this time he was just now starting to take an interest in that field? Zodd had been keeping up with it ever since he found out more about the Skull Knight, observing the happenings of past wars and conflicts, seeing how each reacted. It was one of the reasons he sided with Chuder during the war, to gauge strength. He was disappointed then and he was disappointed now that he was denied a true fight, but there would be no reason to attack when the opponent would not fight back. He knew the strength the knight possessed and it was such a disappointment to see how that changed over time.

Disappointment must be a trait for them.

She wondered if what she was feeling was a dream. Well, Farnese knew that she was asleep, she was just wondering if this sensation was part of that dream. She felt weightless as if the slightest gust of wind would blow her away to some far off place in this new land they were in. it had started when felt herself begin to lift up out of the bed aboard the ship. Farnese had experienced a similar sensation as a child before she went to bed like she has floating before a jolt rocked through her body and waking her up.

This was different.

Here, she felt that she was able to move instead of just floating. She moved her eyes to meet her eyes and was met with a startling sight to behold. Her hands and arms seemed to be almost transparent like a ghost or specter that Guts would fight. But there was something that was different as well; they seemed to be wreathed in a warm, glowing light. Farnese found herself transfixed by the sight of it. In a way, the sight reminded her of the flames she had been so transfixed with when she was a young girl all alone in the family manor. She would watch the flames from her window, ignorant of the fact that people were being burnt alive.

That had been her reality; ignorance and isolation, both fickle things to cling to. But magic had opened her eyes to a whole new set of possibilities for a reality she could understand, and she was thankful that she wasn't alone in that position.

Before she could fully make sense of this new sensation, Farnese felt herself being drawn back down toward the bed, but still having enough freedom to turn her neck to see that her bed was not empty. She was there – or rather – the body she knew to be her own was there. Eyes closed and mouth slightly agape, it was her own body.

It could not be a dream; it was far too vivid to be a dream. She could not dream her appearance as clear as it was, nor could she take the time to process the wax rolling down the candle next to her bed that Teacher Schierke had lit for her as a means of creating a positive atmosphere for her studies. The younger green-haired mage rested on a cot parallel to Farnese, deep in her own concentration.

She felt herself being drawn back down toward where her sleeping body lay, and before she could make contact – Farnese felt a hand pat her shoulder. "Huh?"

Floating above her in a similar state of matter was Schierke, a trail of light stemming from the end of her hat to where her body sat with crossed legs on her cot. "It's alright. It's just me, Farnese."

"Teacher…" she spoke in wonder. "What is this? What has happened?"

"It worked. You were able to access your luminous body. The candle helped to put your mind in a state of ease, and my chants seemed to have worked as well. How do you feel?"

"Light. I feel like my body might blow away any second, well, not my physical one, this one."

Schierke smiled at her. "That is to be expected. I felt the same when Mistress Flora taught me. Here, let me shoulder some of the burden." Schierke clasped her hand, acting like an anchor so Farnese would not fly off or sink back into her regular body. "You said you feel light; us that to your advantage. Be like a leaf, just tilt and I will assist."

"A-alright. Right, then." Farnese jutted her head in that direction and would have flown straight out the porthole had Schierke not been acting as a stabilizer for her. Schierke moved in that direction as well, and the motion went much smoother this time around.

"You're still new, don't try to force it, just ease into it."

"Y-yes, teacher." Trying a new approach, Farnese focused on leaning back at a much slower and controlled pace. It helped to some extent. When she reached the point she wanted to stop, she stiffened herself but that served to lay her at a flat angle.

"I – sorry, teacher!"

"You don't have to apologize for that, Farnese," Schierke assured. "To have gotten this far in your studies, not even I was able to access my luminous body this quickly."

"You didn't?" that came as a surprise to Farnese. Schierke and Harry were the two most gifted mages she knew… they were the only mages she knew. But when they performed a feat, they knew exactly what they wanted to do and how to do it.

"You clearly have motivation on your side. I can give three guesses as to what."

The look on her teacher's face told the story. The one who she acted as a caretaker for, someone who relied on everyone for the simplest of tasks, one who clung to a fickle reality much like she had once done.

"Are they still trying to figure it out?"

Draco only half listened to the conversations going on around him. Like most of the school, he was out of the castle, and unlike most, he had separated himself by resting himself on the branch of the beach tree by the lake, Crabbe and Goyle acting like bodyguards and keeping some of the younger students away.

The one Hufflepuff boy, Smith was attempting to write out a magical message in the sky for Potter to see on that ship anchored off on the other side of the Black Lake. Knowing Smith's personality, he was probably trying to write out how he thought Potter was a cheat and trying to steal the glory from Diggory.

Honestly, how thick could he get?

Draco swore he saw a fly enter Crabbe's one ear and exit the other. Okay, Smith isn't that much of a morn, but he's still an idiot. How did the Hufflepuff even think Potter could have entered to begin with? It wasn't that Draco believed the trash story published in any of the presses, they were nothing but publicity pieces written to entertain and excite the masses. Father was always saying that reporters like Skeeter could smell a story a mile away but only heard a quarter of the truths.

Maybe if Smith focused more on his magical skills he could back up whatever he was trying to convey in that message of his. Draco supposed it was a bit hypocritical of him to think that when he should be in class himself, but school seemed like such a minor detail now. Whatever classes he did poorly in could always be fixed by his father's connections to the school governors. He had only stayed for breakfast and the morning post as he had been expecting a letter from his mother.

He pulled the letter from his robe and opened its content. The letter seemed basic by appearance, but knowing his mother, he was able to decipher the hidden message of it. She made mention of what was going on back at the manor and the new addition of Greyback. That half-breed was brought into our home? Apparently, his father was powerless to prevent that change, a fact that sparked Draco's ire. The Dark Lord was the most magically powerful, but the manor was still Malfoy property. Riff-raff like Greyback should be kept in the gutters.

And as always, she pleaded for him to stay safe. Who does she think she's writing to, some first-year mudblood? I should be telling her that. With Greyback at home, things could get wild if he chose to not contain himself when the next full moon came around. And it wasn't like Draco didn't hear stories of Greyback's more savage crimes when not a werewolf and Narcissa Malfoy was still a desirable witch.

He pressed his wand to the letter, muttering "Incendio," letting the ashes fall to the ground like petals.

He was staying safe. All the Dark Lord had asked him to do was keep an eye out for potential recruits. Crabbe and Goyle would do whatever he told them, or rather, what their parents told them and their fathers both served the Dark Lord already. There was Blaise Zambini, but he was the most neutral of Slytherin boys. Pansy Parkinson was infatuated with him, but she was a gossip, not a fighter. The Greengrass sisters were desirable but came from a neutral family. Tracey Davies tried to hide it, but Draco knew she had a pseudo-friendship with that lump, Longbottom, it was one of the reasons why Draco targeted him. Theodore Nott was the most likely, his father had been in the inner circle before but Theo was a quite make.

That was it, or at least, what he had discerned so far and from previous years of attending class with these people. He was not a Death Eater himself, but he still feared what the Dark Lord would do. If one truth was to be believed in those papers, it was that no one crosses the Dark Lord. Not even someone like Dumbledore.

The air was hot for a spring day, but nothing Silat was unused to. He and the Bakiraka were used to much more arid climates than just some warm weather and clear skies. Not like there were any other Bakiraka in this infernal city other than himself and his two bodyguards. A number of Kushan were present as well, flocking to the city due to monster attacks and pardoned by that Griffith character for any participation they would have had in the recent war.

Silat even caught a brief glimpse of Daiba, who was now working as a stable hand despite he was missing one of his hands. He hadn't exchanged any words with the other Kushan, no he was too busy running odd jobs for the inn owner he had the misfortune of running into.

Out of all the people who had traveled to this city she just had to be one of them. The one who allowed him free stay at her inn for an exchange of his pride by working odd jobs such as fetching water, sweeping floors, and gathering food. It had to be his luck he ran into the slave driver, the woman.

"Oh, you're finally back, husband."

"Don't call me that. Two women are better than one and you're not even worth considering." She called him that just to infuriate him to no end. He always had something to say, and she would humiliate him by saying it.

One of the other girls working for the slave driver heard his remark. "You know, you should feel awfully lucky to stay here rent free. Luca may be generous, but even she has her limits."

Luca patted the other girl on the head. "Pepe, go check on the second-floor guest. He was complaining that the sheets weren't light enough."

"Yes, Luca." The girl exited.

"By check on, are you referring to your previous profession?" Silat asked, quite aware of Luca's work as a prostitute. That had been her social standing back when he had met her at that cursed tower. "To move up the social standing like you did you must have had to earn quite the amount of gold. I imagine you must not have been able to walk for weeks."

"My, what a sharp tongue you've got," Luca mimicked a flustered maid. "It really fits a snake. But if you want to know," I don't, "we got the money back after the tower fell. You had already taken off, but as it turns out the Holy See was keeping a large sum of donations stared away at St. Albion."

"Ah, a whore and a thief."

"It isn't thieving if we gave most of it away as charity. I thought of it more as spreading the generosity of God. I thought someone like you on the receiving end would be able to understand that."

Silat felt a vein throb in his temple. "Your charity is nothing more-,"

"-Nothing more than a means to an end," Luca finished. "You've said as much before. As an assassin, I thought you would be a bit more original."

"Tch!" Silat scoffed, his ire with the slave driver growing with each conversation. He had said that before. But an end to what means, Silat did not know. This city, Falconia, it offered sanctuary for all those whose lives were ruined by the monsters outside the walls. But he perhaps stayed with the slave driver was because she too knew that there was more to this Griffith than meets the eye. They had both been at that tower; they had seen him emerge, reborn almost as he rode off on the back of that beast. Silat would never say it out loud, but it brought him a strange sense of comfort knowing that he wasn't alone in believing that this city was not the paradise it presented itself to be; not with someone like that in a position of power, and once he married the queen his reign would be official.

The bell hanging above the door rang, signaling new guests. He saw Luca slip on her genuine smile as she went to go and greet the arrivals. "Welcome! What may I do for you?"

She spoke to a blonde youth who held the hand of a young girl probably no older than eleven. "Hello. We only just arrived here but, are there any rooms available?"

"C'mon! Let's go out to play!"

Was that how his voice sounded? So young and carefree. Of course it would sound like that. That was the way it had sounded for all children. He had manipulated his image to be that of a much younger version of the man he was crafted from. It was a form that would perhaps sooth the other child-like vassal standing before him in his mindscape.

"Why don't we go and see the castle? We can both go together!" that had been the dream. The dream that consumed and tore the once-man apart. That unattainable castle on the hill that stood tall above all others. If it had not been for that child's dream, he would not exist now.

The boy with long dark hair that stood behind him looked up at the mentally constructed image of that shining castle. This boy had yet to say anything, but it was only a matter of time until he could. He was like a parasite in that regard despite being the host he was born from.

The first he had felt it had been back on that Hill of Swords when he saved the woman from being crushed by the rocks. He felt a pang where his heart would be, a pang that never occurred afterward. Letting her get crushed would have been a cruel mercy given her state, but he had stopped them. As the weeks went on, he became aware that he felt headaches coming on and off based on the lunar cycle. The full moon was when it was at its worst and he had consulted with Ubik about what it could be. The impish Godhand had offered that something was perhaps leeching off of his power, taking its own consciousness.

It came to the point on one full moon that the irritation stopped entirely, only to return before the dawn could break. Something had broken away from him only to return.

"Hey!" the young mental image of the man called Griffith yelled to the dark-haired boy. "Aren't you coming?"

The other boy shook his head. "Why not?" he made the mental image of a young Griffith not sound irritated with this other.

The other boy pointed down a dark alley of the empty city they were in. "Did you do it?" an unseen voice spoke from the dark. "Did you do it? Did you reach the castle?" more voices spoke. "Did you reach your dream?" "Are we there too?" "What about me?" "Am I there?" "How's the castle?" "Was it worth it?" "Was it worth us?" "Were we worth it?" "How is the castle?" "How is it?" "How is it?" "How is it?" "Is it all you hoped for?" "Is it your dream?"

"How is it?"

"How is the dream?"

"How is the castle?"

"Are you even still Griffith?"

With a swipe of his child-sized hand, the mental scenery turned into stark whiteness. He had dropped the mental disguise of Griffith's child form and he now stood as Femto of the Godhand.

"Clever trick you pulled. How long have you been able to manipulate things inside of this space?" he received a blank stare from the boy with dark eyes. Eyes that would have held meaning if he was still Griffith. "Are you leeching off my power?" no answer. "Can you talk yet, or have you not the strength?" this time he received a nod. "You can? So do it." The boy did not speak. "You don't wish to talk to me then? Not even when I looked like a child?"

The boy pointed to something off in the distance of the ever expansive field of white. So that was his play. "That's it then? You wish to visit them once more, but you cannot; not until the full moon." He could see the similarities in this boys' eyes to both of his true parents.

It would be a dangerous gambit, but if pulled off correctly… what human parents wouldn't want to see their child? A perfect way to placate them should they turn their attention to this city.

"If you want, you can see them again. When the next full moon comes, you can go visit the two of them, would you like that?" of course he would. "But, you must come back before the moon sets, understand?" let them see what their lives will be. It would be meaningless, but they would live it out in meaningless bliss, they were of no concern should they return. That wizard who sought after the young mage, he was welcome to try and murder his rival. If he succeeded or failed was of no concern, either way, a roadblock was out of the way. "But you must tell them something. Tell them to stay away from Falconia and they may be permitted to live out the rest of their lives. Can you do that?"

The boy stared him dead in the eye and gave a single nod.

"Good."

A/N: Sorry for not updating last week, things were hectic with finals coming up. A lot of side characters got a bit more fleshed out this time around as Berserk does have some of my favorite side characters in manga. With Snape, I know that he came across really negative before but I was just trying to write him as he would be when first meeting Harry so there is room for him to mature but still be greasy about a lot of tings. Thanks for reading.


	47. Chapter 47

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Shortly after arriving in Falconia and securing a room at an inn for both he and Erica, Rickert set out in search of blacksmithing work. Erica was convinced that he would be able to apprentice for any smith willing to have him, he did serve under her father for over two years after all. Rickert considered it good providence that he had taken some of his tinker inventions along to show some of the smiths in order to better impress them.

They included a miniaturized repeating crossbow similar to the one Guts possessed currently, a design for new wagon wheels, and maybe his favorite out of the bunch; a hose. It seemed simple but the meaning and value behind it had much greater value. The hose came attached to a wooden chamber and pump and when filled with water could spray out the end to douse out of control flames. It had been something Godo had been working on as he was always worried that living above a forge his home would one day be set ablaze from the sparks and embers below. With a paranoid mind and the will to keep Erica safe, the two of them had got to work on making the first of its kind.

"Did you make all this stuff yourself, lad?" one blacksmith asked him as Rickert traveled the clean streets of the city.

"Mostly," Rickert answered modestly. "I had the designs for a lot of other inventions as well, but I was only able to gather so much before monsters started showing up all over the land."

"Monsters? Ain't that the truth. I remember a time when this world wasn't so complicated; all I had to worry about then was the threat of real humans during the Hundred-Year War, now it's like everything has been turned up on its head. We got people from Chuder flocking in here, people who were rich and poor, and even Kushan. Funny how a common threat will bring people together like that. Thank God for Grifith."

"Yeah. He must be something." Is this really Griffith? Rickert wondered. The last he saw of his former leader he had ridden off on Zodd after Guts and Harry tried attacking him. They had both been very secretive, only mentioning that Griffith was the reason all the rest of the Hawk's had perished that day.

The blacksmith slid a piece of parchment over to Rickert. "Tell you what, you got me interested in some of these designs, they're not what you see in everyday surroundings; but Falconia isn't like any other city, now, is it? Can you write your name?"

"Sure I can," Rickert said, trying not to seem insulted by the question. He knew many people from his social standing usually couldn't read.

"Why don't you go and put your name down, I'll be sure to send it in." he handed Rickert a quill as well.

"Oh, are you not the blacksmith?" Rickert asked, confused as to why he was being asked to do so.

"Of course I'm the blacksmith here!" he gave a hearty laugh. "This is just to send up to the officials in the palace."

"Huh?"

"Hm? Oh, right, you're new. You see, it's a way of keeping a head count of the population, right. Anyone who arrives and seeks out work, a home or anything has to send their name in. If they know how many people are here, they know how much food they'll need to grow. The land just outside the city walls is fertile that farmers have already begun plowing the fields. You probably saw when you came in, but those giant glowing rocks out there, they keep the monsters away; just something about them that helps keep us all safe."

"Right, that makes sense, I suppose." Rickert dipped the quill in ink and wrote out his name.

"Much appreciated, lad." The blacksmith gave him a nod of his head. "I'll send this up soon as I finish up work today. I expect to see you back here tomorrow morning before the sun rises, and that is a 'yes' to the apprenticeship."

Rickert returned to the inn he and Erica were staying soon after that meeting. Knocking on the door before entering, Rickert called out, "Erica, you were right, I got the job at the blacksmith." He didn't hear her young voice call back to him. "Erica?"

Stepping into the room he saw that it was the same as it had been before he had left. The two beds were looking cozy and the sheets had been made. The pile of parts and other tinker devices were kept in a semi-organized pile in the corner of the room. Everything was where it ought to be, except for Erica.

Rickert wasted no time in rushing back to the base level of the inn and subsequent tavern. "Erica?" Rickert called out again. He didn't know what he was expecting, the tavern was only playing host to two other patrons, none of which had Erica with them.

Starting to panic, Rickert exited the inn and headed to the closest location, the stables. The only figure here was an elderly man with his cloak pulled up over his head. He held a walking stick with one hand considering one had was all he had to hold it with. The old man muttered something in a language Rickert couldn't understand and the horses instantly returned to their stables.

"Excuse me, sir, have you seen a young girl come around here?" knowing Erica's fascination with animals it wouldn't be too shocking if she had run off to this place.

"No girls come to talk to me," he spoke with an accent, Kushan to be precise. "None except for the one woman who calls me 'Gramps.'"

"Looking for someone?"

Rickert snapped his attention to the new voice that spoke from behind him. Leaning against the stable door was another Kushan man, this one much younger and wearing clothing befitting a desert environment.

"You are the new arrival, yes?"

Rickert nodded.

"Your sister is the younger girl, near fair-hair and bright eyes."

"You saw her?" Rickert asked, relief rushing back to him.

"The slave driver wanted me to pass along a message to you should you return before she returned."

"Slave driver?" Rickert repeated.

"The woman – Luca. She and the other girls took a trip to the public bath houses. She insisted your sister's hair was in need of a wash."

Luca, that was the name of the woman who ran the inn they were staying at and from what Rickert was able to tell she seemed like a genuinely nice woman. "Oh," Rickert let out a sigh of relief. "Well, that's good to hear. I was getting really worried there for a second."

"Rightfully so. A child's mind is highly susceptible; enough time spent around that woman will be enough to mold anyone's mind to her way of thinking."

The older, one-handed Kushan gave a dry cackle at the remark. "Doesn't all have to be a bad thing. She at least managed to secure me this position as a stable hand. Of course, I have to rely more on my talent than my physical strength." He rubbed at his stub. "Maybe I'll be able to repay that brat one day, but not now."

Rickert felt a bit of sympathy for the elderly man, even if he was Kushan. Guts had also lost a limb, but he didn't let that get in his way. "Well, if you want I could try and help out some here in the stable too when I'm not at the blacksmith that is. Or maybe Erica could, she loves animals and the feeling is mutual."

Rickert saw the younger Kushan roll his eyes. "Not unless you want her to get eaten alive. Let the girl be a girl and try to savor her naivety."

"Eaten?" Rickert parroted. "I'm pretty sure horses don't eat people."

"Horses… right. Let it stay that way, and keep away from the shed around back, the horses there might not be as gentle as these around us now."

In another part of the city,

"Wow!" Erica exclaimed as she dipped her toe into the steamy water. "This feels just like the hot springs around my papa's mine!"

Luca watched the young girl who eyed everything with an excited gaze and she couldn't help but smile at it. These bath houses were reserved strictly for women, the men's being located in the opposite location of the building with guards standing at attention to the entry should any lecherous pervert try and sneak in the woman's side of things. Having come from a small village, fresh water was something to be cherished especially when on the road to St. Albion. Now, it was a luxury that everyone could enjoy.

"You lived out in the mountains, correct?" Luca asked as she slid her legs into the bath before submerging up to her neck, waiting until her skin was accustomed to the feel of the heat. "It's fair that you would make that comparison, a lot of hot springs can be found in mountainous regions."

Erica put one toe in after another before giving up and jumping into the steamy water. Luca felt some of the water from the resulting splash wet her hair. Erica soon resurfaced with her fairer hair clinging damp to her forehead.

"Well, it looks like you saved me the trouble," Luca said, grabbing a towel from the side of the bath, Luca began to dry off Erica's hair. "You have such nice hair; it curls perfectly at the ends."

"You have nice hair too, Miss. Luca." Erica turned herself around so that she could play with a strand of Luca's wet hair. "It's so soft."

"Stay still now," Luca softly commanded the young girl. "Hair like yours should be treated with care and I don't want lice coming into my inn."

"Have you had to wash other's hair often?" Erica asked, kicking her feet to stay afloat but took to sitting on Luca's lap.

"I've had my share of experience. Some of the girls working with me needed help once in a while, but one girl in particular really stood out. She was… incapable of helping herself so I did what I could for her, took her in until some people from her past came to take her to get better."

"That was nice of you," Erica told her. "Papa could be a bit of a grouch, but I knew he really cared."

"Hehe!" Luca laughed. "That sounds like one of the men who knew the girl I took in. such a grim and serious look on his face, but when he saw her, it was like there was something more to him and his dark attire."

"Now that sounds like someone I know!" Erica fiddled with another strand of Luca's hair. "He was one of my papa's customers, his name's Guts."

Luca stopped what she was doing, the name being familiar to her. "Guts?"

"Uh-huh!" Erica nodded. "He's probably the strongest guy I know, he could even lift papa's biggest sword ever!"

A blade that is much too massive and far too thick. "He sounds like quite the figure. Where is he now?"

"He and a few others went to go make my friend feel better. That was a while ago, but I know that they'll be back before long, they promised that we'd all get together one day, maybe even here!"

She was incredibly optimistic about the whole thing, Luca noticed. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that the man Guts was the same as from the Tower of Conviction; a dark demeanor, a huge sword, a quest to heal one terribly afflicted, it all fit. Where are you now, Casca? Outside of the city, monsters ran rampant, but knowing who she was traveling with, Luca knew they stood a better chance than just about anyone else. But what would it be like if they were to return to this city, especially knowing who was looked upon as a savior? He was the same man who rose from the crumbled remains of the Tower of Conviction, the one who held an untouchable appearance to him. There was a history behind him for sure.

"Do you think I'll get to see them again?" Erica asked, her hair was nearly dry at this point.

"Hm? Oh, well… I can't exactly tell you that for sure, I have no idea where they are." She saw Erica's face fall. "But, if they value the happiness of a little girl like you, I'm sure they know better than to go and smash your dreams."

That at least held some improvement for the young maid. "I don't think they would do that."

"Well, the rest is up to them now, isn't it?" Luca asked rhetorically. But still, what are the odds of two people knowing the Black Swordsman and company running into each other at a time like this? If I was more religious, I'd say it sounds like – no! And here I was about to sound like a Holy See priest.

The feeling coming back felt stronger than it had going to, a clear sign that the connection was only growing stronger with the passing of time. Voldemort barely felt any resistance or pull as he found himself back in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, his Death Eaters following not far behind. They had indeed been detained after that initial skirmish with the brute, and as an additional insult to his pride and status, he was forced to wait a few days as their release was pending.

The filthy muggles and their methods! The disguised God Hand probably ordered them to refuse their release until such a time as he deemed necessary, Voldemort wouldn't put that past him, he wouldn't put anything past that being. He reminded him of himself too much in that regard, a desirable appearance that hid the darkness within all focused around an ambition. He almost wondered if this was how it was like to be on the receiving end of that spectrum, to be the victim.

One by one, his Death Eaters materialized in the cellar next to him, he had yet to speak a word to any of them except to tell them that they were leaving that abomination of a city. Not unsurprisingly, Bellatrix dropped to her knees, kissing at the hem of his robes.

"My Lord, please, forgive me. I have let you down in how I behaved. I will accept any punishment you see fit to give me."

Voldemort cupped her chin with his long, slim fingers. "I do not find disappointment in how you spoke to that royal tart; no. I am disappointed at how easily you were thwarted." He pressed a finger to her temple. "Crucio!" the magic that flowed through him as a courtesy of the God Hand shot into Bellatrix. She screamed and clawed at the cellar floor, her nails leaving deep gouges in the stone.

Once he was sure she had enough, he went and gave the same treatment to his other followers as well. They had allowed a muggle to get the best of them when they possessed the same power similar to him and all. They were meant to be his most loyal and most devout of the bunch, yet they had caused a ruckus despite him telling them to not do anything that might provoke the God Hand. He left the cellar without uttering a word to his recovering subordinates, feeling the shame of their failure.

Sensing for magical energy, he felt Lucius and Narcissa to be alone in their dining room. It was another gift that came with his reborn body as he believed himself to be magic incarnate, he could pick up on magical signatures in a certain radius. Feeling his Death Eaters was easy enough as they all carried the Dark Mark on their arms.

Voldemort cast the door open with a lazy flick of his wrist. "Lucius, I do hope that I'm not interrupting anything." It gave him a small sense of pleasure at seeing the proud pure-blood lord rise instantly from his seat and bow his head upon arrival.

"My Lord! Your arrival was unexpected."

"Was it? I seem to recall saying that I would not be long; is your memory faulty?"

"No, my Lord, it is not."

"Tell me, Lucius, has anything happened during my absence? And I do hope it is beneficial news, my mood is rather a fowl as of now. Your sister can testify to that, Narcissa." He aimed the jab directly at her; not forgetting that she hadn't instantly risen to bow like her husband had done. Leave it to the Black in her to be a bit defiant, but a night with Greyback could easily correct that in her.

Much to his surprise, Lucius seemed to gain that confidence back. "Actually, my Lord, there is tremendous news indeed. Dobby!"

With a loud "pop!" the house elf appeared in the dining room. "Master called, Dobby?"

"Yes. Fetch the Daily Prophet from a few days ago, make it fast." Knowing better than to linger, the elf disappeared and popped back not two seconds later. "I believe you will find the headline satisfactory."

No surprise, his return had made front page news, but what really caught the hungry gleam in his eye was the second name mentioned, the name of the boy he had been searching for forever since plotting his scheme with Wormtail and Crouch. Harry Potter.

He wasted no time in reading through the article, his bad mood becoming more uplifted with every word that he read. It happened, Potter was truly back, back in a setting where Voldemort could control the playing field. He was currently at Hogwarts, but so what? He had shown first hand that Dumbledore was getting old, too old to stop him as he was now, and with his new power, even Hogwarts' protective wards would not be able to keep him out forever.

"Well, well, Lucius, you have been most useful in uplifting this funk of mine. See to it that dignitaries are sent out to party with the giants; the dementors will come around when they smell the turn of the tide. Get all sorts of magical creatures, trolls, dragons, the works. I don't care how you obtain them."

Lucius looked like he realized this request could likely empty his vault at Gringotts. "C-certainly, my Lord. But… if I may ask, what will they be of use for?"

"For our upcoming assault on Hogwarts, of course."

It was funny how one bit of information could change the day.

Being a knight did not always require the use of a sword or bow, sometimes it really was just upholding the peace and prosperity for the time being. It could get boring and tedious for sure, but Laban found that it was preferable to the times of conflict. People were much happier when nothing was going on even if they did complain and wished that something exciting would happen.

But riding through the streets of Falconia, he could not complain about the simplest task of delivering a letter. He smiled at the memory of when he and Owen were squires for some knights of the kingdom, they always got stuck doing the lazy jobs and labor for the knights of yesteryear. Granted that was twenty something years ago when they were just boys, but the sense of duty that came with it was worth all the lazy jobs that came with it. And, of course, it helped immensely that the queen at the time was as sweet as they came, not the once-king's second wife, his first, Charlotte's mother, Marie Rhody. She was the kind of queen that anyone would vow their services to and did not expect and gold nor riches in return, just a chance to see her smile and see those blue eyes shine with life

Such a sweet woman, gone before her time. If it was any consultation to the memory of the queen, her daughter looked very much like her, and it always caused Laban a sense of bitter sweetness when he saw Charlotte with the one possession left to remember her mother, a wooden knight figurine.

He pulled the reigns of his horse, signaling it to stop. He had arrived at his destination. He felt the heat before he opened the door, a clear sign that the blacksmith inside was hard at work.

"Heh!" the blacksmith laughed, admiring an arrowhead fresh out of the forge. "At the rate, you're working, you should be the one teaching me all of this."

"I had a good teacher, that's all," the blonde youth told the older smith.

"Ahem." Laban cleared his throat to get their attention.

"Ah, General Laban!" the smith wiped off his hands with a rag. "What can we do for you today?"

Laban raised his hands to show that he wasn't here to make a purchase or place an order. "Nothing of that sort. I come here with an invitation."

"Invitation?" the smith asked. "What for?"

"For this young man," Laban took out the scroll he had been assigned. "It's a formal invitation to a youth named Rickert to meet with Griffith in Falconia Palace."

"M-me? Griffith wants to see me?" he seemed shocked, but also nervous. It was to be expected to come from one like Griffith. "Why? For what reason?"

"He didn't say," Laban answered truthfully. "All he said was that he would very much like to see you once he learned that a youth by your name had entered the city and was working as a smith in this location."

Rickert was silent, his head hung in contemplation. "…Did he say when?"

"Any time at your earliest preference."

"…hmm…"

"Why not take the rest of the day off, lad," the smith offered Rickert. "You've made twice as many pieces as I have today and I wouldn't want to deprive anyone of the chance to see Griffith in person."

Rickert still seemed hesitant. "…Very well then."

Anyone could tell that the palace of Falconia was a large structure, it was one of those obvious things like the fact that the sky was blue, or that grass was green. The main access point into the palace was up a zigzagging road that continued to elevate until reaching just beneath the head of the falcon-like structure of a monument. And unlike the previous castle, this palace seemed accessible to everyone. Farmers passed by with oxen, carriages knights on horses, and Rickert was left to travel on foot. He felt sweat coat his brow as he paused to catch his breath from the walk.

"I should have… taken a carriage." He wiped some of the sweat aside. "Sturdiness will only take me so far." He looked up at how much farther he had left to go. He had made it at least three-quarters of the way already with a clear ending in sight.

Passing under a guard tower, there was a drawbridge that was lowered, fully connecting the zigzagging roadway to the interior of the palace beyond. Rickert spared a look behind him at the sprawling layout of the city below. He was high up, easily over a hundred feet in the air, maybe more than that. But he didn't need to know how high it was; any fall off this road would be an instant death.

He fell into line with the other visitors to the palace, presenting the initiation he received to the guard standing sentry just beyond the drawbridge.

"Please wait here briefly," the guard instructed from behind his helmeted visor.

Realizing he would have to wait, Rickert took another analytical view of his surroundings. This place really did have a different design style than the buildings of the city below.

Falconia, the Hawk's city – the Hawk's castle. As if it were personally ordered just for Griffith. There's nothing left of the old Windham Castle… where we spent so much of our time. It's all gone.

"Are you Rickert?" he saw a blonde man with chin-length hair walking forward to greet him. "Sir Laban told me about you. I am Owen, Head of Falconia's castle guard."

"General Owen?!" Rickert said in surprise. "You… needn't have come in person, milord."

"No need for formality," the high ranking knight told him. "You were once a part of the old Band of the Hawk, were you not? I saw it fitting to greet you in person. Allow me to be your guide."

"Oh! Sorry, I wouldn't have figured that you would recognize me. You assisted us against the Blue Whale Knights, and we only spoke briefly at the Victory Ball. It has been some time since I was in the capital, it was back when we were labeled outlaws."

"Hm." Owen looked a bit guilty. "For what it's worth, you have my apologies for that. The old king was not in the right frame of mind when he made that decision. I assure you, the queen does not share in that sentiment. Being as long as it has, I imagine you wish to be reunited with the Hawk soon."

Talking with General Owen helped to partly quell the feeling of anxiety that Rickert had been feeling since getting the invite to see Griffith after all this time. Maybe it helped knowing that there were at least some people out there who were still in some way connected with how things used to be.

"Griffith is currently attending a funeral ceremony for more victims lost during the war," Owen told him as they passed a series of columns. "Until he finishes, I'm afraid your reunion will have to wait."

"If you are in need of time, I would be happy to take over until our leader is available." Another knight stepped out from behind one of the columns. He was tall as a knight should be, but not overly muscular. He had a handsome enough face and long dark locks that fell to his shoulders. His armor was shiny like moonlight reflecting over a the ocean.

"Ah, Sir Locus," Owen greeted the other knight, but sounding a bit hesitant. Rickert had a guess as to why.

This knight, I can tell that he isn't human. It had to do with those eyes. Those slit-like pupils.

"Our leader is a busy man," Locus continued. "Tell me, have either of you heard of the Divine Right of Kings?"

"Divine Right of Kings?" Rickert repeated.

"Yes. It means that something like the throne is bestowed by the hand of God. Therefore none must violate it. A high spiritual rank links a legitimate king to the land, guiding the realm to prosperity. It's a theme that often occurs in myths and legends. Many royal families like the ancestors of our queen claim that it is true in their case." Locus observed their reactions. "But in any case, it will take some time before the ceremony ends."

Divine Right of Kings…

"Sir Owen, if you don't mind, I'd like to borrow him for a bit. There's something I wish to tell him in private, as he was of the old Band of the Hawk."

"Ah, so you heard about him?" Owen looked conflicted. "I was hoping to speak to him as well about a few people I met while in Vritannis, but if you insist, Sir Locus. But-,"

"General Owen!" two guardsmen came running up to him. "We believe a thief to have entered the castle! Two guards were discovered unconscious!"

That had Owen looking concerned. "A thief? A thief in this castle? I apologize, Rickert. As you heard, I must go."

"Y-yes, sir." Rickert was none too excited about being alone with Locus.

"Sir Locus, please take care of him until I return." Locus gave a small nod, barely.

"Well then," Locus was already walking in a different direction. "Let us be off." He looked over his shoulder at Rickert, his black locks obscuring part of his face. "You were once one of the Hawk's feathers. There is something of which you really ought to be aware of."

Oh, how Rickert really wished he had brought some sort of weapon with him. Locus wasn't doing anything directly to harm or threaten him, but that feeling about him… it just wouldn't go away.

Unlike Owen, Locus barely talked to him, and maybe that was for the better. He was leading Rickert back, straight back to the back end of the palace where another gate awaited them like the main one in front. There was a bridge here as well, but instead of zigzagging, it was a straight ride across to… what was that?

It was like a dark, giant sphere of a shape, partly obscured by the mist that covered the other end of the bridge; the light from those luminous tree branches did little to show what it actually was he was looking at except for the spherical side of it.

"Wh-what is that?" Rickert asked the first words he had spoken since being left alone with Sir Locus. "Why are there no guards on this bridge?"

"Pandemonium." Locus did not look back at him. "The den of the War Demons – the Hawk of Light's bodyguards."

"War Demons?" Rickert pictured the monstrous forms of Zodd and Irvine both.

Locus spared a look back. "It seems you know of them." The silence was answer enough. "Your name is Rickert, yes? Tell me, why did you accept the Hawk's invite? Do you seek nothing more than to rekindle an old friendship? To try and gain a patron to help establish you here in this city? Both of those things? Or, perhaps, to question him? Question him about what fully happened beneath the Day of Black Sun of Abstract Time."

That day. The day he saw that whirlwind, seeing that Skull Knight fight with Zodd, the Skull Knight pulling Guts, Casca and Harry from that twister, the day Guts had lost his arm and eye, the day Harry had nearly bled to death and the day Casca lost her sanity.

"How did you…?"

"It is a simple deduction," Locus answered. "A feather of the former Band of the Hawk lacks the scent of the Brand. That means, for some reason you were sparred the ceremony of abstract time. It's only natural you would want to ask what happened that day – and where your comrades vanished to."

"…I… already know the answer to that." Death was a simple answer.

"Oh. Then do you wish to hear it from the Hawk's mouth in a remorseful tone? To me, your eyes do not seem to be tainted with hatred." They arrived at a large set of doors leading to the sphere beyond. "But there is a world of difference between knowing and experiencing. If you ask, or don't, first you ought to see them." The doors began to open. "These who are, the Hawk of Light's beak and talons."

Pandemonium was perfect to describe it.

It was styled in an arena like setting with the spectators sitting all around the rows, roaring and cheering as the two monsters in the pit duked it out in a bloody engagement. The first Rickert recognized as being a giant ogre, the second was a quadruped covered in hard rock-like scales with a giant maw filled with teeth, this seemed to be more than just a monster as it did have a human like body protruding from the top of it. He also seemed to be the crowd favorite.

"These are the War Demons." Locus was leaning down right next to his face. His face only visible from Rickert's peripheral vision as his attention was directed to seeing the ogre pierced through by a spear. "They are, generally speaking, combative. Captured monsters are brought into the castle and they thus devote themselves day and night to combat training. That is the official story, but many of them just have bloodlust."

The ogre brought its club down on the head of the War Demon piercing it with a lance; pieces of splintered wood finding weak points in the armor coated hide. But putting more force behind its hind legs, the War Demon charged forward and slammed the ogre against the arena's wall. With it pinned, it used its maw to take a bite out of the ogre's stomach. There was the sound of tearing flesh over the sound of the crowd giving a wild cheer of approval.

It's like a scene out of hell!

"In exchange for these monsters, Griffith took the Band of the Hawk and he-!"

"They're human." Locus calmly interrupted Rickert's would-be tirade of horror. "Originally human. These are those refashioned by causality and extraordinary obsession. These are apostles." Rickert's dread grew with every syllable Locus spoke. "Were it not for the Hawk of Light leading them, they'd simply indulge in their own desires. Doing nothing but harm to the world of men. Beasts to be simply shunned, feared, and detested. But the Hawk of Light forged them together into a sword. He made them walk with men, compelling them to be guard beasts for their world." Locus face grew more solemn. "He gave even brutes like us a place where we belong."

The way Locus talked, he was totally indoctrinated by Griffith. He probably didn't know Griffith as a person, just by the idea and image he represented. Griffith was like a painting to Locus, something beyond comprehension, but still visible to the eye.

"No great king in history has ever been able to achieve a balance like this, an incisive utopia, no one, not even Gaiseric. That is the land the Hawk of Light brings about for mankind. Falconia."

It was a startling change going from a place as violent as Pandemonium to a more sweet and serene setting as the royal garden located near the back of the top of the palace's structure. In the time elapsed since being taken by Locus, Griffith had finished up with the ceremony he had been conducting and had taken a break in this place.

Rickert instantly picked Griffith out sitting under a gazebo with a few others. There was an old man who must be the High Pontiff of the Holy See, a young knight as a guard, a blonde girl eating a few pieces of cake, and a young woman with brown hair and innocent blue eyes that could only be Princess Charlotte – or rather, Queen Charlotte now.

A short, small white bridge ran across a short stream to the patch of land where Griffith sat with his guests. Locus stood behind Rickert, his face an impassive mask, sure of himself that he had given Rickert a proper education as to do or say nothing that might offend his idol.

Griffith took notice of their presence. He rose from his seat, muttering a few words of an excuse as he slowly made the walk to the bridge where Rickert stood waiting for his arrival.

What will I say? Rickert wondered as Griffith neared. He was aware of Locus' eyes boring into the back of his head. After seeing all those people flocking to the city, the pleading looks that they all had in their eyes at the sight of this place. After seeing the bustling capital which I never thought I would ever see again.

It really is all so different. It is like a god-like exploit. Images of the roaring laughter from Pandemonium flashed before him.

Fiendish exploits too. It is like a mix of both at the same time but the image of good and prosperity somehow always trumping the other in the end. It is all so much, so much beyond what I thought possible. And here I am so tiny.

Griffith was close now. He was more than close, he was standing right in front of him, a light breeze barely disturbed his white hair or cape. His face was as flawless as ever, his hair seemed healthier as well, he looked like Griffith.

He spoke. "Will you still dream the same dream?" the first words Griffith spoke to him. "Have you found an answer to that question on the Hill of Swords, Rickert?"

The Hill of Swords, the place he used to mark the missing graves of all those they had lost from the Band of the Hawk that day. The day that changed everything. He had made one for Griffith too, believing him to be dead.

The one who looked like Griffith stood before him. Same hair, same face, same voice, the same sense of composure. His eyes were lacking.

Slap!

Rickert's hand connected with the side of Griffith's face, the sound of the slap resonated throughout the entire garden. Not a sound was heard as Griffith recoiled from the hit, not even the sound of the stream was audible, and if a pin were to drop it would be like a hammer on an anvil.

The silence was broken by a cry of, "Griffith!"

Rickert didn't need to turn around to see the look on Locus' face, he could instead hear the loathing in his tone. "How… how dare you! You cur!"

He saw Griffith raise a hand, stopping the knight in his tracks. He looked at Rickert instead, he didn't even seem emotionally invested in just getting slapped.

"I was ashamed of myself," Rickert began. "That I couldn't go with everyone to Windham to rescue you that day. I felt like I owed a debt for not getting to share in the fate of the others. For being unable to get mad or take responsibility, for only be able to watch everyone go. But then, that Hill of Swords, I was the one to make that as grave markers."

Rickert took out the one thing he had brought with him, a token he had been keeping safe with him since that day. A badge of the Band of the Hawk. "Have you noticed that the shape of the wings on this is different from the new one?"

Griffith eyed the badge with those eyes of his. "That it is."

"I'm Rickert, member of the Band of the Hawk, led by Griffith, the White Hawk. My leader isn't the Hawk of Light." He pocketed the badge. He turned his back to Griffith, ready to show himself the way out. "Goodbye."

His eyes watched the boy leave down the roadway back down to the city. Look at him go, walking like he hadn't just assaulted the Hawk of Light, a member of the God Hand! He had told the boy much to try and warn him from doing anything rash, but nothing about the God Hand, that did not concern a knave like that boy.

Locus placed his hand on the balcony railing, a dark shadow falling across his face as he watched the boy leave. No one stops him, no guards step in front of him to impede his progress, no knights run out on horseback to run him down, he is leaving without repercussion for his disgraceful action.

It was a good thing that the other visiting apostle, Lord Voldemort had left already. Unlike the new Band of the Hawk, he was acting as his own agent in pursuit of some brat, he was an outsider who did not fully share the belief in the Divine Right of the Hawk. Locus could only cringe at the thought of what that lord would have said or done had he seen the Hawk of Light be disgraced like that. If one could make God bleed, people would stop believing in him.

He knew about disgrace, he knew what it felt to be disgraced, to try and try but to inevitably fail in the end and have all that was built up collapse around you. He knew that feeling all too well, but he owed it to the God Hand for improving him beyond what he had been before, he owed it to Griffith for allowing him a rank in the new Band of the Hawk. He was a knight now, a knight fully prepared to do what was necessary when duty called for it. Peace was a fickle thing for a knight, the call of action was always there, there and walking away like nothing had happened.

Something had to be done. That was what it meant to be a knight.

He squeezed so hard on the railing that the stone began to crack from the pressure applied to it.

Locus withdrew his hand. He was a knight, and it was beneath a knight to stoop to assassination. Let that be handled by a true monster, one shrouded in darkness. Rakshas perhaps, yes. And maybe that girl, Rosine. She was far too lax, not having sworn personal loyalty to the Hawk of Light, just tailing Irvine. Yes, leave it to the real monsters, he was a knight. A proud knight serving the Hawk of Light.

He wasn't sure that he would ever get used to it, being here, that is, but if there was one flip side to this whole crazy scenario it was that things had finally started to settle down to some extent. Roderick had filled his crew in on the current situation, leaving nothing out, but still keeping it very vague in some areas that would no doubt be too much to take in all at once. It was perhaps the name Roderick carried and serving under him for years that kept the men from jumping ship or starting an outright mutiny of the ship.

Even Sir Azan, who was still going under the name of the Black Moustache Knight saw this as nothing more than a slight detour that would not hinder the path of good and righteous intentions. Those were his words, not Harry's.

The only one of real concern was Farnese's older brother, Magnifico.

"Please tell me there is a plan to get back, Roderick!" Harry had overheard the aristocrat talking to the captain below deck. "You have to have a plan, you always have a plan!"

"Of course there's a plan, my friend," Roderick had assured him.

"Oh, thank the Holy See," Magnifico let out a sigh of relief. "What is it?"

"Something that will probably involve magic," Roderick had nonchalantly answered.

"You have to be kidding me!" Magnifico had wailed. "It was something involving magic that got us here to begin with. This whole trip and engagement to my sister was meant as a power play within my family and now it's turned into some sort of… magical conundrum! I've barely gotten any sleep with those maniacs shooting sparks up day and knight."

"Really? I've been sleeping like a log. That little witch offered to put a sound proof charm by my cabin window as thanks for offering my ship and her services to our guests. Has she not done so for your quarters?"

"…Farnese came by to offer her assistance by using that practice."

"And you refused her?" Roderick rhetorically asked.

"She's a Vandimion!" Magnifico had exclaimed. "She used to hunt people who practiced witchcraft for a living, even if it was father's way of getting her out of the house."

"Didn't your father also send you to study abroad?" Roderick followed up. "You're both the outcasts of your family in that regard."

"I have yet to prove myself, that is all." He did not sound happy about admitting his embarrassment.

"You may yet get your chance then," Roderick had offered his friend. "Once we find a way back, you can claim to be the first Vandimion son to have sailed where no man has gone before. I know I'll be telling the tale back in Lith."

"To some barmaid no doubt."

"Maybe in the past, but your sister… she has a quality to her few girls possess. She fascinates me."

If Harry had gauged two things from that conversation it was that one, Roderick was actually a decent man, and two, they might have to start watching Magnifico. He didn't think the elder Vandimion sibling would sell them out to anyone from Hogwarts, but his motives were all about getting recognition for himself and furthering his own position in his family.

But even still, life carried on. Isidro, tired and bored with just sitting on the ship all day was itching for something to happen already. To quell the growing boredom he had demanded a spar from both Sir Azan and Harry, claiming that he was ready for next level training.

To Harry's surprise, Isidro was actually holding up quite nicely with Sir Azan, dodging the older knight's broad strikes with ease and using his small and nimble frame to roll under the attacks to try and land a blow on his armor.

But even his small size and fast reflexes didn't guarantee Isidro the victory. Seeing the rolling maneuver that Isidro had just pulled, Sir Azan used his sparring weapon, a mop, and hopped to the side, the blunt of the handle catching Isidro in his midsection.

"Oof!" Isidro clutched at his stomach where he had been hit. "Damn it man, that really frecking hurts, you know that?!"

"Ta-ha!" Sir Azan chuckled. "All too well, lad. A knight must be prepared to endure any sort of physical pain if he is to truly succeed. Why I recall a time when…"

Those on deck began to tune the hedge knight out as he began to explain the story of one of his adventures throughout the land. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." Isidro pouted. "If I had my Salamander Dagger that mop would be up in flames right now."

Puck flew down from the crow's nest. He had taken it upon himself to help keep watch, as well as scout around the castle grounds at night. He was entirely convinced that if he flew fast enough, any spectators would mistake him for a firefly. Of course, Ivalera had been quick to point out that it was a magic castle and they probably wouldn't bat an eye to seeing a magical creature fly by.

"Remember my dear disciple, you will not always have a weapon on hand. It is important to keep moving on your feet and think fast." That was probably one of the more useful tips Puck had given to him. "And when that fails, remember to try and hit them really hard." Yeah, that was more like it.

"What about you, Harry?" Isidro pointed his mop at him. "I'm pretty sure you still owe me one."

"From when?" Harry asked.

"From, uh… I don't know, just from before."

"What a solid argument you have made," Schierke glanced up from the text she was going over with Farnese. She was progressing so fast in such a short amount of time. Today Schierke was going over the pronunciation of incantations and the results that they would produce.

"C'mon!" Isidro near pleaded. "I'd rather it be with you than gramps over there." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder to Sir Azan who was telling his story to the only person listening now, Puck.

"Fine." Harry reluctantly agreed, picking up a mop of his own. "First person to get first strike wins. Sound good?"

"Hell yeah."

They tapped the tip of their mops together as they assumed their stances. Guts watched them from the rail of the ship, his line of vision mainly aimed to the bow of the boat, watching Casca as she chased some stray owls around the deck.

Isidro made the first move of the mock duel, instantly going for his signature rolling strike. Seeing it coming, Harry jumped to the side, ready to bring his mop down and whack Isidro to end the duel, but Isidro had learned from his previous match with Azan; he brought his arm and mop up to block the downward strike.

"Ha! Wasn't expecting that, were you?" Isidro smiled at his own accomplishment.

"Honestly, no."

A vein throbbed in Isidro's temple. "At least give me some credit here."

Harry broke the lock and swiped down, aiming for the feet. Like a monkey, Isidro jumped over the swing. With his mop raised above his head and letting out a battle cry, Isidro had full intention of whacking him over the head.

Before that could happen, Harry made a quick jab and hit Isidro square in the chest with the end of his mop. "Ffoo!" Isidro wheezed as he landed on the deck. "Damn it."

"You left yourself wide open, foolish monkey," Ivalera shook her head in disappointment. "What did you think was going to happen?"

"Rematch?" Isidro asked as Harry helped him up.

"You agreed to just the one round," Harry reminded the other boy.

"Yeah, and that was barely a round," Isidro argued. "That was like, barely breaking a sweat for either of us. If I ask Guts, it would be over quicker than it was with you."

"Um, I don't mean to interrupt anything," Farnese looked up from her study with Schierke. "But it would seem we would have more company on the way."

Much like one of the days previous, a small rowboat could be seen making its way across the waters of the lake to where their ship was anchored. This time, there looked to be two people in the boat.

"Go fetch the captain!" the first mate hollered a command, the crew on deck racing to man their stations.

"What is it this time?" Guts asked, leaving his position of solitude to eye the approaching vessel. "Oh, it's those two." His hand that had been itching toward Dragonslayer paused, if only slightly as he recognized the two occupants of the approaching boat.

"What's going on?" Roderick asked as he joined them on the deck.

"Our two dignitaries have seen fit to pay us a visit," Serpico observed from the ropes of the main mast.

Indeed, the nearer the boat got, the more distinguisible the figures of Black and Lupin appeared to become. They were moving at a moderate speed, not fast like they were about to start swarming them or anything.

"Your orders, Captain?" the first mate asked, standing at attention.

"Let them approach," Roderick ordered. "We'll hear them out as they were kind enough before to listen to us. If their intentions are pure, they have my permission to come aboard."

"Roderick!" Magnifico gasped.

"On the condition that they hand over anything that might be considered a weapon," Roderick quickly added seeing the nervous look that had befallen his friend. "Just for safe measures."

Harry watched as the boat that carried the two wizards came to a slow stop on the port side of the ship. Black looked back up ready to be the one to speak first.

"Uh, ahoy there." Did he just say "ahoy?"

"Greetings yourself, Mister Black," Roderick called down. "I don't believe any of us were expecting to see you again quite so soon after our meeting a few days prior. To what do we owe this visit?"

Lupin handed Black a satchel which he opened to show a multitude of books and other texts crammed in. "We've been doing a bit of light reading."

"Light?" Isidro muttered eyeing some of the books as well.

"I congratulate you on your studies," Roderick informed. "Does it bare any relevance to any of us here?"

Even from up on the deck, Harry didn't miss the smile that worked its way onto Black's face. "As a matter of fact, I believe it does. Is the one woman present, Casca?"

Harry heard the sound of metal boots making their way to the very edge of the railing; Guts looked down at them with an unblinking stare. "What did you say?"

"I took to my family library," Black said, "I spent days and nights searching for anything that might be of use in curing her to her previous state. If you would have us, we'd be willing to share what we found."

"Toss or levitate those books up here first," Guts demanded. "No bullshit."

With a swish and flick of his wand, the satchel floated up to the rail of the ship, guts was quick to snatch it before it could land properly. He reached in grabbing at least two in his large hand and gave one to Harry and Schierke each.

"Guts?" Schierke asked, confused.

"Look it over," Guts instructed, already taking out more books and giving them to Farnese as well. "You both studied under Flora, skim through it, make sure it seems legitimate, something useful."

Looking at some of the titles, Harry saw that they all had to do with mind arts to some varying degree or another unless they had been enchanted to appear different, but that seemed unlikely. As skeptical as Harry was about some of these people, Black and Lupin did seem to want to help, even if it was just by previous affiliation with his father.

"Guts, this book details mind restoration," Schierke skimmed through a few pages. "Different methods, pensieve treatment being one of them. This… this actually sounds like the real deal, not too far off from what Mistress Flora attempted to do back at the Spirit-Tree."

Even though Guts kept a straight face, Harry saw a gleam appear in his singular brown eye.

"What are you thinking, Chief?" Roderick left the decision up to Guts.

Guts' grip remained firmly on one of the books, his knuckles turning white from the force of his rising anxiousness. "Throw them a rope."

Once a rope was sent down and both wizards brought on deck, they agreed to Roderick's condition of surrendering their wands for the time being and were escorted below deck to one of the cabins. Guts, Harry, Schierke, and Farnese were present as well, the latter three due to their magical nature, and Guts because anything concerning Casca had his instant and undivided attention.

"If you intend to heal her mind as quickly as possible, the best bet would be through pensieve treatment," Lupin said as they went over their findings prior to now. "There is a snag associated with it, of course."

"What would that be?" Farnese asked, curious as to what a snag could mean, they had enough of those already.

"As of a decree passed in eighteen-ninety, the Ministry put a severe ban on pensieve based treatment, effectively making it illegal to practice, or at the very least, extremely taboo with a heavy fine involved in caught."

"Who cares about the money?" Guts asked. "You brought it up so that probably means that you don't really care about that law, to begin with."

"Well," despite appearing tired, Black still managed a smile, "I live by the saying rules were meant to be broken. And the ritual we used previous was banned as well, and I'm still out and about."

Lupin fixed his friend with a warning look. "Yes, but news of Harry being back played a huge factor into that. This involves a girl with no magical ties save for her companions, the consequences would be more severe this time around."

"But would it work?" Harry asked. "What are the actual steps to it and if it was banned there must have been a reason for it."

Anticipating that question, Lupin flipped to a page he had bookmarked. "Intense pensieve treatment occurs while the patent is asleep with the back of their head submerged in the fluid of the pensieve. This is to help put the subconscious into a more relaxed state. Depending on how severe the mental damage is, up to three healers may be required. The healers would use the pensieve the same way as functioned, but will fully be able to traverse the patients' mental landscape in order to guide and assist the subconscious into healing itself."

"It heals itself?" Guts asked, not sounding if he believed it or not.

"The mind isn't like a broken bone or torn muscle," Lupin explained. "It is incredibly complex and self preservating."

"And why exactly was this tabooed?" Schierke reiterated the earlier topic. "If there is information on its procedure and practice, there has to be end results to it too."

"Not all healers believed in the practice," Black picked up. "Most agreed that it was far too unorthodox and dangerous believing the healers minds could be put at risk with exposure to the mindscape of a patient."

"But it has worked before?" Harry asked now.

"There have been several documented cases that would suggest so," Lupin had to agree. "Most patients who received the treatment went on about their lives with only minor side effects of the treatment."

"What kind?" Guts instantly asked, his eye narrowed in concentration.

"Memory flashes, mostly," Black told him. "If they see or encounter something from before the treatment, they might experience a sudden overflow of nostalgia, sadness, grief, the works."

Guts was silent, thinking over what was just laid out to him. There was a way. Finally, there was a way. If it worked, how would she react? How would she react to seeing Harry, to seeing him? Apart from Rickert, they were the only ones from her past here and she had tons of memories and feelings for the both of them. Flora had once said that the process would only work f the subject wanted to wake up, and she had made progress with Casca. Somewhere inside of her mind, a part of Casca did want to return.

"How would we even go about it?" Guts asked.

Black looked stunned. "Y-you're trusting us?"

"I trust you to know exactly what will happen if what you just told us means jack all," Guts made sure the end of Dragonslayer was visible.

Black swallowed a lump in his throat. "Message received."

"Dumbledore has a pensieve," Lupin reminded. "If he could be persuaded, he just might lend it for the healing. And then there's Madam Pomfrey, too. She used to work at St. Mungo's but left when they started implementing changes she wasn't comfortable with. If anyone could be persuaded into helping out further, it would be her. She has all the supplies in the hospital wing for proper treatment."

"In the school?" Harry asked. "The place where the students would swarm me if they even caught sight of me? Even if we tried going at night, they could still be waiting in or outside the castle."

Black smiled that boyish smile. "Your father knew his way around Hogwarts. Believe me when I say, there's more than one way into the castle."

A/N: So there's that chapter. Sorry, it took so long to get out, it was graduation week and everyone was busy. Rickert had his moment of glory and the road to healing Casca is in sight. Thank you for reading.


	48. Dream's End

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J. K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

With permission, Lupin was allowed to leave the Sea Horse and travel back by the boat they had borrowed from Hogwarts Castle. Since he did hold the position of temporary professor, he would be the best choice of sending over to get things sorted out with Dumbledore and that one healer, Madam Pomfrey, Harry thought her name was. Harry had his fair share of things to be wary of with regards to the headmaster; leaving him at Privet Drive, acting like a loon upon first meeting, and believing that he was part of some prophecy being the main contributors.

But he did have the pensieve. And right now, that looked like it was their best bet of restoring Casca's mind.

Dumbledore had the pensieve, but would he be willing to lend it to them? He had extended Hogwarts' hospitality to them as an act of remorse for his previous behavior, but hospitality did have its limits. The headmaster knew that they had their own agenda when it came to healing Casca, and it wouldn't be too far out of the picture to assume that he had an agenda of his own, even if he believed it to be for the best of intentions. Having read that article, Harry knew how the people here viewed him, would the headmaster try and give them what they wanted?

If he did intend that, he was a fool. But from their meeting, Harry could detect a sharpness to the elderly wizard's eye. If he did have some sort of hidden agenda, he wouldn't be brash about it.

But like many other things, it would have to wait until everything with Casca had been handled. While Lupin had left to deal with Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey, Black had been granted permission to temporarily remain aboard to further the study he, Schierke, and Farnese were looking over, Guts brooding in the corner of the cabin, watching the scene with an anxious eye. Black had claimed to have read up on everything regarding the treatment in the books he had brought, but not willing to take any chances Harry and the two witches were double checking the material to make sure everything was as Black had described it. If anything was missed it was likely because Black looked to be exhausted when he had arrived. He really must have been putting time and effort into this.

"Is it everything I said it was?" Black asked once Schierke closed one of the books she had been going over.

"You were a bit vague when describing the method, but… yes, it does appear to be more or less the same from how you described the process to be." She rubbed at her eyes from behind her glasses, she had taken them out for the reading, not wanting to miss a thing from her far-sighted nature.

"I was still confused about one thing," Farnese spoke up, turning her attention away from the page she had been reading.

"Hit me," Black accepted the incoming question.

"What does it feel like to enter the pensieve?" Farnese then asked. "From what I've been able to gauge, it seems it was written with the assumption that the user knows how to use a pensieve already."

"Ah, easy question," Black said with confidence. "You'll remember seeing us when we were allowed to view Harry's memories, we were probably just all gathered around looking into its depths." Yeah, that was basically what they saw when that happened. "It's like watching everything play out but not having any control over your surroundings. But with what you're attempting to do, I imagine the feeling will be quite different."

"Different how?" Harry asked.

"Well for one, an enlargement charm will have to be put on the pensieve to make it large enough for her to submerge the back of her head. Madam Pomfrey will probably either give her an instant sleeping potion or put a sleeping spell on her so her mind is more at ease; besides, she can't be up and walking around when it's all happening. If she wakes up, that might revert any progress that was made. But since this is more akin to entering dreams than viewing memories, you may actually be able to interact with the mindscape, it might be the only way to heal her."

Schierke chewed over what Black had explained so far. "Then in theory, as long as Casca stays asleep while we enter her mind, we can freely help in healing her. But this will be taking place in the school's medical wing, right? You claim to know other ways of entering the castle. But if one of the students sees Harry they very well could end up disrupting the process."

Black offered a smile but it was lacking the full confidence of before. "Moony and I thought of that one too. It's one of the things he'll be talking to Madam Pomfrey about. Since Quidditch is out for this year that reduces the number of patients she'll have. And with the third task not in place yet, she won't be seeing any other patients." He paused. "Not unless a cauldron accident happens in potions class, the hospital wing will be clear. If there is an injury, she'll have to treat them in her office instead."

"And if they do find out, what then?" Guts demanded irritation present in his tone at the thought of what would happen if the process was to be interrupted.

Black was quick to respond by saying, "You're free to sit in at the hospital wing as well. There are tons of spare beds for you to sit and watch. I'm sure Poppy won't refuse."

"Hmm." Guts mulled that thought over; his brooding demeanor seemed to have lessened, if only for a brief second or two. "Alright. I'll keep the little bastards out if they somehow get wind of what's going on."

Harry didn't think that Guts would kill the students, but Casca was involved in this so that really tipped the odds in this case. It wouldn't be the first time. Thoughts of the Misty Valley came back to him. That had been a real dark time for Guts, even Harry too. Over time and with the rune drawn over the Brand of Sacrifice, nightmares had become easier to manage. But the sight of those children lying dead in heaps was unsettling as it came. But still, Guts had tried to keep Jill out of danger and even said that he was tired of seeing dead kids.

Black looked a bit uncomfortable as well. "I'm sure you're more than qualified. But Poppy knows how to sort out a student or two. But students should be the least of our worries."

"What? Is that greasy bat going to swoop in and cause a scene?" Guts asked making a fitting comparison in Harry's opinion.

"Snivelles? No. He'll keep to his dungeons and play with his chemistry sets. Even though he did try to purposefully antagonize you before I think he would rather keep away from Harry. But he wasn't who I was referring to. The other judges of the Triwizard Tournament are my main concern. I believe you already met Bagman."

"Stocky guy?" Guts recalled. "Yeah, he went away easily enough."

Black nodded. "Others won't, I'm afraid. There's this one judge and Hogwarts High Inquisitor, Dolores Umbridge. Think of her as the Minister's personal toady. She's a real stickler for the rules and if she gets wind that Harry is taking part in a tabooed healing ceremony on a non-magical woman…" Black visibly cringed. "She won't stop until she gets her way. Lucky for us with all that's been going on with Voldemort and Harry being back, she's been temporarily pulled to help out around the Ministry."

"…She must take magical secrecy very seriously then," Schierke said.

"Most everyone in Magical England is," Sirius agreed. "Only a select few muggles are permitted to know of magic and its existence, mainly the royal family, the prime minister, and any direct relatives of a witch or wizard. For anyone else, policy dictates that in order to uphold the secrecy, muggles are to have their memories erased."

"What?" Schierke asked her eyes wide with shock. "I-I can understand the need to keep things a secret, but the mind is a sacred and delicate thing."

"And… she would try to do this to us?" Farnese was the next to raise the question. "This woman would try to do that to Casca?"

Harry looked to Guts as he was sure to have something to say about this whole thing as well based on everything he had done to keep her safe in the past. But he didn't. Guts wasn't saying anything at all. Instead, he was quite silent, almost like a statue, but his eye was ablaze with all the unspoken emotion that needed to be mustered. It actually had Harry worried that the Berserker Armor would engulf Guts at any moment just based on the idea of someone erasing Casca's memories all over again.

"So keeping up the secrecy is especially important then. How exactly are you planning on sneaking all of us in the castle?" Harry reiterated the point. "Students are out on the shore all day trying to get our attention."

"Leave it to the Hogwarts rumor mill to be in full swing," Sirius shook his head. "But as excited as they are, skipping classes and all, they still have to abide by curfew or face the wrath of Snivelles, Filch, and McGonagall. And believe me, no student wants that."

"So at night then." Guts read between the lines of what Black was getting at. "Wouldn't that just make the chance of running into one of them even higher?"

"Not if you know the ins and out's like I do." Black gave himself a pat on the shoulder. "But I have a question for you now; does anyone like sweets?"

"The hell are you on about?" Guts demanded, expecting a straight answer.

"I'm talking about a secret passage," Black clarified soon after. "There's a few in and out of the castle. There's one on the seventh floor that leads to a cellar in the village, a shop called Honeydukes. Once Remus has made all the arrangements, I can sneak us in through there."

"You own the place or something?" Guts asked. "If you don't, I image the shopkeep will be happy to just let a bunch of strangers come barging in."

"He's an older man, sleeps in the room above the shop," Sirius explained. "Once he's asleep, I have a way of getting us in." he reached inside his robes to pull out a knife, placing in on the table. "It'll work on any lock that, even those charmed to be un-lockable. I'll finally be able to put it to use; I was ah, saving it to give to you, Harry, once you were old enough."

He had been planning on giving that to him? Well, Black was technically his godfather here and all. If things had been different and he had gone to Black over the Dursley's, he very well could have been the owner of that knife.

"Uh… thank you, Mr. Black," Harry said, not quite sure what to say. He settled with, "Good to see that it won't go to waste then."

Black gave a half-smile, but not one that fully reached his eyes. "It is the thought that counts, right?"

Guts snapped his fingers, gaining Black's attention. "Don't go getting sidetracked. What about this passage, where does it lead?"

"Ah, right." Black became more attentive. "On Hogwarts end, it'll come out of a statue of a one-eyed wench with a hump. Since it's on the seventh floor and the hospital wing is on the lower levels there is a risk of getting spotted, but another secret passage will take us exactly where we need to get to. Honestly, Hogwarts is riddled with them."

"And then what?" Harry asked.

"Then, if Remus has everything sorted out, you should be good to start the healing. Poppy will have everything all set up for you, so there's no need to worry about that." Black laid it out all very simple like the plan was already in motion, they just weren't aware of it yet. "In the meantime, while we're waiting to hear back from Remus, you're free to keep reading over some of the text here."

"Actually, I got another question for you." Guts' lone eye was trained right at Black. "Just what the hell are you expecting to get out of this, huh?"

Guts hadn't raised his voice, but I would take a deaf man not to hear the clear suspicion in which he had asked the question. Due to its nature; Black was careful in how he answered. "Even if I did want something, it doesn't mean that I would get it. Honestly, Moony asked me something similar not too long ago."

"It has to do with me, doesn't it?" Harry had a pretty good inkling of what Black's answer was going to be.

"No point in trying to lie about it," Black shrugged.

"No," Harry was quick to answer.

"Then yes, it is about you, Harry."

He didn't bother to let out a sigh. "Look, Mr. Black, if there's some price for being able to heal Casca then-,"

"-No, nothing like that," Black denied that notion. "At least, not from me. What I meant was, I just thought it would be a little better to get to know you is all, as cliché as that sounds and all."

"Serious?"

"Yes, I am. In both senses of the word, actually." If he had been going for a laugh, it didn't work.

"And does that have anything to do with you having known my dad?" Harry simply asked.

"Again, Moony asked me something similar not too long ago," Sirius recalled a prior conversation. "I… I do see James when I look at you, no doubt about it. But, as Moony helped to point out, you are not James, and I shouldn't treat you as such. Yet I'm still your godfather and it's more so for my benefit than for yours."

"…" Harry didn't respond all at once, he didn't really know what to say to that. Black had proven to be truthful and useful so far and he seemed to at least partly understand that fact that Harry has his reservations for a reason.

'Teacher,' Farnese mentally communicated, 'he does sound genuine. If for nothing else, you could at least ask him about your family. If you so choose.'

Funny, Schierke thought I might be curious not too long ago.

As expected, Harry heard the mental voice of the other witch. 'And you did make your position secure. I just said I would be curious is all.'

Black fiddled with something in his satchel as Harry listened to the mental conversation going on. Guts saw Black reaching in for something and was ready to take a step forward but paused as he saw what the wizard was holding.

"Here," Black offered it to Harry. "I came across this while gathering these books together. I figured you had as much a right to look it over as anyone."

Eyeing it, Harry took the book from Black. Unlike the older and more worn out texts regarding the mind arts, this book appeared fairly new, the leather not being faded in the slightest, it was almost as good as new. On the front cover were the initials J.P and L.E.P.

Opening the book up to the first page, Harry was greeted with a moving picture, not too different from the ones he had glimpsed when meeting at the Headmaster's office. But unlike those paintings, this picture seemed unable to talk or interact like the one that had spoken to Farnese; rather, it was more like it was on a loop. The image of the young couple smiling and holding hands as they hugged by a fountain.

The man in the picture made Harry think he was looking in a mirror. He had the same messy dark-hair, a wiry but lithe frame and even a pair of glasses. The glasses helped draw attention to his eyes that were hazel in color. And that was where the woman shined.

Her hair was red like fire and had an unmistakable pair of green eyes.

He knew who they were right away. He became vaguely aware of Schierke and Farnese both looking over his shoulder to see as well. Guts remained stagnant in the corner of the cabin.

"This is them, isn't it?" he knew.

"Taken soon after they graduated from Hogwarts. They married soon after, made me best man at the wedding, I ended up losing a bet and had to get a tattoo in a rather discreet location, but that's not the point. It's a book filled with pictures James and Lily had taken from over the years."

Harry flipped through a few more pages seeing his parents standing with another couple.

"Frank and Alice Longbottom," Sirius said. "Alice is your godmother but…" the bittersweet look black had worn was replaced by something else. "Both she and Frank are in a situation similar to Casca."

Harry took a moment to study the face of Alice Longbottom. Her hair and eyes were dark but with a pale complexion befitting many people from England. A situation like Casca's.

He turned a few more pages, each with more pictures of his parents. One looked to be their wedding day with his father standing with three other men. Two he easily identified as Black and Lupin, but the third man he did not know; he had a bit of a rat-like face to him though but still smiled along with the rest of them.

After a certain point, the pictures ended leaving just blank white pages ahead. Harry closed the book. "Mr. Black… this is… nice and everything, but…" he made a move to hand it back to the wizard.

Black raised his hands in refusal. "I understand if it seems like too much. I just figured that your parents would have wanted you to have it is all." Black ran a thumb over the facial hair he had growing. "I'm also not about to sit here and pretend like this is going to completely change your mind about this place. The friendship your father and I had, that was something. He took me in when I left my own family and I would have followed him over anyone else. That's probably what you feel toward the others here as well. Those last pages are blank because there was never a chance to fill them out." He pushed the book back to Harry. "Stay or leave, that's up to you. Just… remember that you'll still have this piece of the past with you."

The engraved initials seemed to shine almost as Black gave it back to Harry. He shot a quick glance at Black before hesitantly accepting the book back. As an act of curiosity, he opened to the first page again, the moving picture of his parents smiled and laughed as they enjoyed themselves on the happiness of that moment. They really looked young, maybe around nineteen or so like Farnese and Serpico. They would have been right around the age of Guts and Casca when he first met them as well.

A piece of the past, as Black had said it. His past had gone from a small cupboard to a medieval world filled with monsters and magic; this picture… it was like a window to a world of what could have been, not his past for sure. A window that seemed to stare back at him like it what he was thinking. The picture of his mother continued to move and laugh, but her eyes did dart from his father back to the frame.

'You really do look like them.' Schierke observed as well.

He put the book away in his own satchel.

With Permission, Black was allowed to stay the night aboard the Sea Horse as they waited for Lupin to return with word of what was to happen regarding the pensieve. He was still not allowed his wand back and Guts had seen fit to confiscate that magic knife off of him as well. Even if he hadn't, Guts doubted that Black would try anything. The man's entire motivations revolved around Harry and doing anything to try and build a relation, that book being the first start.

It was harmless enough and his motives were pure in concept and even execution so far, but Guts knew the extents people would be willing to go for just one person. He had been doing that since the Tower of Conviction.

And if his experiences were anything to go by, it showed that people would truly go through insane things for just one person.

He was currently on the deck of the Sea Horse finding the side rail he so often leaned on and directing his gaze out to the dimming lights from the village at the opposite shore. The lights were dim even though they were only lit about an hour or so ago. Guts figured that with magic they would be able to keep candles burning as long as they wanted, but he guessed not.

With his thumb, Guts rubbed at the corner of his eye, blinking a few times to let it adjust. Huh. The flames looked… brighter, less dull. He squinted just to be sure, choosing to focus on just one light. The golden light danced and flickered and the more he stared at it, the less vibrant it became.

What was it Skull Knight had said; that he would lose his senses and eventually his sense of self. This was probably nothing more than a side effect from last he used the armor back in Vritannis. Schierke helping to ease the burden seemed to have only gone so far.

How many more uses would he be able to get out of the armor before the evil presence of the Beast of Darkness completely took over? Skull Knight had a habit of showing up when he was needed and right now Guts actually wanted to hear at least some sort of cryptic message from the bone head.

"Not too cold out here are you, Chief?" Roderick approached where he was at ease.

"Ocean air would be colder," Guts answered.

"Ah, you're a man of the sea then?"

"Spent a night at a sea-side cottage," Guts recalled that night. It was the night that boy had first appeared. "This is my first time on a ship like this."

"That surprises me. From what I've gathered, you seem like a man of the impossible. Things like ships should be no stranger to you."

"For what it's worth, the ride was smooth up until a few days ago."

"No argument there, Chief. But even so, I imagine you must be feeling some sense of relief." Guts fixed him with a look. "Not for you, for her, Casca." Oh, that was what he meant. "She is your woman, right?"

"She wouldn't see it that way."

"Strong willed then?" an understatement. "You're a lucky man. Woman are so often doting about, worrying what skirt to wear, a bit of change is welcome every now and again. Farnese for example, she has her studies to be a witch."

"Isn't that going to tarnish the family name of yours?" Guts asked, never having really talked to the captain all that much, he could only judge Roderick based on merit.

Roderick shrugged. "Perhaps. But a deal is a deal, my ship in exchange for marriage. Not even mine or Magnifico's parents can really put an end to a profitable agreement. But on that topic, any idea how long before we're able to return? I ask on behalf of my men; I agreed to this journey, but they serve their post without question."

"We wait until we hear back from the other one, Lupin. That's the best lead we have so far." How long does it take to talk a few things out in that castle?

"Good to hear." Roderick pulled a bottle of rum from his uniform pocket. "In that case, to the fast and safe recovery of Casca." Roderick took a swig of the liquor and made a face. "Hnn! You'd think a captain would be less of a lightweight." He offered the bottle to Guts.

He squinted at the bottle, eyeing where Roderick had put his lips to it. He made sure to drink from the opposite end. The feeling of the liquor added a small touch of warmness to his body. He handed the bottle back to Roderick, it had served its purpose, the taste he could also do without.

"Well," Roderick looked out over the lake, "it would seem that you're about to get an answer."

Moving across the water at a moderate pace was the lantern of a rowboat, a lone occupant seated inside. Lupin had at last returned.

A rope ladder was tossed over for him and the shabby looking wizard climbed aboard once again.

"Well?" Guts demanded as soon as the wizard had both feet on deck. "What'd they say?"

Lupin seemed to have been anticipating being asked so soon. "Dumbledore has agreed to lend you use of the pensieve for the treatment. Madam Pomfrey was agreeable as well. She'll be waiting for us this time tomorrow night. Any student with a medical emergency will be treated in her own office so that the hospital wing will remain closed for however long it may be."

It was undeniable good news. It was finally going to happen, after all this waiting, the blood and labor that it had been exerted were at last paying off. It had already been decided that Schierke, Harry, and Farnese would be the ones to participate in the process. Considering this was a magic treatment, it only made sense to have those knowledgeable in the art to conduct it.

But there was just one thing that kept Guts from fully being able to revel in a breath of relief at hearing this news.

"So what did he want?"

"Pardon?" Lupin asked in return.

"The headmaster. What did he want in return?" even if the old man was trying to be hospitable, people were still greedy and selfish by nature. "You were up there almost all day, you must have asked him what he wanted out of all of this. If you didn't, it would make me wonder how you got a job as a teacher."

A bit of humiliation crossed Lupin's gaze, but he remained steady. "No, I did indeed ask him."

"And?" Guts was growing a bit impatient. Nothing happened until he heard what it was.

"He only requested to discuss it at a later time after the process is done and over with. What it is he wishes to discuss, he didn't say." Guts did not miss the hesitation in which Lupin answered. He was probably nervous about what would happen if he answered in a way that didn't fit.

"Your friend had a request to; he wasn't afraid to share it with a few others. His, as it turned out, were pretty harmless. Can the same be said for your headmaster?" whatever it was, it probably had something to do with Harry, pretty much everything here did.

"While Dumbledore does have his secretive side to him, he can be trusted to handle situations with the care that they require. And even if he comes across as being a bit shady, he is still responsible for trying to uphold stability." Lupin answered as best he could. "He also knows that the opposite would occur if something bad were to happen during this treatment."

"At least he has that sense about him," Guts acknowledged. He maintained his stonewall expression like second nature. It was close now.

Harry knew that a big day lay ahead. Not too long ago, Lupin had returned with news that they were good to go with their mission inside of Hogwarts. While the three of them who would be undertaking the mission would probably need to be well rested, Harry was a bit too ripe with anticipation to get any real sleep.

He lay awake in his cabin cot, running his finger along the wooden wall to feel every ripple and crevice as something to distract his mind, try to put it at ease. It was strange to think that by this time tomorrow they would finally begin to make substantial progress in the journey they had started so long ago.

For a moment he considered trying to use thought transference to ask how everyone else was doing, or for those who would answer. Guts he knew to be awake; not because their cabins were adjacent, but because any anticipation Harry was feeling, was sure to be ten times greater from Guts.

Thinking of it, it had almost been three years since the Eclipse happened, roughly the same amount of time he had spent with them previous to that dreaded day. There was no changing the past, no spell that could reverse time to alter what had been done and the damage that was left behind.

No. none of that.

But there was a way to help move forward. If this worked, if they really were able to heal Casca from the pain that had been done then it would be a victory for all of them. A small spite to the God Hand Femto to show that not even in his divine power was ultimate.

Harry rolled on his cot, finding a more comfortable side to his pillow. He didn't want to even think about the God Hand right now. Thinking about them wouldn't help, not him, and certainly not Casca.

All that mattered now was doing what had to be done. A chance to make right the wrong that had been unjustly done to her. He and Guts both had been unable to do anything to stop what went on during the Eclipse, and he had been an idiot for thinking that his twelve-year-old self would have been of any actual use during that madness. It had all been up to Griffith, the only choice Harry had made was to go rushing in to make sure the ones he cared for were safe. Things would have played out exactly as they had even if he had just stayed a distance away with Charlotte and that other girl, they might have had two additional members now if he had done that.

Pulling the covers up to his neck, Harry tried his best to just clear his mind, ease away the anxiety and any sense of doubt, he didn't need any of that right now. The time for pondering was done, this time tomorrow things would be different, they were going to get better.

He pulled the covers tighter. It was cold.

A light overcast of rain lasted for much of the early morning before it turned into a downpour around midday. By the time the afternoon had rolled around, the rain had retreated into nothing more than a light drizzle with a bit of fog rolling in.

Some of the sea folk saw the weather as a bad omen, but if the bad weather was enough to keep some of those village residents inside their houses and off the streets, Guts didn't care if it was a bad omen or not.

He had been eagerly keeping track of the time based on the sky above and how much of the sun's light he could see coming down through the clouds.

"All set and ready to go, Chief?" Roderick asked as two life boats were lowered down into the lake below. Based on the number of people they had going, two boats was deemed an appropriate number.

There was him, Casca, Harry, Schierke, Farnese, Serpico, the bugs, Isidro, and the two wizards, Black and Lupin. Roderick had offered to captain one of the boats to the shore to see them off. Isidro was coming out of the fact that he was bored of being cooped up on the ship and he didn't want to spar anymore with Sir Azan.

"Are you quite sure, lad?" the Moustache Knight asked. "I know a variety of techniques that were passed down through the generations."

"No offense or anything, but your training kind of stinks," Isidro told the hedge knight. "A few more rounds and you'll be beggin' for my mercy." He hopped into one of the boats. "We going yet or what?"

Roderick handed him an ore. "Patience now. We can't go lighting the lanterns at the end, that'd make it too easy to spot us. With this fog, we're going to have to take it slow through the water."

"There is a landing on the village shore," Lupin called from the boat he shared with Black. "First-years take the trip to the castle by boat. If we dock there, it's all about making it into Honeydukes unnoticed."

"Don't try pocketing any sweets there, Dro." Puck advised as he made himself comfortable on the human's head.

"What makes you think I would?" Isidro asked, seemingly insulted.

"Serious?" Ivalera asked, full of dejectedness.

"Come along, Casca." Farnese helped the other woman climb down into the boat, making sure she didn't miss a step on the rope ladder and fall into the lake water. The idea that a giant squid was somewhere in these waters wasn't exactly a comforting idea even though Roderick had insisted that they were just curious creatures.

"She sure does trust you," Roderick smiled at his betrothed.

"Yes, well, my reliability may be coming to an end soon enough," Farnese tried to sound optimistic.

"With her perhaps, but with your studies in witchcraft, I can imagine the possibilities being rather endless." Farnese bit at the inside of her mouth. "But even after, I imagine she'll find it nice to have another girl to talk to." Roderick looked to Guts. "Strong willed women tend to stick close to each other, as the saying goes."

Just what saying Roderick was referring to, Guts had no idea, he might hear about it later.

Serpico was the last to board and with the wizard's boat setting off at a slow and steady pace, it allowed for the second to follow after, using the trailing of water as a guide toward the opposite shore.

With the light drizzle and low fog, it made Guts feel like they were entering some kind of another world. They had already done that, of course, but in another sense. He was actually somewhat thankful that the candle light from the village provided another way of guidance, it would do better than just relying on the sole trail of parted water they were going with at the moment.

"Alright, the shore is just up ahead," the voice of Black called from the boat ahead. Through the mist, the sight of a pier came into focus. Roderick threw a rope to the other boat and Black magically tied the two to the steady landing.

"Take my hand now," Farnese assisted Casca past the gap of boat and pier. The water was shallow over here, but it didn't hurt to be careful.

"Best of luck to you, Chief," Roderick called from the boat.

"Do you not mean to join us, Captain?" Serpico asked their host.

"As enchanting as I'm sure it would be, I still have duties as a captain to maintain. I'll row myself back, as a man of the sea, it does well to keep up with common skills as the like." He gave a parting nod of his head, a gesture of good faith to them.

Based on looks alone, the village was actually pretty simple. There was what appeared to be a tavern where the sounds of laughing could be heard, a few houses lined up next to each other, some more shops. It actually reminded Guts a bit of Enoch Village, just a more downscaled version. But what made it different from Enoch was a strange stone building that looked to have a strange road next to it. This "road" had pieces of wood underneath long pieces of steel. Any ordinary wheel would not fit that mold.

"It looks like the road is clear," Black hazarded a glance down the main street of this sleepy little village. "The lights are all out too, the owner must be asleep or over at the Three Broomsticks." Black pointed the shop out to them.

It looked to have the living quarters built on top with the main shop being on the bottom. From what Guts could see through the window, a lot of strange assortment of what could pass as food were all lined up.

"Now's our chance then. Quickly." Black hurriedly made his way past the side of the building where they had been waiting. He was already using that knife of his on the lock before the rest of them got over there. With a silent push, the door opened for them.

Once they were all in, Black closed the door and locked it again to avoid the suspicion of a break-in. "To the cellar now." Little attention was paid to Isidro eyeing some of the assortments with a thirst to his shifty eyes, but he was still pulled along as they descended a short flight of stairs to the small cellar.

The two wizards pried a stone piece free from the floor. "Lumos." A small but bright ball of light appeared at the end of his wand. "I'm first, I take it."

Guts was the second one down, not willing to let their guide get too far ahead, and even if it was an unlikely possibility at this point, he would be the first if this was some sort of ambush. Farnese made sure that she and Casca were stationed in the center with Serpico taking up the rear. The tunnel was large enough for them to all fit, but more than once, Guts had to duck his head to avoid the low ceiling. Dragonslayer kept hitting the side wall every two seconds it felt like.

"How much further?" Guts asked, ducking his head yet again as he felt the space become a bit tighter and lower. Black had said previously that they would be exiting on one of the higher floors of the castle, but all they had been doing was traveling in a straight forward line.

"Not long at all now," Black called back. "This sure does bring back memories."

"We were almost caught one time," Lupin offhandedly commented.

"Almost being the key word there," Black cheekily replied.

"Faaa waaa," Casca mumbled.

"Are you sure the halls will be empty when we get there?" Harry asked the question.

"At this time, of course." Black confidently answered. "As rambunctious as some of the students can be, professors like McGonagall will keep them in line even after curfew."

"That didn't seem to stop you when you attended," Serpico remarked.

Black didn't bother to deny that. "No. but then again, we had a map of the castle. Every nook and cranny, every room, we had it all. And it also helped that Harry's father had a family cloak that really helped us move around unnoticed. No one can beat us when it comes to navigating Hogwarts."

"I don't know, Padfoot," Lupin sounded hesitant. "The Weasley twins might be taking that title soon. That and head of Hogwarts pranks."

"Should we know what they're talking about?" Isidro whispered to Puck. To that, the blue elf just shrugged.

Black lowered his wand as they neared a dead end. "We're here." He gave a light push after muttering what sounded like a password and the wall opened up. Black poked his head out. "Alright, it's clear."

Guts stepped out after him seeing that the wall they exited came out of the statue of a one-eyed wretch with a hump. With Serpico the last to exit, they pushed the statue back in place and Black took the lead once again of leading to the second hidden passage that would take them down to where the hospital wing was located.

This one was located behind a large tapestry where a secret alcove had been tucked away, a spiral staircase led downward. Unlike the previous one where all they had done was travel in a straight line and magically end up on an upper floor, he felt the actual descent with this one. They exited through a fake wall this time and followed Black as he made a right then a left down a set of corridors.

They, at last, came to a large set of double doors with a smaller door adjacent to it. Black gave a knock on the larger set and waited until the elderly witch from before opened them up. "Ah, yes, you're right on time. Please, come in, come in."

Inside the hospital wing, a series of beds were arranged around the ward in a U formation. Each bed was lined up in front of a large window to allow for light to enter on sunny days, but the drapes were closed on account of the weather outside. One bed stood on in particular; lined up near the back wall, the bed had a series of curtains around it which could be closed for privacy settings. Where the pillow would have been, the pensieve had been laid down, the cool, mystic looking liquid swirled around as it had before. No doubt that this is where they would be healing Casca.

"Everything is all set up," Pomfrey said as she ushered them all inside and shut the door. "Headmaster Dumbledore has granted pensieve usage and made the announcement at dinner that the hospital wing would be closed and that any injury will be treated in my office instead."

"Oooh haaa," Casca stared around at the large setting they were in.

"How long will this take?" Guts asked as Farnese led Casca over to the bed that had been set aside for her. If the old man had made an announcement like that, people might get suspicious.

"That is entirely dependant on how severe the damage is," Pomfrey quickly responded. "I take it you have already worked out who will be performing the procedure?"

"Yes. The three of us will." Schierke referred to the three magic users among them. "But if I may ask, what will you be doing in the meantime?"

"I'll administer a quick sleeping potion to her once she is all situated," Pomfrey began. "Once she's under and the three of you use the pensieve, it is important that the process not be disrupted. I will monitor her status and make sure she is asleep for the entire process."

They had discussed this over before back on the ship. Guts was comfortable with the three mages they had performing the act but he would remain here as well just to keep an eye on this Pomfrey witch. Black had given his continued word that she was bound by a healer oath to assist with any and all injuries to both magical and not. Serpico and Isidro would be present as well; Serpico due to his service to Farnese, and Isidro out of a need of a thrill.

"Thank you for agreeing to this, Poppy," Lupin said to the healer.

"Not at all, Remus. Now, I recommend you go and get some shut eye yourself. You and Sirius both look like you've missed more than a few hours of sleep."

Lupin gave a small, dry chuckle. "You're right. I still have classes to teach – for those who bother showing up, that is."

"I left your potion in your office, by the way. You will be good until next month." Lupin gave a thankful nod before exiting. "Now then, we are clear to proceed if you are ready."

Guts directed his attention back over to Casca who was still close to Farnese. That timid, childish nature still about her as she took in the settings around her. "Hooo. Ahh." She made some indistinguishable sounds, maybe for the last time.

"You three ready?" Guts asked.

"Yeah, we're ready." He was glad to hear no hesitation in his voice.

Guts gave the healer witch a look. "Alright, they're good."

She nodded in understanding. "Over here then. Yes, let's get her to lay down." Farnese and Harry helped Casca into the bed, making sure she was on her back and her head just above the pensieve.

"Minn." Casca craned her neck to try and see the swirling pool of liquid mist that was just behind her head.

"Casca, over here," Farnese gained her attention and putting her head back in a straight line.

Madam Pomfrey came over with a small vial of clear liquid with a hint of blue added to it. "This is the sleeping potion," she explained when she noticed Guts eyeing it. "Completely harmless, I assure you." She uncorked it and brought it over to Casca.

She sniffed at the contents before Madam Pomfrey brought the vial to Casca's lips, helping her to drink the potion. "Oooh. Guuu." Casca's eyes grew heavy and her breathing slowed. Farnese helped ease the back of her head into the swirling depths of the pensieve.

"How long will she be asleep?" Harry asked.

"The dose I gave her, about twelve or thirteen hours," Madam Pomfrey answered. "When that time expires, I suspect she will begin to stir. Although I suspect time will move differently for you when traversing her dreamscape. A few minutes out here could be hours in a dream."

"That makes sense," Schierke affirmed. "I've had dreams that felt like they lasted days."

Isidro, who had been testing out one of the beds, began to get impatient. "Hey, if you're working on a time limit, shouldn't you get to it already?"

Huh? Guts would have never suspected the brat to be one to hurry things along by voice of reason.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "We should probably work while we have the chance." He Schierke and Farnese assembled at the head of the bed, enough of the magically enlarged pensieve remained for them to stare into the depths.

They leaned in closer, staring into the swirling mass of vapor-like liquid. None of them were blinking; it was like they were completely transfixed by the hidden depths to do much of anything. They were completely still, almost like statues.

Harry felt like a rope had just been attached to behind his naval and all of a sudden yanked him down, creating a sensation of falling. It was pulling him down, down, down… and then it stopped. It stopped like nothing had ever happened at all. The only thing that lingered was the sensation that there was some kind of cord attached to his body, ready to pull him back up should anything happen.

Geeze, was this what Casca had felt? And she wasn't even looking into it; the back of her head was actually submerged. Then again, she was asleep, she probably didn't feel that falling sensation like he and the girls had.

Wait.

Where were they?

"Schiekre! Farnese!" Harry yelled out, his voice seemed to have a bit of an echo to it like he was yelling into the mouth of a cave.

"Harry!" it was Schierke. "I'm here."

Slowly, the form of Schierke began to materialize behind him. She looked how she would in real life, same purple robes and wide-brim hat and staff. The key difference being was that her form seemed considerably lighter like a ring of light was surrounding her. He probably looked the same in some regard too. He felt his sword in its scabbard at his side and his staff was hanging from his back. It seemed they entered how they were in the real world.

Movement felt weird. It was sluggish, slower than it would be in real life. He wondered, if they had brought items from the real world, would touch still feel the same. He put a hand on Schierke's shoulder, surprised to feel that it had weight to it.

"Huh? Yes?" Schierke looked at him with inquisition.

"Nothing just wanted to see is all." She looked a bit insulted by that. "If we're here, then where's Farnese?"

They were more or less surrounded by darkness at the moment, but surroundings were beginning to take shape. The terrain was starting to sprout small blades of grass, a meandering line of what was becoming a small stream, and sprouting trees further along. There was little sound to be heard from the flowing stream, an alteration of reality perhaps as a result of entering the mind.

But there was a shape that was visible as well. One that was distinctly human. Crouching by the curve of the stream was Farnese. "Teachers!" she exclaimed upon seeing the two of them. Like Schierke, Farnese appeared the same as she was in the physical world. She had everything from her dagger and pouch and semi-aristocratic clothing.

"Looks like we're all together now," Harry stated, watching as the landscape began to spread out, stretching for vast miles, the stream continues to grow as well. "This isn't how I imagined Casca's mind to look like." It seemed too real in a way like it was all based on what she has seen previously to some capacity.

"The stream does seem to be leading somewhere," Schierke watched as the water continued to flow, expanding upon itself and continuing to spread.

"Do you think that perhaps… it is acting as a path?" Farnese suggested.

"It very well could be," Harry agreed. Looking around, there didn't appear to be any other roads or paths that were constructed mentally for them, just the stream. Not wasting time, the three of them followed along on the twisting, meandering banks, traveling deeper into Casca's mind.

Even though Guts had insisted that he stay close while the healing was taking place, he could certainly do without the older witch making a fuss. What made it frustrating was that she was making a fuss over him.

Not long after the three had entered the pensieve, she insisted that he take a seat on one of the beds as well. "They are fine at the moment," she told him. "What worries me are the clear injuries you have sustained."

The scars, bruises, and burns had faded to some degree but were still very much noticeable.

"So make sure that they stay fine," Guts advised the witch. "I have the bugs to help with injuries."

That offended Ivalera. "You know, we're more than just your dust dispensers."

"Be that as it may, I have supplies on hand that will help speed it along." She sounded insistent.

"Save your breath already," Guts advised. "They'll heal on their own. It's far from the worst to be done."

She either didn't hear him or simply chose not to. Madam Pomfrey was already rifling through a cabinet to pull out a small jar of green looking paste. "Just let me-," she reached a hand out to touch him. It was a hand that Guts quickly smacked away.

"Don't touch me. Just leave it, will ya?"

He saw Black lean over to Serpico and Isidro. "I don't think any student has ever gotten Poppy this worked up."

Isidro seemed to take that as praise. "Yeah well, Guts is just like that, ya know?"

"Hm." Serpico gave a half nod.

Madam Pomfrey picked up the far from where it had fallen. "This is just mermaid salve. It has a cooling feeling when applied, nothing dangerous of any sort."

It had less to do if it was dangerous, but more the fact that she had just tried to touch him so suddenly. "Mermaids?" Puck inquired. "Oh! You mean like merrows?"

"You know of them?" Serpico asked.

"Of course I do!" Puck proudly confirmed. "They visit the shores of my home island on occasion. Real nice folks, very open and talkative."

Coming from something like Puck, Guts could only imagine.

"Your elf is quite knowledgeable." Madam Pomfrey said.

"Actually, he's more like my human," Puck corrected.

"Yes… well… I believe Sirius here can attest to its properties." She turned her attention to the wizard. "Remember after one of James' Quidditch matches? Poor boy had cuts and bruises all over his legs when he fell to catch the snitch."

"Ah, I remember," Sirius recalled. "And for the record, James never fell. He was just… knocked off balance from a well-timed bludger from the Slytherin team."

Guts eyed the jar in Madam Pomfrey's hands. "… Just set it on the bed, I'll put it on myself."

Madam Pomfrey looked offended but complied in the end. "As you wish." She roughly set it down. "Make sure to spread it evenly and careful not to scratch at any of it for at least half an hour."

Unscrewing the lid, Guts scooped some of the greenish salve and started applying it to the various cuts and burns he had acquired since Vritannis. After putting it on, it really did feel like he had just jumped into cold water, not icy, just cool. Madam Pomfrey came back and took the jar from him.

"You're a stubborn man," Black told him. "Poppy isn't used to people refusing treatment."

"I'm not the one who needs the healing." Guts spared a brief glance at the now curtained bed.

"Maybe not, but a little help can go a long way." Black leaned against the side wall, a few beds away from Guts.

"What are you getting at?" Guts asked.

"Nothing, just saying is all," Black denied any connotation. "But I can see where Harry gets some of it, at least."

"Some of what, exactly?"

"Some of his influence," Black said. "When I see him, I see how he looks like his father, he even has some of his confidence, but… there's something else to him too. I suppose that will happen when he's been traveling with others for as long as he has. He would just sort of… fill that role with someone else."

"Jeeze, I'm not his dad, and he isn't my kid." Guts, for a second, thought of that boy they had encountered just before making it to Vritannis. "He just grew into his own person, I was just doing what I always did."

Guts didn't really want to talk about it anymore. He could understand why Black would bring it up, he perhaps felt a bit robbed as his duty as godfather or something. He wasn't exactly cut out to be a father figure to begin with. Gambino he had idolized as a child, but once the horrifying reality of who that man truly was, that admiration quickly turned to disdain. He had never known his birth mother or even his father for that matter. If that man was alive as some noble, or dead in a gutter as some drunkard, he didn't really care, it was never important. The only other male figures that had treated him with a sense of respect was a three-hundred-year-old demon warrior and they both wanted to kill the other, a Skull Knight, and Godo.

If anything, Harry was better off taking after from Casca. She at least had a family at one point and did her best to welcome new recruits, even gaining the affectionate title of "big sis" from most of them.

There was a knock on the hospital wing door.

All eyes turned to look at it. With a confused expression, Madam Pomfrey made her way over. "Whoever… at this hour no less." She sounded less than happy. She opened the door just a pinch for Guts to see two heads of flame-red hair. "Mr. and Mr. Weasley, whatever is the meaning of this?"

"It's George. He's been throwing up something fierce. It's throwing our whole finishing each other's sentences out of whack. He kept saying that he didn't want to come here, but it just got too bad. I think he should spend the night, maybe you have something that'll help."

Guts couldn't really see who was talking, but he heard well enough. Before he could get up to go handle it, Black was already at the door.

"Ah, Fred and George Weasley! Or is it, Forge and Gred?"

"Sirius?" one of them asked.

"Oh come on, boys, you can do better than that. George, you wouldn't happen to be vomiting from one of those candies you and your brother invented, would you?"

"I don't – uck! What do you mean?"

"You know, the nosebleed nuggets, puking pastels, and all that you've been working on. Great stuff, by the way, it makes me wish I had thought of it back in the day. But you seem to be using it for something other than getting out of class. What's that you got there? That piece of parchment?"

"What does the parchment have to do with this, Sirius?" Madam Pomfrey asked.

Sirius gave a clever smile. "Never thought I would be seeing this again. Filch nicked it my last year, how fortunate that you two found it." Guts saw Black slip the parchment into his robes. "You boys are good, but you still have a ways to go before you outclass the original rule-breaker. Now, I recommend that George take the other end of the candy before he throws up his insides."

There was a silence before the two red-heads, possibly twins, gave a laugh. "Shame, I really thought we had that one in the bag, Forge."

"As did I, Gred. It would seem we've been bamboozled."

"Beaten at our own game."

"Oh, well."

"Persistence is key after all."

They were already on their way before Madam Pomfrey closed the door.

"What the hell was that about?" Guts asked as Black came back with the same piece of parchment. Black seemed a mix of nostalgic and concerned.

With his wand, Black touched the parchment and said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." With that, blots of ink began appearing over the paper, forming a map. Tiny dots appeared on it as well, some moving around, some staying quite still. "Leave it to those two to have gotten a hold of this."

"What is it?" Isidro asked as he scrambled to see what it was.

"A map my friends and I made. A complete map of Hogwarts. It shows every known room and passage and even where everyone is."

"Mr. Black, by everyone, do you mean…?"

"Yes, all of us too." Black folded the map up. "Those boys are good, they come from a nice family. But the word is probably going to be out by the morning."

"You see it too, right?" Harry wasn't even sure if the question could be left as rhetorical or not. This was the mindscape and after following the stream, they, at last, came upon their first real sighting of something outside of just scenery.

There, sitting and drinking the water from the stream was a black hound. It was beaten and worn, feral-looking and it was missing its left paw and right eye. Harry knew instantly who it was that this represented.

The hound wore a spiked collar around its neck and a rope was attached connecting to a dark casket of sorts. There were marks in the ground showing where the hound had been dragging it.

"Is that suppose to be…" Farnese stared at the hound as well.

Schierke studied it as well. "I believe so. This is how she perceives him. Or rather, how one aspect perceives him."

The hound stopped drinking, turning its scarred head to look over at them. It snarled. Its jowls curled upward, barring its teeth at them, a clear warning that it did not want to be bothered and would attack if necessary.

"What do we do?" Farnese asked.

"Just back up slowly for now," Harry decided. Knowing how protective and short-tempered Guts was in real life, he didn't know what this representation would act like if provoked.

The hound still snarled at them, eyeing them as they took a few steps back. "Guuu." A small, meek sound called out. It was barely auditable, but the hound heard it clear enough. It sniffed at the casket and laid down on its haunches.

"That sound… it sounded like…"

The hound barked at them, not in a threatening way, but more in a way like a dog would bark to get a humans attention. Now the hound was sitting at attention next to the casket, waiting patiently, never taking its sole eye off of the three of them.

"I guess that means it's okay to approach." Harry took the first step, watching the hound watch him as he slowly made his approach. Up close, Harry was able to see just how battered the hound truly was. While it was muscular, its ribs were clearly visible through its hide. Its muzzle was all scratched and marred and its tail looked stiff like it hadn't wagged in some time. Whatever was in the casket, the hound had been killing itself to try and protect it.

Harry put one hand on the casket, eyeing the hound from the corner of his eye, testing the water of the hound's tolerance. Whatever had spoken before had clearly eased the hound to some limit.

Schierke and Farnese gathered around as the lid was opened. There, lying in incomplete assembly was a porcelain-like life-sized doll of Casca.

Her eyes were closed, and her mouth slightly agape. Some pieces were missing from her head, stomach, neck, and breast. Even here, the Brand of Sacrifice was still engraved into the dolls features.

The brand.

The piece that the brand was engraved popped up slightly like a trapdoor in the floor opening up. What came out of it was a smaller doll figure, this one resembling Casca how she looked now with her dark hair grown out and those brown rags she wore.

"Teachers…" Farnese leaned closer to see. "What is it?"

The small doll hopped along on the torso of the porcelain one, cautious and curious of them at the same time. It turned its tiny head to look at each of them in turn.

"This… this has to be the manifestation of Casca as she is now. The child-like state." Schierke assumed.

The small doll raised one of its arms out, seemingly to try and touch them. When Harry reached to touch it back, the hound barked, this time as a warning. The sound frightened the doll and she took refuge back in the trapdoor below the Brand of Sacrifice. It was only a few moments later before she poked her head out again like she was playing a game of hide-and-seek.

"She is easily scared, but…" Schierke observed the larger doll in which the small one resided. "But this larger doll seems to have progress made to it before." Of course, Flora had helped with that. "It looks like some of the lighter pieces are the newer ones." Those were the ones around the head and neck area. Maybe Flora had been trying to get Casca's speech and memories back first.

"Some are larger than others." Harry observed that was mainly the stomach and chest.

"So… we have to put this doll back together again? That will restore Casca?" Farnese asked. Almost in affirmation, the hound barked.

"Fee!" the small doll had emerged once again and was lightly jumping to try and reach Farnese.

"Oh! Uh…" Farnese regarded the hound for a moment before she lowered her hand and the doll jumped into her palm.

"It seems she recognizes you as a caretaker," Harry recalled all the times Casca had clung to Farnese in the past during their travels.

"If you say so," Farnese carefully cradled the doll in her hand, careful not to let it fall. Using one of its tiny arms, the doll pointed away from the stream and the hound began to walk, dragging the coffin with it.

The signal was clear enough, follow the hound.

Following after, the landscape began to change. The barren dust filled plain began to slope upward until it formed a hill. The bleak, desolate atmosphere became darker, but filled with the twinkling of hundreds of small lights.

"What are these? Stars?" Farnese looked down from the hill at the sight.

"No," Harry responded. Somehow… this seemed familiar to him.

"Why'd you do it?"

"What, Farnese?" Schierke asked.

"Teacher, I did not say anything."

"Then who-?"

"-I know that voice," Harry said.

The scene became clearer. They were standing on top of a small hill, overlooking not stars, but flames. A man sat down in front of what they were able to see; his muscular torso was exposed and bandages and gauze were wrapped around fresh wounds he had sustained. He rested a large sword on his shoulder and his other hand hung at his side as he stood up.

"Why'd you stay behind to fight?" the voice of Casca spoke, but there was nobody for them to see. They were seeing this through her perspective.

"That is what Casca sounds like?" Farnese appeared surprised to hear Casca's voice for the first time in the form of a memory.

The younger, still complete Guts answered. "You know, there's nothing for you to worry yourself over. I only did that for my own sake. I'd rather fight with my sword than run away. It's in my nature."

"I know this night," Harry recalled. This was just after Guts had killed a hundred men. "I'm actually down there somewhere." He pointed to the assortment of lights, but he knew he would never be able to tell where exactly he was.

The memory of Guts continued. "Looking at them from here, it's like I can see each of their desires flickering in the light."

"A bonfire of dreams then," Casca's voice sounded.

Guts turned to look at her with both his eyes. "Nice comparison, something a princess would say."

"As if!" Casca's voice sounded like she had to suppress a laugh. "But you're right. They each shine when gathered like that."

The scene seemed to garner a serene, bubbly texture to it before the memory of Guts vanished from sight. But in place of the swordsman, a broken piece of porcelain remained.

Harry cupped the piece in his hand, feeling that it was indeed an object that could be interacted with. "Eee! Eee!" the small doll saw him with the piece and began to jump up and down in Farnese's palm. Even the hound pointed his scarred muzzle at the doll.

"Uh, alright. Here you go." Harry handed the piece to the doll and Farnese lowered her down once Schierke had opened the coffin. The doll wasted no time in placing the shard in the stomach area of the full Casca figure.

The hound waited until the small doll situated itself before it continued on trekking through the now desolate plane of the mind. So that was what they had to do. There were going to be memories, experiences that Casca had had from over the years and they would have to assemble her back piece by piece.

With the hound still leading the way, the scenery once again began to change into more a dry, grassy field. A carriage of sorts was stopped by the side of the road, the lord that it belongs to was out, pinning a young girl beneath him as he tore at the front of her clothing. Fear clouded the girl's dark eyes as tears began to well up. at least, that was what was assumed as the image got blurry. She couldn't have been more than twelve.

This was Casca as a child.

The noble stared down at her with lust in his eyes, but his expression widened as a sword lopped his ear off.

There, seated atop a white horse was a teenage boy maybe a year older than the young Casca. His white hair seemed to shine in the setting sun. instead of finishing the noble off, he tossed the sword down to Casca, letting her make the choice herself.

Seeing his position compromised, the noble lunged for the sword, but Casca was closer. She didn't seem to know what she was doing, she just raised the sword in front of her and then – droplets of red hit her face.

The noble that had been going for her had ran straight into the sword's edge, impaling himself and coughing up his last breath of life before he fell down, dead.

So this was it, this was how Casca had became… Casca, the Casca that Harry knew at least. She couldn't have been much older than him when he met them all for the first time; it was no wonder why she was always looking after the other Hawks. To Casca, Griffith was her literal knight-in-shining-armor. At least, he had been.

"Did you… did you know about this?" Schierke asked him, disgusted by what she had just seen.

"No," Harry answered truthfully. "I knew she joined because of Griffith, but… I didn't know why." He put a comforting hand on her shoulder as the memory figures faded and another piece materialized.

Farnese was the one to pick up this piece. Presenting it to the little doll, they opened the casket again and watched as she put it in place near the top of the head.

This happened with every memory they stopped by. They collected pieces for the legs, hands, and torso, too. Some memories seemed to have greater significance than others depending on the size of the pieces. There were memories from Doldrey, the dance she shared with Guts at the victory ball, even some of with Harry too.

One, he was able to identify right away. "So this is what she heard that day."

It was the time Harry had learned that he could talk to snakes for the first time that day back at Windham. From Casca's perspective, she watched as the snake let out a series of hisses from its mouth only to see the younger version of Harry release a series of hisses very much the same to what had come before, just like the snake.

"Teacher, that is your younger self," Farnese looked between the memory and the Harry there with her now. "She was startled by what you did."

It was true, the focus got much farther spaced as Casca had jumped from her seat on the bench to watch him at a distance.

"Yeah. This was the first time realizing that there was something different about me. I was freaked out afterward about it, too."

"What were you even talking to the snake about?" Schierke asked.

"Oh, it was something about how he thought children were the worst, especially human children." Funny how he actually remembered that.

Like the others, the scene and those present dissolved, leaving only a single piece of a shard behind. When presented with this piece, the doll popped it right into place by the throat. It came as a comforting thought that even if they were somehow cut short, Casca might at least have her full speech ability back.

Walking along, they came to a scene that was a bit bizarre to look at by first glance. Casca seemed to be lying down for this one, her attention focused up and the sound of a waterfall behind her. Guts was present as well as he formed many others. He was without a shirt or armor here and was in close proximity to Casca.

Wait. Was this…

"Huh? What are you doing?" Schierke asked as Harry put a hand in front of her eyes, covering them. He averted his gaze as well.

"Just trust me." This had been right before they had rescued Griffith from the Tower of Rebirth. The night Guts and Casca had… shared together. It was an intimate moment and clearly one that was special to Casca and it would just feel like a massive violation of her privacy – more than what they had seen already. Farnese seemed to have picked up on the notion as well, but unlike Harry, she snuck a few glances in before quickly become flustered and ashamed of herself and looking away.

The piece they gained fit the mold of a large piece near the center of the chest, right next to the heart. But there was something else left behind as well.

There, lying where the two of them had been previous, was an ebony metal helm in the shape of a snarling wolf's head with red blazing eyes. The helmet to the Berserker Armor.

"Careful!" Harry advised before either of them could touch it. Using the end of his staff, Harry flipped it over, checking to see if there was a hidden piece lying under it. There wasn't.

"What is it doing here?" Schierke asked. "We were able to bring our items with us because we had them when we entered. The only person who could have this is Guts."

"You're right, but I don't think Guts is here." Harry partially agreed. "He wouldn't have just come to join us and risk disrupting the process even if we were taking long." To them, it felt like it had been a few days of traversing the memories when only a few hours had probably passed in real-time.

"Well we shouldn't just leave it here," Farnese opened her pouch to see if the helm would fit. "If we can use the things that we have, then as dangerous as it is, it might be of use."

Looking ahead, Harry saw that the barren landscape was becoming a twisted forest, and beyond that… a black sun surrounded by dark clouds of swirling madness.

Unlike the previous night, the new morning brought about light clouds with sunlight poking through every few minutes. And unlike previous mornings since setting sail, Guts woke up feeling refurbished. The mermaid salve had actually worked wonders on the multiple cuts he had acquired. He barely felt a thing.

Isidro was still passed out on one of the beds, he had actually fallen asleep while boasting that he was going to stay awake the whole night. Serpico had actually woken up before him for a change and was standing at quite an attention near the curtain drawn bed. Seeing Guts wake from his short bout of sleep, the blonde attendant gave a small nod of acknowledgment.

"So where's the wizard?" Guts asked, rising from the bed and making sure Dragonslayer was still next to the bed where he had put it.

"Sleeping on another bed," Madam Pomfrey came by, opening a window and letting some fresh air in. "I've never seen Sirius Black so tired. He must have been up for days on end researching all of this. I had to give him some of the sleeping potions as well."

However Guts might feel about this whole situation and being pulled off course, by Black's doing no less, he was at least thankful that they were able to find a substitute. If he would actually say his thanks to Black all depended on how this turned out. They had been in the pensieve for close to seven hours now, leaving them a good four to five hours left. Madam Pomfrey had assured him that if she sensed Casca starting to stir, she would give her another dosage of the potion, just enough to keep her asleep for a few more hours.

If everything went okay, then they should be out by that time. But that was probably much too optimistic of him to think that.

"Let me just check on her status real quick. I thought of something else last night." Madam Pomfrey parted the curtains and went to check the sleeping Casca.

"Hey," Guts said to Serpico. "Where'd the bugs go?"

"I asked them if they were up to a task."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"Just a hunch I had since last night. If those two twins were able to know Harry was here because of that map, then it is likely that some others know as well."

"Don't remind me." The last thing they needed was interruptions or distractions.

Serpico nodded. "For that purpose, I thought best to ask for their favor in being lookouts."

"Ah. So if they spot anyone coming, one buzzes back here and lets us know. Got it."

It could work. Ivalera would be there to keep Puck in line so he wouldn't get distracted by anything, and even Guts would admit that Puck was a fast flier when he needed to be.

It didn't take long, just a few minutes or so when Puck buzzed in through the open window. "Alright, Puck reporting in."

"Spit it out, bug," Guts didn't want to play games with the blue elf.

"Fine." He pouted. "There are about three kids heading this way. Pretty young too. They seem to be arguing about something."

Looking over, Guts saw Madam Pomfrey was still behind the closed curtain, checking on their status.

"Alright. Wait here."

Guts waited by the door to the hospital wing, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps or of the high-pitch that all kids had in their voices. And he did.

"-gging along with us. Aren't all snakes suppose to hate Gryffindors?" it sounded like a boy.

"Who said that?" a girl. "My sister, Daphne's friend is acquaintances with a Gryffindor, you know. And you were talking so loudly at breakfast about what you heard from the twins that I have to see for myself."

"Do you think he'll let us take a picture, Colin?" a younger boy.

"I hope he does. I've figured out how to get the pictures to move and everything."

"What?" the girl. "You'll freak him out if you do that. Maybe my housemates were right, Gryffindors lack tact."

"But he's Harry Potter! There are all sorts of stories about him and all the heroic things he's done. He's bound to be a nice guy."

Guts stepped out, having heard enough. The chatter that had been going on stopped almost immediately. The three kids all looked up at the man that stood before them. The two boys looked to share some similarities, probably brothers. They had black robes with red and gold trimmings. The girl had brown hair but got lighter the closer it got to her head. Her robes were of a green and silver trim.

One of the boys, the older of the two held some square, black device with a clear glass bulb stationed in some obtrusion from the box. Probably some kind of magical item. He stared the three of them down, his sole eye narrowed and he made sure the end of Dragonslayer was showing past his cloak.

"Leave."

They moved as fast as their feet could carry them. Guts rolled his eye, entering back in the hospital wing and closing the door behind him. He was soon met with the disapproving stare of Madam Pomfrey.

"It's under control," Guts said, brushing past her.

"I could have handled it myself."

"I'm sure you could've." Guts sat back on the bed. "You were also busy."

"There is a method to handling every situation," she chastised him. "Scaring students is not the way to go about it."

"Why do they go to school? To learn? If they learned not to be brats, I don't see a problem with it."

"Apt choice of words," Serpico remarked. "But not untrue."

The witch left for her office to calm herself down before coming back in, this time with some other small handheld tool. "Come, let me see your hand."

"What are you going on about this time?" Guts asked with mild annoyance.

"Not your real hand, your prosthetic," she specified.

"What about it?"

"I treated a colleague, Alastor Moody for a prosthetic leg once. Your design seems to be similar. Can you move your fingers and thumb?"

Guts looked to his own arm, the hidden cannon had come in handy many of times. "The hand can clamp around the hilt of my sword, that's all I need."

He could almost see her frustration building. "So stubborn… I mean, don't you wish you could move the fingers of your hand as you would your other?"

"And you're saying you can do that? I thought you were a healer, not a crafter."

"Not many magicals have prosthetics, but for those who do are offered quality for their loss. Bones can be re-grown and flesh patched up, but there are no bones to re-grow in your case, not to mention all the muscle, veins, and nerves that would have to mended with it. The best I could do is at least give you more mobility with it."

"And you can do that with… whatever the hell that is?" he looked at what looked like an etching tool mixed with a quill.

"This is filled with hydra extract," she explained. "In a hydra's case, if one head is cut off, two more will take its place. A property about their body keeps them alive and moving even if all heads are cut. Your head is very much attached to your body."

"And you're going to draw on my arm?" this sounded ridiculous.

"Unless you would rather do it yourself as you did the salve," she offered. "But I imagine it will be quite difficult with only one hand."

The salve had helped, he couldn't deny that. And in this case, she wouldn't be touching his flesh, just the metal that made up the arm Godo had crafted. "How long will it take?"

"A few minutes. I just have to etch the symbols on each appendage."

Guts gave her a look of warning before holding out his arm for her to inspect. "Keep your filthy hands where I can see them."

She tutted as she began to draw the symbols. "You are worse than a child, I swear, in all my years…" she began to mumble under her breath as she continued on with her work.

"Huuh?" Isidro began to wake from his sleep. "Did I stay awake the whole night?"

"Close," Serpico told him. "Morning came later than expected."

Isidro plopped back down. "I knew it."

Once she finished up drawing the etches on the prosthetic, they emitted a dull grey glow which she assured him was just a way of showing that the magic was taking effect and that he should give it some time before he tried any activity with it. She made sure that point was reinforced as Puck flew back into the room via window several times to inform them of some unscheduled visitors.

As Madam Pomfrey expected, they were mainly younger students who were faking injuries or making up excuses about fake sickness to try and get into the hospital ward. She turned them all away. Some walked away in shame and remorse, others in scowls and damaged pride. She made sure that Guts was still sitting in the bed assigned to him every time she had to open the door to shoo the students away. It was probably for the best if it stayed that way.

There was still about three hours left until the potion wore off and the sense of anxiety grew with each passing second. How were they faring inside of Casca's mind, just what were they seeing? How much was left to go before the time was up? with some outside light pouring in, Guts was able to see the silhouetted figures of those gathered around behind the white curtains. They stood perfectly still, undisturbed by anything happening outside of their space. And it was going to stay that way.

There was another knock at the hospital wing doors. "You would think they would have learned by now. Just one moment." Madam Pomfrey left to go assess the situation again.

Once she had left, Serpico spoke up. "You're getting anxious."

"I guess." He shrugged. "After all that we went through, this goal always seemed to keep itself at a distance. I was just a moth chasing after the setting sun. Now…" he glanced at the curtain drawn bed.

"Now the sun seems like it is rising in your direction," Serpico finished.

"I hate poems," Isidro groaned. His excitement of being off the ship seemed to be failing.

"You could say it like that," Guts shrugged again.

Serpico smiled softly. "I am happy for you. There was a time where I was hesitant about this whole journey – I still am in some regard – but, Lady Farnese trusts you with her life, and you trust Farnese with Casca's sanity. It does seem a cycle from a certain point of view."

"Hm." Guts would have just left it at a comfortable silence after that, but the voices from the outside of the hospital wing doors were quickly growing louder and more heated.

"I am warning you, stand aside!" this voice was high pitched and full of false sweetness mixed with a hint of superiority. He couldn't see who it was, but it put him on edge.

"And I am telling you," Madam Pomfrey's voice was sounding equally agitated, "any business will be had in my office. And you are in no direct need of medical attention. So if you would please, turn around and leave for the time being."

"I heard that Harry Potter was here," the sickly sweet voice quickly said. "And as High Inquisitor and Honorary Triwizard Judge, I have every right to enter. Now stand aside."

"What's going on out there?" Isidro asked, sitting up in his bed. The still sleeping Black was still under the effects of the potion as well and continued to sleep through the shouting that was going on outside.

"Enough of this. Dawlish! Open the doors."

"No, you cannot-," Madam Pomfrey was cut off as the doors were forced open.

Walking in was… a toad?

No, it was a woman. A woman that looked like a toad. She was dressed all in pink and her wand which was short and stubby like her was cradled in her small, nubby fingers.

The two men following her, one was a bit lanky and had dull eyes about him. The second was darker skinned and seemed to try and offer the medical witch some words of apology as they walked past. Madam Pomfrey picked up her pace and walked in front of the woman leading them.

"Madam Umbridge, you may be High Inquisitor, but nothing gives you the right to intrude on private matters!"

The toad woman let out a girlish chuckle that made the hair on the back of Guts' neck stand up. "I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid it does." She spoke with a voice full of condescending superiority. "That is what it means to be hehe," she giggled again, "inquisitorial."

Guts had no idea who this woman was; all he knew was that the instantly hated her. Not even that Snape man with all his snide comments hadn't managed to irritate him this quickly.

"Now, if you will be so kind as to present us with Harry Potter, you can go back to your duties as Hogwarts Healer. If not," she smiled wide, like a toad about to nab at a fly, "you will find yourself on probation followed up with suspension."

"Madam Umbridge," the darker man began. "Perhaps it is best if we returned at a later moment."

"Quiet yourself, Shackelbolt. Your skills are needed, not your opinion." She spotted the curtain. "Is he behind there?" she raised her wand, ready to magically draw back to curtain.

'Yield to me.'

Guts stepped in front of the short, plump witch. His blood near boiling at this point. Just staring at her is weird.

She made a face like a child whose toy had just been taken away. "Excuse me! Who in Merlin's name do you think you are?!"

"Guts."

'Squish her. Crush her underfoot. You know what she intends to do.'

"Whatever is the meaning of this?" Umbridge demanded. "Stand aside now. Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Not really. But if I have to guess, I'll say a toad with human legs."

The witch's whole head turned red. "How dare you speak to me in such a manner! I am Senior Undersecretary Dolores Jane Umbridge, Hogwarts High Inquisitor and Honorary Judge in the Triwizard Tournament!"

Madam Pomfrey stepped between the two. "Madam Umbridge, you really must leave."

'Kill her now.'

"You heard her, go back to the swamp."

The Umbridge woman was starting to flair her nostrils. "I was told this ward was closed to all with serious medical injuries. Tell me, Madam Pomfrey, who are these people, and why do they warrant access when you attempted to deny it to all others previous?"

"I am in the middle of treating them for injuries," the medical witch heatedly explained. "I will continue on as planned once you kindly leave and return at a later time."

"And as I've seen fit to explain to you, I have permission from Minister Fudge to personally meet with Harry Potter." Umbridge flashed a sheet of paper. "Now if you will kindly stand aside." She raised her stubby wand once again, trying to aim it at the curtain once again.

"Madam Umbridge!"

'Kill her now. Kill her now, Let me out and kill her now. You want to, I can feel it. Let me out. Make her regret. Show them. Let me out. Let me out!'

"Fuck this."

Guts' hand curled around Umbridge's wrist – his prosthetic hand. The metal creaked as he began to apply pressure.

"What are you doing?!" she shrieked. "Let me go this instant, you barbarian!" Kri-snapp! "Ahhh! Dawlish! Shackelbolt! Take hi-!" Wrammm!

Guts' real fist was clenched so hard that his knuckles were turning bone white and his nails were digging into his palm, drawing a fresh wound. But the resulting punch he delivered to the toadish woman's face drew a much greater amount of blood as he broke her nose. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

He dared not draw Dragonslayer, he knew that it would be impossible for him to control the Beast of Darkness if he were to do that, and it was taking every ounce of willpower right now to keep that from happening. With Schierke out of commission, for now, there would be no one to pull him out if he went Berserk. And with Casca right there, he would end up killing her.

Guts tossed the unconscious Umbridge to the ground, his temper not having cooled down.

The first of her bodyguards – Dawlish, raised his wand to attack. "Incarcerous!"

Some ropes shot out from his wand, looking to ensnare Guts, but a sudden gust of wind sent them flinging off course. Serpico stood to the side, his eyes almost fully open and staring at the escort with a penetrating gaze.

Before he could fire off a spell at Serpico this time, Isidro had used his small size to his advantage and used his Salamander Dagger to set fire to his robes from behind.

The darker wizard took notice. "Agumenti!" a stream of water doused the flames, but the man quickly put his wand away and raised his hands in surrender.

"What are you doing, Kingsley?!" Dawlish demanded, not ready to give up.

"Umbridge is out, Dawlish. She needs medical attention. She won't be getting it here." Kingsley's attention was focused on Guts. "Let us move her now. Put your wand away."

Guts' knuckles were still bone white even as the two wizards dragged their boss away, an unconscious and bloody mess. His sole eye tracked their every move until they were out the door and gone before he rounded and punched his fist into the wall. His metal fingers were flexing, clenching and extending back.

"Guts…" Serpico approached him.

He brushed past him and sat back down on the bed, ignoring the stares sent his way. When he did speak, he did it through clenched teeth; his rage had yet to recede.

"Thanks for the hand," he flexed the fingers toward Madam Pomfrey.

Harry knew that they were bound to run into trouble the deeper they got in Casca's mind. It would have been far too easy if they were just able to collect and gather all the pieces left to fix the porcelain doll inside that casket. The deeper they traveled, the more dangers that they encountered along the way.

Monsters, manifestations of trauma finally began to appear. They were just bugs at first, oddly designed bugs that made Harry wonder just how Casca had been perceiving the world as her reduced state. They had only been seeing things from the true Casca's perspective, not the one that had been born from the Eclipse.

The hound had been a help in ripping them to shreds with his fangs and claws, but they couldn't afford to waste their time just battling these monsters. With the items allotted to them, Harry and Schierke both summoned some golems to impede the bugs from chasing after them.

Then came the thorns. They were growing along the forest path that they were traveling, lining the way and ensuring that a very painful end would await them if they were to stray from the path.

It would have been simple if the thorns hadn't begun to intertwine and block the path in front of them. But with Schierke and Farnese performing a fire spell, the thorns were reduced to black, withered crisps.

The hound was starting to become persistent now, barking at them to hurry and follow after him. and it was no secret as to why, the manifestation of trauma was growing stronger and there was but one piece left to go, the hole where her heart would be.

The black sun was much larger now than it had been before. The swirling clouds were like a funnel ready to become a twister and touch down at any second. Maybe that would have been the preferable option.

"We're almost there!" Harry shouted as they ran, exiting the woods and exiting to a ground that was made entirely of human faces. Red, twisted, agonizing faces that were captured in moments of eternal agony.

"GEHAHHH!" demonic cackling was heard and the demons themselves followed not far after. They sprouted from the ground like sickly flowers, jumped out of the mouths of the face covered ground. Harry was horrified to see that he recognized some of the shapes that these monsters were based on. The Eclipse. Everything had been leading right to this moment, the moment where everything had changed for the worst.

Harry pulled out a few more golem talisman and tossed them at the approaching demon horde. It did little to help. The golems made a defensive line, banding arm-in-arm and making a push against the monsters gathering of horns, claws, and teeth. For their effort, the golems were holding out as long as they could, even forming together to make a larger version of themselves to simply crush the heads of some of the smaller, crawling demons.

"Up above!" Schierke called, gaining his attention.

"Oh no…"

The clouds that had been billowing around the black sun had taken form. A giant, monstrous being that swooped down, black wings spread out, covering the ground with darkness when it passed. Two sets of razor-sharp talons extended out and the rounded, but still equally sharp beak snapped at them and the casket both. The hawk of darkness had taken flight.

"We have to get that piece now!" Harry yelled as the hawk came back again for another attack. Concentrating his feeling and power, Harry fired a ball of white flame straight up at the approaching bird.

The white eyes of the hawk narrowed as it used its wings to create a mighty gust of air and burst the attack into shreds of falling embers. And still, it descended.

With a screech like a bat out of hell, the hawk snatched the casket with its talons, taking it, and the hound up in the air.

"No!" Schierke yelled. "If the doll inside breaks…" she didn't even want to finish that sentence.

Sensing its victory, the hawk let go of the casket and shook the hound free from where it had sunk its teeth into its leg.

Down and down they fell, coming closer to the ground.

"We need to levitate them!" Harry said to Schierke. He focused his spell on the hound, and Schierke did hers on the casket. Before either could hit the ground, the force of momentum carrying them seemed to vanish. The hound was limping something fierce, but the casket had remained undamaged, the doll inside was still almost complete.

Pieces of broken rock went flying as the demonic horde broke past the last line defense of the golems and were about to be on them in mere seconds.

"Farnese, what are you doing?" Harry asked as she pulled out the Berserker helm from her pouch and approached the wounded hound.

"He is Casca's protector." She hesitated before putting it on the hound's head. "This… this is what he does, what he will continue to do." She placed the ebony helm on the hounds head. The hound rose to its legs, looking sturdier than before.

Metal plates began erupting from the helm, spreading until they became plates that worked to form the manifestation of the armor. The eyes glowed red with anger as the hound shot off with unnatural speed toward the advancing horde of demons.

It was scary how accurate the hound fought like its human counterpart. The maw of the helm snapped down upon a demon's neck, ripping it straight off of the body and spitting it aside like a cherry pit. Its claws and paws raked across demons' eyes, blinding them biting and ripping their throats out. Specks of red flew into the air as the demons lost limb and life as they swarmed in on the now Berserker hound.

Spotting this new development, the hawk made an evasive maneuver and went to dive-bomb the enraged hound, seeking to end it once and for all.

Seeing the giant black bird swooping down on him, the hound ran up the back of an incapacitated demon and made a mad leap at the approaching hawk. Much to their shock, the hawk managed to catch the hound in mid-air and with its talons, it began to squeeze, squishing the hound even with the equipped armor.

The maw of the armor opened fully and a familiar sight if the cannon became visible.

KABOOM!

The hawk screeched in pain as it dropped the hound, getting ready to make another pass at them again.

Thankful for the distraction, the three of them made it to the epicenter of everything. And inside was a shape Harry had only seen the one time. It looked to be an incomplete fetus, one single brown eye and a gaping mouth with no limbs. It looked at all of them before its shape changed to that of a human heart, a heart wrapped in black thorns.

"We have to get these thorns off," Schierke insisted, tossing a few of her golem talisman to keep the demons from approaching. They would further aid in helping the Berserker hound in his fight, or rather, his slaughter. Limbs were still being torn and tossed.

"Careful, hold it still," Harry said. With his staff, he muttered a simple incineration spell, the flames dancing at the end. "I'm going to try to burn them away, just move it when I say, I don't want to burn the heart."

The black thorns seemed to hiss as the flames touched them. They were burning, but not as fast as they had back in the forest.

"Teacher, it's almost done!" only one vine of thorns remained the ones that were lightly poking at the heart itself. Those were the ones that Harry had to be the most delicate with.

He poked at the thorns again, the flames lightly licking the twisted black roots. "Almost… almost…"

"SCRREEEEEEE!" the hawk noticed this latest development and was diving right down toward them now.

"AROOOO!" the hound howled as he bit his way through some more demons, making a beeline toward the rapidly approaching hawk. But with a mighty smack of his wing, the hawk sent the hound flying back into the demon horde, talons extended, ready to snatch the casket once and for all.

There wasn't time. There wasn't time to finish burning away the thorns. Schierke had taken to firing off spells, but not a single one was impeding the hawk. Those piercing eyes and curved beak were getting closer.

"What are you doing?" Farnese asked as Harry threw open the lid of the casket and placed the heart in its place.

"Please…"

"SCREEEEEEEE!"

The claws were right there.

And it was like a silent wind had passed. The demons, the hawk, even the hound had all faded. All that remained were the three mages, the tiny doll, and the now complete porcelain doll of Casca. The tiny one jumped inside the casket and opened the little door beneath the brand. It looked at all of them as though… as though it was the last time it would see any of them.

The black then all faded to white.

"Ah!" Guts heard the gasp come from the one place he had been anticipating. The anger and rage he had felt earlier with that toad woman had faded now, replaced by sheer anticipation and nervousness.

Madam Pomfrey magically drew the curtain back to reveal Harry, Schierke, and Farnese standing upright and blinking like they had just experienced a blinding light. "Give them some space!" she ordered as she hurried over to all of them. "You'll be needing to rest for a moment. Was the-?"

"What happened?" Guts suddenly asked, cutting the witch off. "What happened with Casca?"

The mages seemed to be trying to figure out who was going to say it and how.

"…Casca." Guts felt a jolt at the sound of the voice. "That's me."

A/N: After Thirty chapters, Casca is back, next will be a much needed reunion. I hope you all had a good Memorial Day and thank you for reading.


	49. Chapter 49

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

It was hard to believe. Impossible even, but… this was magic they were dealing with and from what he had seen previous, there was next to no limit of what it could or couldn't do. The words, those three words kept coming back, repeating themselves over and over in Guts' head.

"Casca. That's me."

It had been her voice, not the child-like mumbles and gurgles she had been making since that day. He kept trying to imagine her face when she had, at last, woke up. his attention had largely been focused on the three mages who had undergone the process close to half a day previous. When he saw he sit up in that bed, her long, dark hair framing her face, Guts thought that he was actually in a dream himself and their roles had been reversed.

"Casca. That's me."

She said those words upon hearing her name. And he said nothing after that.

What was he to say? How would he say it even if he could find the voice to say it? Maybe it wouldn't matter; she was the one who had been silent long enough. He didn't know, he hoped she would say something else, anything else.

That was why it was both a blessing and a curse when the medi-witch instantly began a fuss. The matron of the hospital wing had flocked over to Casca's side demanding that they all give her some space. By that, she didn't just mean to back away and not all of a sudden crowd around her and suffocate her, no. She had meant that they all take temporary leave in her office.

"Please, this is a very delicate moment! We mustn't startle her." Pomfrey was starting to draw the curtains around Casca's bed once again. "Just give me a few moments, I want to make sure that everything checks out as it should.

The apprehension, the worry Guts had been feeling began to fade at the witch's words and her action of attempting to shield Casca away after she had just uttered her first words in a few years. Her eyes might still be heavy and a bit clouded with haze, but she was awake. And knowing how she was before, Casca wouldn't like it; she wouldn't like having a woman she did not recognize around her, poking at her, maybe asking her questions she wouldn't have the answer to.

He took half a step forward despite his legs feeling like they had just been hit with a club made out of a rock. "…Hey! What are you planning on-,"

"-Please." The older witch's voice was stern, but not unkind or filled with any sort of deceit. "She is still in a state of recovery. Speech does not guarantee that she is back to how she once was. Please," she was insistent, "I just need a few moments alone with her – that is all."

It seemed such a simple thing to ask, too. For all that had been done, all the waiting, all the anticipation, she stood here asking for but a few minutes alone. Guts no longer heard the voice of the Beast of Darkness, he had managed to suppress it for the time being, but that irrational part of his brain kept popping back up.

He could feel his fist clenching, his knuckles turning white, and then the creaking of metal as his prosthetic fingers curled as well. It still worked.

He didn't say much after that; he just walked to the exit door, opening it and entering the office adjacent to it. The others had followed after him, all anxious in their own right, but also for concern of his person. They were probably worried that he might freak out, he might, he still wasn't sure about that himself.

The office was small compared to what they had seen previously with the headmaster, there was room enough for a desk, two rows of cabinets and a single bed similar to the ones that populated the actual hospital wing. Serpico and Isidro helped ease a still sleepy, but partially awake Sirius black onto the bed. The wizard had begun to wake up from his own portion of sleeping drought about an hour or so ago. There was a stiff, awkward silence that fell over them, no one really saying anything. At last, it was broken by Isidro.

"So, what exactly happened in there?" he might have been trying to break the tension or using it as a distraction to rummage through some of the cabinets to see if there was anything he could steal unnoticed.

Harry then began recapping what had happened since entering the pensieve. There had been some sort of casket with two dolls, one small one as Casca had been after the Eclipse, and one life-sized broken one as she had been before. For each and every memory that they had visited, a piece of Casca had returned to them and helped to further repair the doll. When he described the fight they had had in the epicenter of Casca's mind, it made a bit more sense, at least, as far as he understood magic anyway. The last piece had been located there and was apparently under very heavy guard from the trauma inflicted upon her that day.

Guts kept glancing at the door, expecting it to swing open any second. The sound of his metal fingers moving helped to fill the silence that had fallen once again.

"Guts…" Schierke's voice was soft.

"What is it?" even though his gaze was trained on the door, he was still listening to the short witch.

"There is something else you should be aware of. Back in her mind, the final piece, her heart, there were some thorns around it." Thorns? "We cleared as much of them away as we could with what time we had, but… only a few remained before putting the heart back in place." She paused, waiting to see how he would respond and what he would say next. He gave her a brief glance to let her know she was okay to elaborate on her previous though. "So… there is a chance that she will still feel the trauma and anguish in some way. However," she quickly added, "the mind is able to heal itself, our journey proved that, Casca wouldn't be back if she didn't want to come back. Whatever it is she might feel, it may just be something she has to overcome on her own."

Guts really didn't have it in him to be mad at the moment. He knew the three of them had done what they could inside of Casca's mind and it was a miracle that they had actually gotten this far. But like most things, it wasn't smooth sailing. It would have been far too easy if everything had gone exactly as planned. And as God or causality, or whatever loved to prove time and time again; it really liked to screw people over.

"But… she is back, right?" the question was actually asked by Puck.

"Of course she is," Ivalera said like it was obvious. "That healer lady just wants us out here because she feels she has to do her job."

Puck wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "Boy, that's a relief!" he flew over to Guts shoulder. "Hey, Guts, there has been something I've wanted to ask you now that we got Casca back."

That honestly surprised him a bit. While Puck had been useful before, he had never really expressed any kind of desire of his own other than just tagging alone and trying to brighten up the day.

"What's that?"

"Just hear me out on it, okay?"

"What is it?"

"Alright…" he paused for a second. "Cassie!"

What the hell is he talking about?

"What the hell are you talking about?" Guts demanded of the small, blue elf.

"You know how I call Farnese Farny?" Puck asked rhetorically. "Cassie – for Casca!"

A nickname?

"No." Guts instantly replied.

Puck looked dejected. "Are you sure? It fits really-,"

"No."

Crossing his arms, Puck flew to sit on the windowsill. "Fine." He muttered the next part under his breath, "I'll just ask her what she thinks of it."

The mood Puck had been trying to set disappeared when the sound of the door opening drew all of their attention. Madam Pomfrey had entered alone.

"Where is she?" Guts asked before the matron had barely any time to step inside fully.

"Relax, she is fine," the witch told him. "I checked over all that was necessary while she was still a bit hazy. I gave her a brief dosage of rejuvenation potion to counter any sensation of nausea or disorientation she might have experienced. You'll be leased to know that she is able to fully articulate sentences."

"What about her memories?" Harry asked. "They're back too, right?"

"If all was completed inside the pensieve, they should all be there, yes. She was asking a few questions herself such as who and what this place and I are. Some of the more recent memories such as this place might take a bit more time to settle in than some of her previous ones."

So she did remember. She had been asking. He should have been in there, giving answers himself, trying to let her know that she was safe. His metal fingers creaked almost as a reminder to him that the witch did know what she was doing. Guts had never felt the sensation of "phantom limb" with the loss of his forearm, but it was more apparent now that his body and mind clearly had two different operations. So much had changed with him since then.

"I took the liberty of providing her with some fresh garments," the medical witch added. "She seemed rather uncomfortable in those rags she had been wearing." Yeah, that sounded like the old Casca. "There was one other thing as well."

"What?" Guts asked.

"Once she was in a more comfortable mood, she asked to speak with you," she looked solely at Guts. "If you were agreeable to it."

What the hell did that mean "if he was agreeable to it?" Why wouldn't he be? He had wanted to see her again, talk to her again ever since he went off on his own in his quest to slay as many apostles as possible back in his lone Black Swordsman days. Every swing of his sword, every bit of blood that was shed, they had all been acts of retribution for everything that had happened. Of course he wanted to meet with her after all this time.

"Is she ready now?" Guts asked. He was, but going back in there… he didn't know what she would say. He hadn't even really thought about it himself.

Pomfrey nodded. "She is. I came here as soon as she requested so. She mentioned you only by name and that may be best if only you see her at the moment. Too many people, we wouldn't want to over stimulate her all at once."

"Alright then." Before exiting back to the hospital wing, Guts shot the three mages a grateful look. He didn't say anything after that, but they should pick up on it. Even if Casca was ready to bite his head off, at least she would be herself while she did it.

Going back to the now closed hospital wing doors, Guts gave a pull of the knocker and opened one door. He closed it behind him, not even Madam Pomfrey came back, her check-up having been completed for the time being. For now, it was just the two of them.

She had moved out of the bed she had been asleep on, the pensieve now resting on the end table, its contents dull like a void. Her ragged, brown rags were folded at the foot of the bed and she wore a presumably standard white linen gown with a pair of slippers as well. Her attention was not directed at him, but out the window behind her bed, looking out at the sunny weather and the castle grounds below. She was probably taking this all in as much as they all had upon the first arrival.

Casca had yet to turn around so Guts remained where he was near the entrance of the ward. He was sure that she had heard the door open and close, the sound was unmistakable but she had yet to face him. Guts took a step forward, the armor of his boot made a clear noise on the stone floor. He watched as her head perked up a bit with the new sound but she remained as she was.

He took another step towards her and another one. The sound of his metal boots echoed in the near silent ward as he got closer and closer to where Casca was. And then he was there, closing the large gap between them until he was a good arm and a half distance from her. She was still looking out the window, the sight of the green castle grounds, a large willow tree, a hut in the distance by the edge of the forest were all visible to him and her as well.

Sun shone from the surface of the lake and some group of students seemed to have gathered down there, talking amongst themselves and enjoying the nice weather. A lone, pink tentacle protruded from the depths of the lake, splashing up some water and giving a wave to the observers before it dipped back down, submerging back into the deep. Her long, dark hair that had grown out after the Eclipse hid the side of her equally dark eyes so Guts wasn't sure which she was focused on.

For a moment, Guts considered reaching out to touch her. His hand was already moving toward her, but he stopped himself. He remembered how she had reacted when he reached out to her after waking up after being rescued from the Eclipse; she had feared the contact, screamed and ran to hide behind Erica. But she was better now, she spoke, she could remember, she was back.

And she had yet to face him.

He should probably say something. Pomfrey said she wanted to see him first before anyone else, it made sense that he should be the first one to talk. She knew he was here after all.

"…" he opened his mouth, ready to say her name out loud and see how she would respond after being lost in herself.

"It is a view, isn't it?"

She spoke, softly, hesitantly. Her voice sounded frail and new like she was getting used to it after only making childish "oohs" and "aahhs" for the better part of close to three years. She moved her head like she just swallowed a lump in her throat.

He briefly turned his attention back to the sight outside the window. "Yeah. It's some view."

The first words were spoken, they were none too memorable or at all meaningful in the slightest, but Casca was never one for any real romantic words, just ones that were able to carry meaning all of their own.

There was a pause between them before Casca shifted on her feet; she was turning, turning to look at him fully. Her dark eyes were wide, but were not filled with the childish bliss and naivety as they were before, nor were they clouded over like she had recently woken up. Her eyes briefly met his before widening a considerable amount. This was the first she was seeing his face through her own eyes since that day. While the salve Pomfrey had given him had helped to heal the newer scars he had acquired, the one on the bridge of his nose was as unchanged as ever, as was his right eye which he kept closed.

Casca's hand was moving up to her chest, to her heart, but she stopped herself. Her hand went to grip the side of the bed and she averted her gaze, staring not at him, but at a fixed point just to the side of his face.

"Guts…" she spoke his name at last.

"You remember," it was stupid of him to even say that and he hadn't even phrased it as a question. Just hearing her speak, he wanted her to answer, wanted to hear her voice again.

"…I do." She hesitated before speaking once more, her voice still sounding like she was getting used to it. "Some… I feel… I feel like some things are much clearer than others. I know who you are, Guts. I remember Harry, too. And I know who I am. For others… it's all slowly coming back. There are others, too." Casca stopped, not waiting for Guts to talk, but like she was experiencing a flash of memory. "There's another witch, Schierke is her name. And Farnese, she was the one who mostly watched over m – Elaine."

"Elaine?" Guts repeated the name Casca had just spoken.

"That was the name given to me, or, that part of me." Her brow furrowed. "Luca, she came up with that name."

Guts recalled the face of the attractive woman who had taken her in back in St. Albion. Now he at least had a name to put to that aspect of Casca. It would make it much easier than just referring to "how she had been."

Casca continued. "Then there's Serpico, the one who moves like the wind." Yeah, that was an accurate description. "And then there's a boy named Isidro, the one who is always with the one… elf." She said the word like she couldn't really believe it herself. "Two elves, Puck and Ivalera."

"Yeah," Guts confirmed her memories from Elaine's perspective. "That's all of them."

"But there are more," Casca said that more to herself than she did to him. "There's a boat too. The captain… his name is Roderick. And Farnese, she has a brother, Magnificent."

"Magnifico, I think." Honestly, Guts had never had a real interaction with the elder Vandimion sibling. The man was usually confined to his own quarters aboard the Sea Horse and mostly only spoke with Roderick.

Casca just nodded her head, not really looking at him, but still acknowledging that she was remembering. "And… a knight too. One with a black mustache." Sir Azan's title seemed to stick with her. "We were on that boat, sailing to – to," she seemed to be struggling with something. "To try and cure me, cure me of being Elaine. Something happened though. I… I remember a giant white light and then… we got here." He let her process all that had transpired. "A world of magic."

"Harry's world," Guts added, not sure if that would help or not. "That story had first given us about his home and not being able to go back, this is a part of it."

And he saw it; for the briefest of moments, Casca's lips turned upward to a smile. "I… remember that day. He was what, ten? Just a nervous looking little boy with no idea what was going on around him. But from what Elaine saw… he's grown. How old would he be now?"

"Almost fifteen, I'm guessing. Do you… I can bring him in here too if you wanted."

"No," Casca told him. "I do… I do want to see him eventually. Just… I just want you for now." She said that, but still, she refused to meet his gaze, just looking at the same fixed point behind him and to the side of his head.

"What about Rickert?" Guts asked. "What do you remember about him?" Rickert had been one of her caretakers while he was off killing apostles and Harry was off studying magic. And he was also the last living member of the Hawks outside of the three of them. He had been paying attention to every word that Casca was saying, taking them all in and figuring a way to try and steer the conversation. Things were… awkward now, Guts had almost expected Casca to have punched him. A part of him would have preferred that to happen as the ultimate sign that she was really back.

"I remember him always following orders, he was always good with his hands and liked fixing things." The nostalgic memories showed in the expression on her face. "And he was helping watch over Elaine. He and Erica, they would take Elaine outside and play with her, Erica mostly. Elaine liked it, liked her. The old smith – Godo was his name, he was always a bit gruff most of the time, but he still brought Elaine food, water, made her feel comfortable."

"I never really got to thank him for doing that," Guts said. "He was the best at what he did."

Casca slowly nodded, her gaze flickered over to the hilt of Dragonslayer resting on his back. "Where is Rickert now? He and Erica didn't come with us when we went to visit Flora."

"They stayed back at the mine and forge," Guts answered. "They're probably still there now. You remember the old witch?"

Casca nodded. "She helped out. She did what she could to help Elaine – help me. I – a part of me, the Elaine part was aware of what the three of them were doing while going through my mind. Because of Flora, she was able to clear away some of the more challenging obstacles they would have had to face."

Yet another person he wouldn't get to thank.

"How'd she manage that?" he would try to keep the conversation on her, try and let her get accustomed to having her memories back.

"In a way that was… similar to how the three of them did it, I suppose." She kept the answer vague.

"They told me a bit about what they did, well, most of it, really. It doesn't really make all that much sense to me. Magic, the whole sort of it, I just stick to what I know, swinging my sword."

"I know," she wore a soft smile on her face. "You were always like that. When Elaine saw you doing that, I always felt a bit of recognition myself. It was like an anchor almost, a way of letting the pair of us know that some things would still be the same if I ever…" her hand went reaching back up to her heart again, but as before, she stopped herself.

"If you ever came back." Once again, he didn't bother phrasing this as a question. It had been said before that it would only truly work if she wanted to come back to begin with. "But you did, and you are. You-,"

"-That doesn't make me the same." She hadn't shouted or yelled, but her words were enough to cut him off of finishing his sentence. "It's been what, almost three years? You don't mean to say that even if some parts of you are still the same as before that you aren't completely changed. That Harry hasn't matured, that Rickert hasn't honed other crafts. What were you expecting if I ever did come back? Did you think I would be just as I was before?"

"Of course not." Guts could hear his tone take a defensive stance, it had risen a bit as well but not to the level of a yell or anything like that. "I just…"

"What?" her tone had risen too, but like his, it was not driven by anger, but anxiousness. She wanted to hear what it was he had to say.

"I just thought that you'd want to have the choice yourself. That was the one thing I was sure you'd want."

At his words, Casca's body seemed to tense. Her eyes had widened and she was directing her gaze back to his face alone. They were taking in the fading burns, scars, and other various cuts he had acquired. She seemed equally transfixed with the sole patch of white hair that was in the front just above his closed right eye. Her hand was moving again, but not to touch his face or hair, but once again back up to her heart.

Farnese had told him what the final piece had been before it turned into the heart of the doll; the child, the corrupted fetus that had been birthed after the Eclipse. Skull Knight had told him that he was better off just killing the child when he had the chance and that it would cause problems along the line, was this what he had been referring to? Had the old bone head known that Casca would be healed?

Guts quickly decided that that was not the case. It was just part of the Skull Knight's other worldly nature to never give a straight answer as to what he meant. But the ancient warrior was still out there somewhere, probably trying to find other ways of stopping the God Hand and continuing the fight against all monstrous creatures.

Casca stopped staring at him and inclined her head again to stare at the fixed point she had before. Her one hand fiddled with one of the long bangs that fell to her shoulders.

"Do you want to get that cut?" Guts asked a minor question in context to all things. "There's probably a pair of scissors around."

The question brought some much-needed diffusion to what they had previously been talking about. "Oh." She sounded like she had just become aware that she had been fiddling with her hair. "That… I'll probably do it eventually. I always hated having long hair; just the way it touches the back of my neck, I've never liked that."

Guts nodded, accepting her choice. "It doesn't look too bad the way it is," he offhandedly commented.

"Then why did you ask about my hair?" he was actually a bit glad to hear a bit of the old irritation present in her voice when she asked that.

"Because I know you kept it short for a reason. I just said it doesn't look bad who it is now." Farnese could probably help her cut or comb it; she had experience with those kinds of things.

She looked like she was about to smile. "Your hair hasn't grown out at all. It's still as-," her eyes flickered back to his mostly black hair. That single patch of white stood out as a reminder of his first time donning the Berserker Armor. For a brief second, she seemed to have forgotten that it was there.

"It's no big deal," Guts tried to assure her. "Everyone goes gray at some point." It was probably a lot to take in all at once and he couldn't blame her for being unsure of herself or what she was going to say next. Hell, he didn't even know if what he had been saying was important or not.

"No big deal?" Casca repeated the words he had just spoken. "What do you mean by that?"

"It happened after a fight," Guts recalled almost losing himself to the ark powers of the armor. "It's no different than getting any kind of scar. I'm used to it." She wasn't even looking near him anymore. Her eyes were now downcast entirely. "Casca?"

Her arm moved out, a fist collided with the chest piece of the Berserker Armor. It was a weak punch in both execution and force. He barely even felt a thing from it physically. With all the time that had passed since Casca had once held a sword, her muscle had faded over time.

"And how many?" she looked back up at him; her eyes looked puffy with unshed tears. "How many scars have you gotten during that time that you brushed off as being 'no big deal'?" She swallowed a lump in her throat; her voice sounding like it might crack. "She remembers. Elaine, she remembers. She saw you at the heart of all those fights. Back at the tower when we were about to get burned, at that cottage, at Vritannis, the forest when you got that horrible armor, against Zodd when you tried getting at…" he knew exactly what name she was about to say. He had been actively avoiding saying his name of all things unsure of how she was going to react to hearing it spoken out loud. But now that it was on the tip of her tongue, there was no avoiding the reaction she would have.

She quickly shut her mouth, looking like she might bite her tongue and the first tear escaped from the corner of her eye. "You…" she choked out her next words. "You did all of that, went through all of that, endured so much pain to try and kill…Griff – Fem… to try and kill him." Casca didn't even bother restraining her hand as it went to clench at her heart. "But… that wasn't all. You did it for me, too."

"Of course I did," Guts said like it was obvious. "You… I told you before; I wanted you to have that choice. You wanted to come back too, you said so."

She blinked her eyes to clear away some more tears that were welling up. Then she asked her next question, "Why?"

"What?" Guts asked her, confusion evident in his voice. "What do you mean, 'why'?"

"Why'd you do it? You had no way of knowing before if I had the choice to come back, and if you did were you expecting me to be just as I was, a link to the past that was longed for?"

"Of course I didn't think that!" Guts quickly denied that thought. After what had happened to him as a child, there was no way he ever expected Casca to just be exactly who she was. People just didn't have something traumatic happen to them and not come out the other end unchanged by it, Casca was acting like that right now; so hesitant before saying something, completely different from the abrasive side she always took when speaking with him.

He continued speaking, "I never expected you to be the woman you once were. I wouldn't have done those things if I didn't care."

"You shouldn't have had to do any of it to begin with!" her voice was raised and her hand tightened on the fabric of her white gown. "All your scars, your hair, every broken bone, every drop of blood you lost, you never should have had to deal with any of it just because of me and the idea that I may not have been able to come back at all! Having seen all that through Elaine, seeing what you and everyone else went through, I didn't…" she was starting to get choked up again. "I didn't want to let it all be for nothing. I didn't want you of all people going through anymore because of me being selfish!"

Now he was really getting confused by her words. "What are you talking about? How are you even blaming yourself for being Elaine?"

"Because!" more tears escaped from her eyes. "Because I didn't want you to be disappointed with who I might be after! After what happened that day…" her brows were knit and her body tense. "After that…I had no idea how to handle any of that! I just let Elaine come out and hid somewhere inside. In one day the world I thought I knew went to one filled with demons, gods, and now… magic like this place, this… whole other world! That scared me. And I wanted to come back, but just trying to escape… I just kept thinking… would you still want me even if I wasn't how I used to be?" her hand was still over her heart and she had averted her gave once more.

So… that was it.

"Casca, look at me." He kept his voice firm, but soft.

"Guts…" she shook her head lightly.

"Look at me for a moment." He took a step closer, closing the gap between them. Her body tensed up some more, but she didn't jump away. Eventually, Casca turned her gaze to look back up at him again, her eyes still red and puffy. "I want you to listen to me, alright? You don't have to blame yourself." He reached his hand out to put it on the top of her head. Upon feeling his touch, Casca went wide-eyed and took a tentative half-step away. Her hand tightened once again over her heart.

"Guts, I…"

"You don't have a single damn thing to feel sorry about. I'd still be getting scars no matter what, you know that. And even if you hadn't been Elaine, I would have still done all of that." His singular brown eye met with her two darker ones. "I never expected you to be exactly as you were; just Casca."

He kept his hand on her head, his fingers feeling the silky texture of her dark hair. She still had wide eyes like a doe, but… she began to relax her body, her shoulders dropped not being as tense as they had been before. She took a step closer to him as well, her forehead head butted and rested against the chest of the Berserker Armor.

"You're a fool." She repeated the same insult she had over and over back at the waterfall.

"Yeah, I know that."

He saw her free hand snake its way up, close to his face. The feeling of her hand on the side of his face was one touch that he didn't mind, one that he had actually wanted to feel for some time. For right now, he could just stay like this. As he looked down at Casca, he could almost feel the next thing she was about to ask from the way she kept her other hand close to her heart like she was cradling it.

"What about the boy?"

"What do you mean? The one we saw at the cottage?"

Casca nodded her head against the armor. "After the night we had together… I had a feeling the next morning, but I… didn't want to jump to a conclusion." So she had been suspecting that she had been pregnant. "One of the first things Elaine remembers is… the child – our child."

"I saw it," Guts told her, noticing the look he got when he called the child an "it." "Back at the Tower of Conviction, that was the last I saw… our child."

At his words, Casca was shaking her head. "No, it wasn't. The cottage, you said so yourself."

"That was a boy that just showed up," Guts said, not really sure if he fully believed it himself.

"He would have been the same age as our child," Casca said, sadness clouded her eyes. "Elaine knew. She knew as soon as she saw him. And… that part of me that was there knew it too. Call it whatever you want, we both knew it when we saw him."

"…" Guts kept silent as he let Casca let a few more tears free. He didn't have any real words that might help with this. "You may be right," was all he had to say.

"Do you want to find him, too?" Casca asked him.

"You're asking me?"

"You may not like it, but you were the one leading everyone. Elaine saw all of that."

"I…" while he had been cautious of the boy when he first saw him, the child was a different story. He had almost crushed it in his hand but was unable to, and every time it showed up on his journey as the Black Swordsman, he would always dismiss it and shun it for what it was. "I'll do what you want," Guts finally settled on.

Casca was studying his face again, searching every aspect of it. She rested her head back on the chest piece. "Such a fool."

She wasn't the same; she might not ever be the same again. But there was still that one part of Casca that Guts knew was never going to change. He just stood there with her, savoring the moment while he could. She would probably ask to meet with everyone else soon enough, but for now, he was content to just be alone with her.

Blue eyes flickered open slowly as the feeling of the chilly night air breezed into the bedroom. The winter season was past and spring was transitioning over to summer but that did not mean that the nights were getting any warmer. It might have also been due to the fact that her room was high up and the terrace window was open, making the cool breeze feel that much more.

Throwing the blankets off of herself before tucking them back into place, she went to go and shut the terrace window, the cold chill of the wind had awoken the primary instinct of having to use the washroom. She took one blanket off the bed to drape around her shoulders for added warmth with her white nightgown.

Closing the glass door, Charlotte was able to get a magnificent view of the city below at night. Some homes and shops still had fires going as evidenced by the smoke rising from the chimneys. But what was most captivating to her right now was the sight of the large, silvery moon hanging in the night sky above.

It was full again. Strange, considering she was sure that a month had yet to pass since the last time it was full. Or maybe it had been a month, with the war with the Kushan invaders having concluded, it would feel like time was different after having been caught up in the conflict.

She did her business in the washroom that was adjacent to the room she had to herself. The hallway was dark, the torches had gone out and needed to be relit. It was hard to see in the dark, but the sound of breathing was not hard to hear.

"W-who's there?" she called out, expecting perhaps Sir Owen or Sir Laban to answer her back and give her the comfort that she was safe.

No one did answer her. The breathing kept steady, coming from around the corner just to the side of her room. She back away from entering back, remembering that there had supposedly been a break-in of the palace the other day that Sir Owen had been working to try and find. Was this the intruder?

She was ready to run, to run and go find Griffith. It was… all she could do. But her legs refused to move once whoever was behind that corner stepped out into the open for her to see. "Oh, my!"

Her legs did move, but not out of fear, but of concern. Instead of looking up at some strong and intimidating man, Charlotte had to look down at the small boy clad in only a light, oversized white tunic. She knelt down to better face the boy who stared at her with large, dark eyes; eyes that were nearly as dark as his long, black hair.

"Little boy, where did you come from?" the fear she had felt about being attacked was instead replaced by concern for this boy's presence. "Where are your parents?"

She considered the fact that he might be the son of one of the surviving Midland Lords who survived the Kushan War but thought better of it. If he was the son of a lord, he would be wearing a fitted nightgown and one with his family crest on it as well. And while some lords did have long hair, she could not imagine any mother who would be okay with letting a boy's hair grow out this long without cutting it.

The boy did not answer her, though. He just stared into her blue eyes and reached a hand out to touch one of her brown locks. If any guard was nearby, they would have pulled the boy away for daring to touch a hair on the queen's head, but for one as young as this, it was no problem to her. The only others outside of Anna whom she considered a friend was Minister Foss' young daughter, Elize and she was still a child in her own.

"Can you not speak?" it was a redundant question, but maybe her voice could help soothe the boy and make him feel more comfortable. "Are you hungry? I have a bowl of fruit in my room if you would like some." He fidgeted with the loose fitted white tunic. "Are you cold?" she took the blanket she had draped over her own shoulders and put it over his. "Is that better?"

He pulled the blanket over the top of his head, almost like how one would wear a cloak. He looked back up at her and blinked a few times.

"It's warm, isn't it?" she couldn't help but smile at the boy. Even though she was the Queen of Midland, she held power through name only. It was Griffith who the people admired. Griffith had given them this city, this haven from the horrors outside. If she was to one day marry him, then she must also earn the respect of those same people, even if she had to start with one as young as this child.

Reaching out, Charlotte extended one hand to the boy. "Come. If you are hungry, I will feed you."

He studied her hand for a moment before wrapping his small hand around her slim index finger. The table in her room still had the bowl of fruit Anna had brought her after dinner. She was pleased to see that the grapes, apples, and pears were still looking fresh enough to eat.

"Here you go," Charlotte was able to lift him up into one of the seats. She wasn't strong by any means, he was just incredibly light. She poked a grape with a fork and brought it close to his mouth. Her joy grew when he ate it without complaint. "It's good, isn't it? It was grown right outside of the city. The land there is fertile for all crops."

She took a seat next to the boy and helped cut a pear for him. It was a nice feeling. Not just because she hoped to earn the respect of the people she would rule, but just the sense of helping a boy like this made her feel good. His parents must be worried sick wondering where he is.

"Where did you come from?" she asked. "Is your mother close by?"

She got the closest thing to an answer when the boy moved his head to the side almost as if to say, "no."

"Oh. She's not… is she…" having lost her own mother at the age of six, she would hate to find out that this child's mother had met the same fate.

Once again, he gave a slight shake of his head.

Thank goodness. "You are lost then?" he didn't really give any sort of response or reaction to that question. Instead, his attention was drawn to the two figurines Charlotte had upon her end table. "Oh, hold on a moment." She brought the two figurines over for him to inspect. "These are from a set my own mother once owned, see." They were two wooden carvings of a princess and a knight with a lance. "These are the last of the set. Here, you may look at them."

As suspected for a boy, he didn't really take much interest in the princess figure, but more with the helmed knight with a lance. He played around with the arm that moved on a metal peg.

"Was – er, is your father a knight?" he lightly moved his head, not in a full nod, but still as an indication. "A hedge knight or mercenary, then? He must be quite strong." Mercenaries had always scared her with their rough manners and thirst for blood, but Griffith was a former mercenary leader and he was nothing like that. "I hope that you get to see them, then. Many people's families are gone now. My own included."

While she did not consider the previous king to be her father after what he attempted to do to her that night nearly three years ago, she still remembered her mother fondly. And Sirs Laban and Owen were always watching out for her. And with Griffith… looking at this boy, maybe she would get to have a child of her own too. Charlotte yawned, the reality of the hour started to settle back in.

"You seem to greatly enjoy that figure." She smiled kindly at him. "You must not have many toys to play with back at your home." She studied the princess one she held onto. She had intended to give the knight figurine to Griffith on their wedding day as a present, but someone as majestic as him would either not accept it out of kindness or have no use for it in his future duties as king.

"If you would like, you may hold onto it." It was hard to say those words knowing that it was of the last links she had to her mother, but she was not a child anymore either. She closed his fingers around the figure. "Maybe one day, you'll get to become a knight like him; that way, you may present this figure to my child, when the day comes."

The boy was looking at her strangely now. "Huh? What is it?"

He was reaching a hand out to her head. His mouth moving like he was trying to say something. "…" he tried again. "…" his tiny hand touched her forehead. "…gai..." and it was like a spark had set off in her head. She thought she saw another pair of blue eyes staring at her from across the room. The boy's hand was already being drawn back, going back to picking grapes from the bowl.

Did I pass out all of a sudden? It was just the two of them alone in the room, no one else. She waited until the boy had finished eating before lifting him up in her arms, supporting his weight as he wrapped his arms around her neck.

"Come, I'll take you to Lord Griffith, he'll know what to do." If the boy had made a face of apprehension, she didn't see it. The hall was still dark, but Griffith's chambers were located directly down the hall from her room. That would change once they were married, of course.

She had yet to reach out to knock on the door to Griffith's chambers when she felt the boy tug on her hair. "Ow!" she lightly cried out, a few tears prickling the corner of her eyes. "What is wrong? Are you – ah!"

Staring at the both of them from around the darkened corner, a pair of cat-like eyes stared out at them, reflecting the light from the moon outside. Charlotte took a step back; her one hand that wasn't supporting the child went to protect the back of his head, to avert his attention away from the sight of those eyes that could belong to only one individual.

"You come at a late hour, little sparrow." The hulking human form stepped closer. "Do you seek to find comfort with him? Your ancestors would certainly frown upon you if you did."

"I… I… no." she kept the boy's head turned from seeing the brute that was Griffith's guard, Zodd. "I… only… wished to speak with him."

Her voice was small, but it still seemed to be enough for Griffith to hear from the other side of his door. Both of their eyes were drawn to the sight of Griffith standing there looking immaculate as ever. It brought a sense of courage to her heart to see Griffith standing there especially when his eyes were fixed solely on her.

"Queen Charlotte. Whatever may I do for you at this hour?"

"Lord Griffith, I am sorry to disturb you at such a time, truly, I am. But, you see, I found this boy down the corridor just outside of my room. I thought… you might want to see him."

Griffith took notice of the boy clinging to her neck. "Ah. How fortunate that you have found him. I was wondering where he had run off to."

"You know this boy, Lord Griffith?" that was a huge relief. At least now he would be safe.

"Indeed I do. You might recall Sir Owen having to deal with an issue of a trespasser a few days ago. He seems to have wandered in by himself. May I?"

"Oh, of course." Charlotte set the boy down, who seemed a bit reluctant to let go of her, but Griffith guided the boy over to his side.

"You have my thanks, Your Majesty. I'll escort him back to his parents, rest assured."

"Thank you so much, Lord Griffith. He really is a sweet boy; I hope his parents will not be angry with him."

"I imagine they will be quite relieved to see him." Griffith took the boy's hand in his own. "I'll escort him out."

"Will it not be more convenient to wait until morning?" it made little sense to go out at night.

"Mothers worry," Griffith told her. "I think they'll be awake for this."

"I see." She knelt down to smile at the boy. "Take care, little one. Please do not wander off again."

"You are a natural with children, Your Highness."

"I hope so," she felt a blush rising. "If… I am to be a mother myself one day."

To her pleasure, Griffith smiled back. "You would be a natural, I'm sure. I have never given much thought to my lineage, but if our child will be anything like this young boy, I think we can expect great things one day."

She watched his every step as he led the boy by hand down the corridors of the palace and to where the exit and drawbridge was. The boy took one final glance back at her before he rounded a corner with Griffith, disappearing from sight.

"You are an ambitious girl." She became startled once again. Zodd was still standing at the corner, his cat-like eyes fixed on her making her feel like a true sparrow before a predator.

"I… do not know what you mean."

"For a girl like you to carry his child. No doubt it will be exceptional, but I wonder if your body could handle it. One so weak as yourself, you would be unable to handle the effects it would have on your body." He did not speak with malice, but with a tone that conveyed cold truth. "It would be the end of a bloodline for the expense of the divine right of kings." He turned away from her frightened form.

"Best go to sleep, little sparrow. You might find solace in a world you dream up from the reality that is."

He left her there alone. She wished that his words were wrong; that her child would grow into the future king and that he might one day get the knight figurine back from that sweet boy. A boy she would pray would reunite with his parents.

A/N: I have no idea if that is how the reunion will go in the manga and no one will ever be able to write it like Miura would, but the reunion has happened here. Casca will have a chance to reunite with everyone else next chapter but if anyone was going to get a chapter alone with her, it was going to be Guts. Thank you for reading.


	50. Chapter 50

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

"How long has it been?" Isidro asked as he rested his chin with his hand. Boredom had quickly begun to take root for the rusty-haired boy as they all sat in near silence in Madam Pomfrey's small office.

"Not nearly as long as you probably believe it to have been," Serpico answered with an even tone. This wasn't the first time Isidro had asked that question since Guts had gone to visit Casca and it probably wouldn't be the last. "But if I were to take a guess, I'd wager fifteen minutes at most."

"Close," Sirius said after a yawn, having woke up from the sleeping drought Madam Pomfrey had prescribed to him while they had been in the pensieve. "It's been more like eighteen."

"They'll probably take longer than that," Harry voiced. It had been so long since Casca had spoken real words and something told him Guts would want to savor that sensation. However long the two of them needed alone to talk things out, they had every right to do so.

Harry wondered what they were even talking about. Everything? Nothing? What was going to happen now? Whatever it was, they would be taking their time with it. But the last question did get Harry thinking as well. The first being what he would even say to Casca when she was ready to meet with the rest of them. He could comment about her hair and try to pass it off as a weak joke, but somehow he didn't think that would land. He could just wait for her to speak first, she probably had a lot to say after just making childish sounds for so long.

And there was so much that he wanted to talk to her about on top of it all. He wanted to tell her that those old history books she had found in Windham had come in handy, that he had been able to find Flora's tree because of it. He would be able to properly introduce Schierke and Farnese to her. He wanted to tell her more about Merlin and his link to both of their worlds. Maybe he would even get the opportunity to show her that scrapbook Sirius Black had given to him which he still held. More importantly, he just wanted to hear her talk again.

'A lot on your mind, huh?' it was Schierke's voice that he heard speaking to him via thought transference. She probably did not want to ruin the feeling of near silence that had fallen over everyone in the office, except for Isidro and Puck who were the most vocal out of all of them.

Bit of an understatement, but, yeah. You could say that.

'You're not the only one. I can only imagine what Guts must be feeling.' They could have used thought transference to better get a feel for what was going on in the hospital ward, but doing so would just be an intrusion on a special moment between the two of them. And Harry figured that if anyone had a right to be alone with Casca first, it was Guts.

You didn't know them back then, but they used to argue a lot, practically all the time. I don't hear any shouting coming from the ward.

'Well that's a good thing, isn't it?'

Hard to say really. They argued, but that would just be a sign that they were working things out in their own way. Really, Harry wasn't sure if this silence was a good thing or not. Guts was quiet and stoic most of the time, but there were exceptions like when he was in a fierce battle or when arguing with Casca.

'It could be a good thing,' Schierke offered. 'They could just be… talking lightly.' It was possible, but the tone of her mental voice made it sound like she was referring to something else. After having viewed Casca's memories, Schierke had been able to see just what kind of relationship she had with Guts so there was that implication. Harry doubted that outcome though. As eager as Guts was to meet with Casca again, he wasn't the best when it came to words and he wouldn't just try and act like everything was the same as how it had been before.

Well, I suppose we'll find out soon enough. Harry checked the clock which was hung above the door of the office. Close to thirty minutes had already passed. Or not.

It was wrong for him to think like that and he knew it. They all wanted to see Casca for who she really was. Everyone here sans Harry had only ever known Casca as being the one who acted the part of a child and constantly needed supervision least she should run off on her own. Then there was the question of how Casca would react to seeing all of them. Would she recognize them from her reduced state of mind or would they have to introduce themselves like they had never encountered?

But there was that lingering question from before; what would happen now?

They had achieved what they had set out to do from the very beginning, Casca was healed. It was something that had been talked about but never really pictured fully until right now. And now that same question was raised, what happens now? Harry imagined that they would still take time to rest and adjust to everything for Casca's sake, but once they all felt like it, where do they go from there?

Harry would like to think that they would try to find a way back to Midland; Roderick and his crew had been helpful and would probably want to return to their own homes and lives rather than linger for too long. But going back meant going back to all the craziness that was the apostles and the God Hand.

Staying here, while he was hesitant to admit it, could have some perks to it and none of them being related to the fact that he was seen as being some sort of celebrity. He made a mental note to tell Casca about that at some point; she might even find the idea of the timid boy she had looked after being famous humorous. But in all seriousness, Madam Pomfrey had demonstrated that she was able to help out in regards to Guts. Harry saw the fingers of his prosthetic moving on their own, etched with some magical symbols. And if using the pensieve to heal Casca wasn't further proof, he didn't know what was.

But to counter that there was the whole being famous thing and from what the headmaster had told him before, there was a dark wizard out there thirsty for his blood that was all based around a supposed prophecy that had been made before he was even born. Sad to say, but that would probably be something that they would have to deal with at some point considering that they had no idea how to even get back to Midland. If they were to attempt that, they could consult with either Sirius or Lupin, they were the ones responsible for them coming here, to begin with.

Harry also thought of the Skull Knight and that sword made from behelits once he swallowed his regular blade. The foe of Inhumans had used that to first take Harry to Midland and later to help them escape the troll cave. Granted, they hadn't seen the Skull Knight since before entering Vritannis, but if they could rely on Skull Knight for anything, it was showing up when he was needed.

Huh.

Casca had never actually seen Skull Knight, had she? Her attention had always been drawn on other things instead of the nearly unstoppable warrior. He wondered how long it would take her to make the connection to Skull Knight and the once-King Gaiseric; probably not too long.

Pushing such thoughts aside, for the time being, Harry sat content in silence along with everyone else, waiting until such a time for something to change. They got their sense of relief when the door to the office creaked open just enough for Guts to poke his head in.

Looking at his face, Guts looked… relieved? It was the closest Harry could begin to describe it, not ever having seen the Black Swordsman make that face before. Evidently, Puck noticed it too.

"Hey, Guts, what's going on?" the blue elf asked.

Madam Pomfrey was scuttling over in a jiffy. "Yes, what has happened?"

"Relax, lady," Guts told the older witch. "Things are… things are fine for now. She just wanted to know if she could see some others."

"How many?" Madam Pomfrey asked. "Hospital wing rules say that no more than-,"

"-Just three for now," Guts cut her off before she could mention any rules. "She wants to take it slow, not get overwhelmed."

Pomfrey looked a bit cross at having been interrupted, but the expression faded at his explanation. "Well, it is certainly good to see that her sense of logic is intact. Very well."

Guts nodded. "Right. She said she wanted to the three of you first." His eye traveled over Harry, Schierke, and Farnese.

That did make sense. Casca had known Harry longer than the rest, sans Guts, and the two other witches did help to restore her sanity.

"Us?" Farnese asked. "All at once?"

"That's what she said," Guts told the blonde-haired girl.

"We'll remain until we're summoned," Serpico gave a nod to Farnese.

Isidro wasn't as calm about it. "Hey! You want me to just sit and wait some more? C'mon, we all want to see her, too."

Ivalera shook her head, floating over to Schierke's shoulder. "So childish."

"Just wait your turn," Guts told the boy. He looked at the three mages. "C'mon, she's waiting."

Walking back into the hospital wing ward felt a bit surreal considering the circumstances of Harry's first time here not that long ago. He hadn't really been able to take in just how spacious and high the layout of the room was. The sun pouring in from the opened drapes helped to add to the surrealism of the situation.

Casca wasn't even still in the same bed she had been upon first waking up; she had instead moved closer to the door and was standing at the foot of one of the beds there. When Harry looked at her, he saw that her dark eyes were a bit puffy like she had been crying or was trying her hardest to hold back some tears. Knowing Casca, it was probably both; she would never want anyone to see her cry, intentional or not.

He could have used thought transference to get a feel for what the two other girls were thinking or feeling, but his brain just felt too numb to actually process Casca walking over to them – right towards him.

Her mouth was closed, but it looked like she might smile, if only a faint one. Harry opened his mouth, trying to find the words to say only to find that he had none. Not one single thing to say to her. All that time spent wondering back in Madam Pomfrey's office, that seemed to just vanish from his head and he was left shutting his mouth lest he wind up making a fool of himself, and that wasn't the first memory he wanted to paint of himself to her now.

Casca's hand was moving, traveling up toward Harry's head and plopping itself down. "Eh?" he felt her rubbing at his already messy black hair. It was a gesture she had done on occasion back with the Hawks.

When his eyes met hers, he was greeted with the familiar sight that belonged uniquely to her. She began to speak instead. "When did you get taller than me?"

It was such a simple question to ask, and not even a hard one at that. Casca was only about five-and-a-half-feet tall and Harry was only about a hair's height above that, not too uncommon for boys his age but still showed signs that he wasn't done growing yet. He never even really realized it himself since he had never held a conversation with the reduced Casca, but he did find that she had to look up just a bit to meet his gaze.

Any words he had to possibly answer that he let go of. Instead, he just opted to say nothing at all and wrap his arms around the swordswoman. He stayed that way for a moment before saying, "You were never too tall to start with."

He felt her fist touch his stomach but it lacked any sort of malice or harmful intent. And even if it had, it probably wouldn't have hurt as much as it could've. "I don't remember you being so cheeky." She continued to lightly ruffle up his hair, her other arm reaching around to give him a pat on the back.

When he tried to elicit a small laugh, he was unsurprised to hear that it sounded more choked than he intended. Hearing her voice again, remembering the small gesture she had done before with the messing of his hair, it just got to him. "There's so much I want to tell you about."

"I want to hear it," Casca said as she let him go. "I'll be disappointed if you go and leave anything out."

Harry swallowed a growing lump in his throat, feeling the back of his eyes growing hot. "I would never dream of it."

Casca's attention was no on the two witches standing the exchange with small, nervous smiles of their own. "You, you're Farnese."

"Hm? Oh! Yes, I am." Farnese looked ready to either bow her head or reach out a hand, unsure which to choose from. "It is an honor to meet you at last." She seemed to settle for a handshake gesture. That, however, didn't seem to matter to Casca as she instead wrapped her arms around the blonde girl for a quick embrace. "Huh?"

"Thank you," Casca told her. "For watching out for me when I was Elaine."

"Elaine?" Farnese repeated as she shot Guts a questioning look.

"Who she was before you helped heal her," the swordsman explained as he watched the exchanges unfold as well.

"Oh. Well… you have no need to thank me for that," Farnese told her. "I only did what I could to contribute. Everyone else helped keep you – er, Elaine safe, too."

"Don't sell yourself short, Farnese," Schierke told the older girl. "You were Elaine's primary caretaker; she trusted you more than anyone else."

Casca had to bend down a little to get on eye level with the green-haired witch and the pink elf that was on her shoulder. "And you, you're Schierke."

The young witch nodded her head. "Yes, that's me. I'm relieved that I actually get to talk to you in person, I've heard some of the stories Harry had to tell so I knew that there was more to you than what there was to Elaine and you were clearly important to both Guts and-," she tried to compose herself, sensing that she was just starting to ramble on at this point, her nerves and excitedness getting the better of her.

"You have my thanks too, Schierke. I, or at least, Elaine saw the things you were able to do with magic."

Schierke shied a bit at being complimented so soon, but Ivalera had a contemplative look on her elfish face. "Hm? She's already back and acknowledging how amazing Schierke is. This works for me."

"And you have to be Ivalera," Casca's dark eyes focused on the pink elf.

"Naturally," the elf gave a self-assured smile. "I'm glad to see that I managed to stand out from memory."

Casca nodded. "But there was another one; Puck, that's his name."

"Huh?" Ivalera's face fell. "That chestnut?"

"Yes. Elaine seemed to like him, she found him amusing."

"You'll have a different opinion of him now, I assure you." Ivalera began to sulk a bit at the mention of the blue elf.

"She just means that they might be different in reality," Schierke tried to not have Casca's perception be biased before even meeting the other elf and his loud-mouthed companion. "But they will be anxious to finally see you without a doubt."

"Could they come in too then?" Casca asked.

"You sure?" Guts voiced. "That won't be too many people, would it?"

"They're people who have been traveling with us for so long, keeping them out now… it just wouldn't feel right." Casca averted her gaze to the door. "But I have to admit, I am a bit curious to see if they hold up based on Elaine's experiences." She said that, but even she sounded hesitant herself, not that she would say so.

Guts nodded and went to go retrieve the rest. He was back not even a few seconds later with Isidro scrambling to get past his legs and into the hospital wing. Puck trailed not too far behind him but hung back a little by Guts and a much more composed Serpico.

Unlike the others who had no idea what to first say to Casca, Isidro seemed to just move his mouth without even thinking. "So I'm not really too sure if you know who I am or not, but the name's-,"

"-You're Isidro," Casca filled in for him, not sounding too surprised that he had no hesitation in speaking.

"Hey! It worked!" Isidro exclaimed looking back at the three mages. "Did they tell you that it was all my idea from the start? And that – ow!"

Guts flicked the back of his head with an annoyed expression. "If you want to meet her, at least give her the chance to talk."

Casca gave a light smile but one that didn't meet her eyes. "Yes. You're almost exactly as Elaine saw you." She looked over to Serpico who was politely standing at attention next to Guts. "And you're Serpico."

Hearing his name being addressed, Serpico stepped forward and gave a polite bow with a hand placed over his chest. "That I am. It is a pleasure to actually be able to talk to you in person."

"So I've been told. I was never the best at holding conversations just to let everyone know." It wasn't untrue; Casca had been busy most of the time with the Hawks and she was usually so focused on working on strategy, but she did have some time allotted where she had time to herself and to talk with others.

"Aren't you forgetting someone?" Puck asked a bit indignantly as he fluttered over. "The name's Puck, nice to finally meetcha!"

"I… don't think anyone could forget you," Casca told the small elf.

As expected, Puck smiled in greeting. "So there's been something I've been meaning to ask you. How do you feel about the name Cassie?"

"Don't you even start!" Ivalera scolded her fellow elf.

Casca watched in amusement at the bickering elves, a smile slowly spreading across her face. Guts watched it all happen; he saw the smile she was now wearing. It was a sight he had wanted to see for such a long time. It was a smile that was unique only to her; and one that didn't reach her eyes. And because of that, it looked incredibly strained.

Dumbledore read over the letter that had arrived by owl not even an hour ago. It was troubling, but something to be expected. While he was Headmaster of Hogwarts, he still had to obey and abide by a request to visit the castle by the Minister of Magic. He had been hoping it would be later rather than sooner, but some things just never played how he would have liked.

He had temporarily sealed the castle gates to keep people from getting in, but still allowing it to go out and he had even blocked the floo network as added precaution for what was going on at the hospital wing and the healing of that woman's mind. A large part of that had been because he knew Umbridge might be returning soon. And she had. Dumbledore wouldn't have put it put it past the woman to have set up a private floo channel somewhere in the castle linked directly to either hers or the Minister's office. Or maybe even had her only supporter in the castle, Argus Filch open the gates to let her in. Pomfrey had sent him a Patronus message about what had transpired between Umbridge and the Black Swordsman, Guts.

Not too long ago after that altercation, Dumbledore received a howler from Umbridge at St. Mungos. Her sickly voice swore that she would be informing the Minister about this, and she had. The letter he just got done reading over was from Minister Fudge requesting to meet with him in person to discuss the recent events.

Luckily, Poppy sent him another Patronus message letting him know that Harry and his companions had been successful in their task and would be returning back to their ship with Sirius Black leading them back. It was probably for the best. If they lingered any longer Minister Fudge would have demanded to see Harry at once and Dumbledore doubted the Minister would try his luck at reaching out to Harry when he was back on that ship.

They should be well hunkered down there for the time being until the straw that would break the camel's back. Based on what he had seen through memory, Dumbledore knew that even if they were just muggles, they had efficient means of protecting and defending themselves. Even by just lending them his pensieve for their use of it he wasn't about to demand that they owed him for that by any means.

But… if they were agreeable to it, especially now that the woman had regained her sanity, he could ask for their aid when the time was right. Voldemort was back by common knowledge at this point and it was only a matter of time before he set his sights on Hogwarts, especially that he probably knew Harry was here if he had been keeping up with the news. Dumbledore wouldn't put it past the Dark Lord to be gathering his forces at this very minute. If they were to attack Hogwarts and the surrounding town of Hogsmeade, the chances were high that their ship would get caught in the crossfire of that. If he could send an owl explaining the likelihood of that outcome… would they perhaps listen?

Fawkes clucked, drawing Dumbledore's attention as the fireplace was filled with green flames and Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge stepped out, lime-green bowler hat in hand and wearing the smile of a true politician. Following him out was none other than his undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge. Her nose still had a nasty bruise about it and the skin under her one eye was turning a shade of purple. It would seem she left St. Mungos just to come be here with the Minister.

"Dumbledore!" Fudge smiled as politely as he could, temporarily stopping the twirling of his to spread his arms wide open. "You did get my owl, didn't you? I do hope we hadn't dropped by unexpected."

"Your owl was very straight and to the point," Dumbledore nodded, not yet standing from his desk. "You are expected, but you seem much more open to meeting with me than our last encounter."

Fudge's smile wavered as he recalled that meeting. "Yes… well, I was hoping to leave that as just water under the bridge between us, Dumbledore. I mean, I acted in a fashion that was understandable. You must understand where I was coming from; you made a claim that You-Know-Who was back at large once again. Merlin, Dumbledore, you don't just go around saying something like that and not expect to get a reaction out of a man."

"I can certainly understand your reason for acting the way you did, Cornelius," Dumbledore locked eyes with the Minister. "You were elected during Voldemort's defeat; such an unforeseen event-," Fudge raised his hands in a surrendering gesture and to signal that he understood what was being said.

"Yes, yes, I am well aware of that, Dumbledore. I know how it must have come across. But before we get onto the meat of the matter, please just try to understand why I acted as such."

So that was Fudge's game. It was simple; try to cover up his past actions by putting on a friendly face and trying to start anew. Honestly, it wasn't that surprising for Fudge to do. He had used that play when running for reelection the last term as well.

"I can certainly understand your reaction, Cornelius, and I stand firm in my belief of second chances, but the amount of ridicule and discredit that came my way I could handle without a problem." He saw Fudge let out a small sigh at that. "However, what I do not condone is your appointing of a Hogwarts High Inquisitor to keep tabs on myself and students." Umbridge looked ready to angrily retort, but she dared not to interrupt Fudge.

"That was… a hasty decision on my end," Fudge had to admit. "You having as much influence as you do, of course, I would have gotten suspicious that you might have been planning something at Hogwarts."

"If I recall correctly, following Voldemort's defeat, I refused the position of Minister of Magic; a position that you offered to give me at the time."

Fudge's composure slipped a bit. "Alright… I thought it was a political strategy on your end. The best leaders are the ones who don't want to be, or something like that. With… You-Know-Who actually back, I am sure Dolores would love to step down and return to her duties as Senior Undersecretary."

Umbridge put on a very sweet, very forced smile. "Of course, Minister. But I assume my position as Triwizard Judge is still intact. Barty Crouch is still missing, most, unfortunately."

"It is indeed, most unfortunate news," Fudge did actually sound sad at that, but Crouch had been a contender also for Minister of Magic before the scandal involving his son had happened. "But while we are on that topic, it brings about some very interesting developments if the rumors are to be believed."

"And what are those?" Dumbledore asked coyly.

At this, Umbridge spoke out. "Don't play the fool, Dumbledore! Harry Potter is here in this castle. Minister Fudge is taking valuable time away from the office to meet with the boy so if you value your position as headmaster, you will take us to the boy this moment."

"Dolores, please!" Fudge silenced her with a stern look. "I am as eager as you are to meet with our famed savior, but first impressions are important, and I expect you to be on your best behavior."

"You are not the first to seek out Mr. Potter," Dumbledore told the Minister. "Several students have tried to get a peek of him already and have been unsuccessful."

"Curiosity in children often gets the better of them," Fudge went for a friendly smile. "But they are probably more concerned with seeing a celebrity than for who the boy really is."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Dumbledore agreed. "But what do you see him as if not a celebrity? People are often very different than how we first imagine them to be."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Fudge sounded a bit miffed but kept his smile. "He is an icon for all of us, a symbol that whatever dark comes our way, there will always be comfort in knowing that we are safe."

"Well said, Minister, well said!" Umbridge gave a polite clap for her boss. "Which is why it is concerning that someone as important as that would be in the company of such… deplorable barbarians."

"I would have expected you to stay at St. Mungos, Madam Umbridge." He swore he could see a vein throb near her temple. "From the howler you sent me, you saw fit to point out how you were being treated for a mild concussion. Are you sure you would not want to return and have the healers check you over again?"

"If a healer is to look me over, let it be in the hospital wing! That is where Potter is, do you deny it?" she wore a triumphant smirk.

"Perhaps he was at one point, but he may be no longer."

"What do you mean, Dumbledore?" Umbridge demanded.

"Simply that Mr. Potter is not a student and therefore not confined to the castle. If he is here or not is entirely up to him."

Umbridge turned to look at Fudge. "I'll seal the castle. Potter will meet with you, I assure you, Minister!"

"Dolores," Fudge began, "as kind as that gesture would be, we are not here to lock down the school."

"I am glad you see reason, Cornelius," Dumbledore was grateful to the Minister.

"Not that it would be unreasonable to discuss what transpired between Dolores and… Dolores, what did you say that man's name was again?"

"He said his name was Guts." She spat out the name like it was infected. "Filthy, horrible, brute of a man. A complete Neanderthal!"

"Yes…" Fudge trailed as Umbridge ranted a bit. "You should be aware that Madam Umbridge is pressing charges against the man and a hearing will be scheduled to take place next Tuesday at-,"

"-I'm sorry to interrupt you, Cornelius," Dumbledore intervened, "but I don't believe a trial would be of the best intention."

"That is still assault, Dumbledore!" Fudge insisted. "Assault committed by a man who is associated with Harry Potter of all people! We cannot have that sort of riffraff around someone as important as Potter, you must understand that."

"And from what I understand from my time on the Wizengamont, it is highly impractical to have a muggle present within the Ministry." He hadn't wanted to use that card, but knowing Umbridge and the twisted sense of justice about her, he knew it was a trump card to whatever she may pull, be it double-edged sword at that.

"M-muggle?" Fudge spouted. "Come now, Dumbledore, just because that ship is muggle by design does not mean-,"

"-It does. I assure you, it does. But muggle or no, Hogwarts does not have a policy of turning away those in need. Help will always be granted to those who ask for it."

"B-but muggles… no. No. No, there has to be some misunderstanding." Dumbledore really hoped Fudge was not going to go into a state of denial again. "Harry Potter-,"

"-Harry Potter is under their jurisdiction by his will and theirs." Dumbledore watched as Fudge sputtered like a fish out of water.

"Hem-hem!" Umbridge gave that overly sweet cough of hers. "If that were true, then they would not be able to see Hogwarts, would they? Based on the fact that they were in the castle and physically assaulted me, I would say that the only way to do so would be if they were magical by nature. I'm afraid that you're lying, Dumbledore."

"Madam Bones was here when they first arrived," Dumbledore reminded them. "She will tell you the same as I have. Unless Madam Bones is a liar as well."

He could tell that that really struck a nerve with Umbridge as her overly sweet and triumphant smile was quickly replaced by a fuming, pouting lip. "Then how do you account for them being able to see Hogwarts, hm?"

"Madam Bones would have also told you by now that it was Sirius Black who summoned that ship here. And since he did it from within the wards, I highly suspect it is possible for them to see it with their own eyes." It wasn't the whole truth, he hadn't mentioned the fact that they were from a different astral plane, nor did he plan to reveal that any time soon. That would be the information he kept close to the chest.

Umbridge was not liking that one bit. "And has Sirius Black been apprehended for this act?"

"He was the one to bring our savior back, would you incarcerate the man?" Dumbledore asked her, but looked at Fudge when he said that.

Umbridge looked like she had just swallowed a fly, but continued speaking. "Then as ministry protocol dictates, any muggle with exposure to magic is to have their memory altered at once. What have you to say to that?"

"While that law does stand, there is an exception to it." He paused. "Any non-magical relative or guardian is allowed an exception."

Her face was turning increasingly red; each word spoken carried an unspoken yell. "And… do they have the official paperwork to classify themselves as such?"

"I would imagine that is a question for them," Dumbledore answered. "If you want to borrow a first-year boat and go ask them yourself, you are free to do so."

Fudge after having twirled his bowler hat around so much that his fingers had cramped, spoke out. "What of the third task, Dumbledore? What then? Now that Potter is physically here, the law dictates that he take part. There is no getting around that one."

"As I have said before, Mr. Potter's name may be enrolled, but he does not attend. He has not attended and has never been sorted into any house. He is entirely privately educated." Again, it wasn't a full lie.

Fudge looked a mix of nervous and purely frustrated at having gotten nowhere, Umbridge looked like she was ready to explode on him at any given second, the only thing keeping her in line was Fudge's presence. "Is that… all you have to say on the matter, Dumbledore?" Fudge asked, all trace of his friendly demeanor having left.

"I imagine that you still have very much to say but will undoubtedly do so through owl. Will that be all?"

Fudge stiffened, placing his bowler hat back on top of his head. "Come, Dolores." Her beady eyes were still trained on Dumbledore, but she followed Fudge back to the fireplace all the same. "I'll be in touch, Dumbledore," Fudge added before tossing some floo powder into the fireplace. "But I can't guarantee your answers today will help put the Magical World's anxiety to rest."

"I never said that they would," Dumbledore said as green flames engulfed the two of them. It was a small step on his end, put he had a feeling that Harry would have approved of his behavior, if not for how he had acted previous. But thinking of Harry now, Dumbledore pondered just how long he and the rest of his companions could stay aboard that ship undisturbed. Fudge may be a mediocre wizard, but he did have capable wizards under him and with someone as corrupt as Lucius Malfoy in Fudge's good graces, he had no doubt a conflict was on the horizon. He just hoped now that the woman was sane again, she could persuade the Black Swordsman not to harm others too badly.

But as Dumbledore was pondering that very possibility, Umbridge was internally fuming herself. The meeting had not at all gone the way she or the Minister wanted it to have gone. Dumbledore was growing weaker, that much was obvious to her. After all, a strong headmaster would not allow the boy to stay aboard the boat that was anchored in the Black Lake. He should have already been separated from those filthy muggles and sorted into a Hogwarts House by now.

Better to just wipe those muggles minds and send them off on their merry way. She had only seen a few of them back in the hospital wing, but just one muggle knowing was outrageous enough as it was. If Potter had been actively practicing magic in front of them, then he was in clear violation of the Statue of Secrecy. As famous as he is, he is not above the law.

That was why she was especially infuriated to learn that the brute of a man seemed to be getting away with his active assault on her person! Who did that man think he was? He probably didn't even think at all; men with muscles were lacking when it came to brains. But what really made it worse was the fact that Minister Fudge had not even pushed the topic to Dumbledore, it was just brushed aside like every other topic had been back there. She had even lost her title as High Inquisitor now thanks to Dumbledore.

Things… things had to change and change fast! They were looking to enter another time of war with the Dark Lord, and war was a time for action! She certainly had a number of ideas she would love to put past Cornelius, but he was stressed enough as it was. As a good undersecretary, she would help ease the burden on his shoulders. If Minister Fudge wanted Harry Potter to properly attend Hogwarts and be the Ministry's shining face in this war, then that would be exactly what he would get.

There were just those muggles to deal with. They were the real obstacle, Potter could be the one to ultimately defeat the Dark Lord, but that would never happen if he was being restrained by muggles of all people.

Oh how she would love nothing more than to go sailing out on a boat with a squad of aurors to magically restrain all of those non-magicals. It would also give her the greatest of satisfaction to wipe the memory of the one to break her perfectly set nose.

Potter would learn to love his new place in society, it was as high an honor as any to be recognized by the Minister of all people. But how to go about it?

They could see Hogwarts despite being only muggles. Dumbledore had fed them some loopy story about how they were summoned within the wards and able to bypass them that way. It had never been done so there was no way to prove that wrong. But there was still a limit to what muggles could see.

Perhaps… the dementors were still loyal to the Ministry. And with the Dark Lord on the rise, it would be so easy to make it seem like they were acting on his behalf. If pulled off correctly, there could be no loose ends. The muggles would be unable to further corrupt Potter's young, maliable mind and they would be unable to spread the word of Hogwarts' location. There was just the manner of how to do it. But if there was a will, there was a way.

"I'm telling you, it's completely impractical!" Narcissa leaned across the table at her husband, watching as he ran a hand through his long, platinum blonde hair. "Are you even listening to me?"

"It is very hard not hear you. You're voice travels through walls." He looked up at her with a set of cold eyes he usually reserved for intimidating political opponents. He had used it a few times on her, but never to the same result as he got out of others. She was a Black born and raised, hateful glares were a common occurrence at dinners, especially when Bella and Sirius were involved.

But for now it was the two of them, a rarity these days with how many people the Dark Lord had seen fit to "spread hospitality," or something along those lines. She could barely walk through the west wing without Greyback's mutts leering at her. This was her house, not their kennel. Then there were all of her husband's "associates" from over the years, specifically before Draco had been born. Nearly all the guest rooms were filled out and Dobby was working himself to exhaustion to cater to their every whim. This was a respected pure-blood household, not a resort!

"How much is the cost?" Narcissa demanded of Lucius. "As heavy as the Malfoy name is, the pit does have a bottom."

"And do you think I don't know that?" Lucius asked in rhetoric before slamming the ledger he had been reading over. "I am doing everything in my power to ensure that costs are minimized. There's no need to spend any galleons that aren't necessary."

"It would have been more cost efficient if you hadn't had given up on the search like Bellatrix had all those years ago. You might be in better graces if you had." Truthfully, she did not care about that. She didn't have the mark burned into her flesh like her husband and sister, they made their choices to openly support the Dark Lord. At least with Lucius, he made the choice that got him out of prison and able to be a part of their child's life. However small that part may be.

"Don't start with that again, Narcissa," Lucius warned as he read over their Gringotts bank accounts. He had told her shortly after they were married to speak lightly of finance, she was a Malfoy now.

"There are other pure-blood families that can contribute to these outrageous funds. It makes little sense that we should shoulder the bulk of these payments when we are already allowing so many guests into our home."

Lucius sighed. "The Dark Lord-,"

"-Has other followers; ones whose accounts are yet to be touched. Let them play their part. Or if not, let them take the fall if something is to go wrong." While she did believe in the pure-blood doctrine, she wasn't about to become a Death Eater for it. The actions and cost they were having her husband do now would have serious consequence on both herself and Draco if anything were to go wrong. They were paying off a trader to smuggle a dragon into the country, even sending gifts to the giants up north for their help in the upcoming assault.

It would be taking place during the day of the third task in the Triwizard Tournament. The Dark Lord was confident that he was strong enough to breech the magical wards surrounding Hogwarts and he planned to make a public example of Potter before killing all the rest who did not pledge allegiance to him. She should write to Draco, let him know of what would happen and try to get him out of there before that happened. As much as she knew her son loved to brag about his status, he was sadly all bark and no bite. He would likely freeze in the moment and be killed along with anyone else who didn't step forward to join the Dark Lord.

There was more than one secret passage out of the castle as Sirius Black demonstrated to them by the use of the map he had in his possession. It was a nifty little thing when in the right hands. Once Casca had been cleared by Madam Pomfrey, they started back to the Sea Horse where Roderick would be waiting for them.

It was a bit of a hassle for them to all sneak around trying to avoid being detected, and Harry had to give Casca a very condensed version of why that was. "You're famous?" she had asked, sounding incredulous.

"For something that happened when I was about a year old," Harry had told her. "I don't even know what they would expect of me if they were to see me."

"Probably scream at the top of their lungs in excitement, ask for an autograph and a picture," Sirius had listed off as he led them through a secret passage that led right out onto the grounds near the lake.

"Picture?" Casca had asked, not at all familiar with what that was.

"Right, a life-like paining that comes out of a metal box," Sirius did his best to explain. "It's a muggle thing."

"Muggle?" she asked again.

"Non-magic person. A friend of mine, Arthur Weasley, he's the biggest fan of muggles there is. He actually collects plugs." He had noticed some of their bemused expressions. "It's a… never mind. I don't know how to explain that one."

When they arrived to a secluded spot on the shore of the lake, Sirius was able to use magic to transfigure some stones into small rowboats. Once everyone had all piled in, they had to rely on magic once again to set sail back across the lake and to the awaiting figure that was the Sea Horse anchored off into the distance.

During that time, Harry was seeing fit to do his best to help Casca get caught up on all that she had been missing or had been unable to understand. Guts was fine with it; he himself had gotten his own time to speak with Casca but had never gotten around to telling her about some of the more minute details that were involved with their journey.

"That is actually the name of the castle?" she asked as Harry told her what they had been able to understand about this place.

"Yeah, the name really is Hogwarts."

"I see," Casca slowly nodded, not really understanding at all so she directed her next question over to Sirius. "Is there a reason behind that?"

"Oh, probably." He shrugged. "But hardly anyone questions the name so no explanation was ever really given."

"Why's that?" Schierke asked.

"Magic is as good an explanation as anything," Sirius said. "For most, magic is part of everyday life so if magic is the official explanation, people will go with it."

"But, magic can't just be the answer to everything," Schierke tried to reason. "It can do much, but not everything. Like bringing the dead back to… life." She paused briefly as her eyes darted to the armor Guts was wearing. He knew what she had been thinking of; the Skull Knight. It was Flora who had the connection to the previous owner of the armor but with her gone, they might not get the full story of how she was able to preserve whatever was left of Gaiseric in that new armor suit he wore. Skull Knight would have the answer himself, but there was no sign of him showing up anytime soon.

Casca was following Schierke's gaze to the armor as well; her hand almost reaching up to touch the brand that was on her chest. She was quick to change the topic. "So, the captain of the Sea Horse, his name is Roderick, yes?"

"Roderick the Sailing Prince of Lith," Serpico gave his full title. "He is also Lady Farnese's betrothed."

"That is true as well," Farnese confirmed, some red lining her cheeks.

"Betrothed?" Casca looked at Farnese strangely.

"Yes. In exchange for his ship's services, my elder brother Magnifico arranged a deal, my hand in marriage."

Casca's eyes lost a bit of shine to them. "You didn't have to agree to that. I can understand the urgency, but there was no need for you to throw your future away because of-,"

"-No, it is alright," Farnese tried to assure the other woman. "We've all made sacrifices, it was just my turn to do so. Besides, it could be much worse. From what I've been able to understand, Roderick is actually quite a decent man."

Guts saw Casca look over at him as if wishing him to confirm what Farnese just said was true. He thought back to the drink Roderick had offered him and toasted to Casca's safe return. "Yeah, he's alright."

"Hmm," Casca just mulled that over, maybe waiting to see and finally be able to judge for herself.

When they at last arrived at the side of the Sea Horse, Roderick and his first mate tossed down a rope ladder for them to climb aboard. Sirius remained in the boat he had transfigured, watching as Harry made ready to climb back aboard.

"Oh, I just wanted to say, thanks, for all the trouble you went through to help us out," Harry said somewhat awkwardly to his godfather.

Sirius smiled in good faith. "Nah, don't worry about that. Sneaking in and out of the castle made me feel nostalgic. Any other time you feel like sneaking around, let me know." He gave a final salute of sorts before he magically willed his smaller boat to return to shore. And as Sirius bit farewell, Roderick was waiting to bid them welcome.

"Lovely to see you again, Farnese," Roderick lightly kissed the back of her hand.

"Er… yes, it is nice to be back again as well."

"Welcome back aboard, Chief!" Roderick gave a friendly pat on his shoulder; it was quick so he didn't mind the contact too much. "Everything go smoothly?"

"You can ask me," Casca addressed the captain. She did her best to smile pleasantly, but knowing what she did now about the agreement regarding Farnese, her voice lacked a bit of a friendly edge.

"Ah, you were successful!" Roderick gave a bow of his head. "The pleasure is all mine. Please, anything me or my crew can do to make your stay here more comfortable, do not hesitate to ask."

Casca looked down at the white hospital gown she was still wearing. "If it isn't too sudden, is there any change of clothes?"

"There's probably some," Roderick thought. "White isn't really your color, but the best I could probably offer is some men's clothing."

"No, that's… I'd be fine with that actually," Casca felt at the soft material of the gown.

Of course, she would be fine with that.

"I can take her below deck to show her where she can get changed," Farnese offered. Casca accepted, trusting Farnese and went to go see the variety offered to her.

"She seems straightforward," Roderick said to Guts. "I like it."

Guts just responded with a hum of sorts, but Roderick seemed to understand what it meant. "I'll be below deck," Guts let him know. He wasn't about to intrude on Casca and Farnese, he was just heading back to his cabin. There had been a fair bit of excitement the last couple of hours and he figured it would be better if Casca spent some time with another woman alone.

The cot creaked a bit as he sat down on it; Dragonslayer already resting against the wall next to his bed, but the added weight of him still wearing the armor did put some strain on the furniture. From the relatively thin walls of the cabin, he was able to hear some of what was going in the cabins adjacent to his own. He could faintly hear Harry's vice talking to Schierke and Isidro about that one scrap book he had been left; going through it and trying to figure out which to show Casca when she had some free time. Having only seen it briefly himself, Guts could only imagine how she would react to the moving pictures. It might be a mix of wonderment and confusion, or maybe even how she was like after she found out Harry could talk to snakes. Something along those lines he figured.

Serpico was still above deck, talking idly with Roderick about something and probably filling him in on everything that had happened back at the castle. Guts could picture the captain's smiling face at the depiction of the events. Maybe it was a bit too early to judge, but Roderick did seem much better than some of the other nobles. Only a few nobles in Midland came to mind as being genuine good people from his limited knowledge on the topic; people like the knights Laban and Owen whom he knew from reputation and from the victory ball and the timid Princess of Midland as well. If the deal really went through, at least Farnese would have a good husband. If Roderick had been like every other noble, Guts would have no trouble dealing with it, or maybe even let Casca go ahead.

There was a knock on his cabin door. "Are you in there?"

He opened it as an answer to allow her inside. Casca had traded her white gown for a red tunic and casual brown breeches and boots. Her dark hair was still long, but Farnese seemed to have helped a bit by trying most of it in a loose ponytail. She almost resembled how she had dressed so often back with the Hawks and it made Guts wonder if she had picked it out because of it or if that was really all Roderick had that fit her.

"Feel comfortable?" he asked as he closed the door after she entered.

"More comfortable than those rags. I almost forget how breeches felt."

"It suits you," Guts said truthfully.

She looked down at the clothes she wore. "I suppose. I wasn't interrupting you, was I?"

"No. There isn't anything to interrupt me from." He could tell she was leading to something. "What is it?"

"Nothing, really." She didn't sound like she believed that herself. "But I just had to ask, if nothing is happening right now, why are you still wearing that?" her eyes were on the dark, ebony armor.

"This? Just in case something does happen."

"We're not expecting to be attacked by a bunch of those students, are we?"

"… Not at the moment. Do you want me to take the armor off, that it?"

He was wearing a regular black tunic and breeches on underneath, but he felt naked as he removed the armor from his person, but he experienced a new feeling as well; a clear mind.

Guts knew that an evil presence resided in the armor; it made itself very well known when it fully activated sending him into a killing frenzy. But now that he was without it, he felt like a weight had been lifted from somewhere inside of his head that he hadn't even known was there. He was more exposed now though, able to see some of the additional scars that lined parts of his torso that he had missed with the salve Pomfrey had prescribed to him. He caught Casca staring.

"Hold on," Casca told him. "You have something for those, right?" she picked up his dropped satchel and started going through some of the additional cannon balls and powder, knives and other weapons he had stored in there as she rummaged for some elf dust Puck might have left behind. And she suddenly paused without warning.

"Casca?"

Reaching a hand in, Casca pulled out a small, green bauble with facial features scattered all over it. It was the behelit he got from Vargas, the one that stole it from the slug apostle, the one with the daughter. Puck had formed a strange attachment to it, calling it Becchi and such. But any humor was gone from Casca's face, replaced by an almost dead look in her eyes.

"How long?"

"Casca, that's-,"

"-How long have you had this?"

How long had he had that? "Some time now."

She was shaking her head, the rest of her body stiff. "Guts, this is-,"

"-It isn't mine," Guts quickly assured her. "At least, I don't think it is. I got it from a cripple who stole it off one of them. It isn't mine; and even if it was, I wouldn't use it."

Casca studied his face, looking for any hint of deception. "No, you wouldn't, would you? You're not like…" her hand tightened around the behelit like she expected it to crack like a normal egg as her hand went back up to her brand. She was moving, opening the porthole of his cabin and rearing her arm back ready to throw it out and into the lake.

"Casca!" he reached out and caught her wrist before she could let go. "Wait a minute, alright!"

"Wait? Wait for what? You know what this is, what it does. Let's get rid of it now!"

"That's not how it works," Guts told her, not letting go of her. "He lost his too, but it came back to him. That's what Flora said, it'll always find who its meant for no matter what. You toss it now; whoever it's meant for will find it. It could even belong to one of those kids from the castle." She wasn't looking at him, but directly out the porthole and at the lake.

"Not if it's at the bottom of the lake, they won't."

"There's a squid. It could find it and toss it up to shore, I don't know but someone will find it. The only reason I kept the fucking thing was to avoid that. If I have it, I know no one else does."

He could feel her wrist shaking in his grasp as she thought over the logic behind his decision. He didn't even like his choice, but he wasn't about to let another apostle be born into this world. Flora had said he was like a free ride for the behelit; it was just using him as a carriage until it found who it was meant for. He had pushed that question to the back of his mind for a long time now, but with Casca back now, Guts had to wonder, whose was it?

He felt Casca relax her wrist in his grip. He let her go, closing the porthole for extra measure. But the feeling that had been building inside her was not quelled by that alone. She still threw it, but at the wall instead, not harming the behelit, but did make a dull Thunk as it fell down onto his cot.

She looked up at him with an extremely melancholy look. "I really hope you're right about that."

A/N: Hope everyone had a good weekend. I'll try to have the next chapter out as soon as I can. Thank you for reading.


	51. Chapter 51

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

He had been watching them, watching them from the darkened shadows. Maybe that wasn't even the best way to properly describe it; more like he was a part of the shadows themselves. With his all black cloak that covered his entire body from head to foot, but still leaving room for him to move around like a serpent in the grass. The only thing that made him the least bit noticeable was his bone white mask with the design of a three-eyed beast with some small fangs poking out near the bottom.

He liked the mask, he really did. It was unique but replaceable. Fitting, but a reminder that he had limited visibility; a reminder of his past as one of the Bakiraka's best assassins, and a link to his present form as an apostle.

Such contradicting themes all linked to a single mask, but Rakshas only spared little thoughts to them on occasion, they gave him something to think about and his best source of company was himself. All of the other apostles sans perhaps Zodd, Irvine, and Rosine seemed to completely buy into everything the Hawk of Light spewed forth.

And so did he – to an extent.

It wasn't as if he personally had anything against the Hawk or what he was doing, he was a God Hand, after all, can't go and forget about that little minute detail, oh, no. This city, Falconia, it was a nicer place than any place the Bakiraka had camped out at as they looked to take jobs to further their infamy as the top assassins and one day regain the favor of the Emperor. But now Emperor Ganishka was dead, turned into a giant tree of all things.

Fitting, really. Rakshas always found him to be a bit wooden.

But really, Rakshas could not really think of anything negative about the Hawk's character. And that was why he would like to one day have his head.

A creature so pure in a world so shitty, it would perhaps be almost poetic, not that he cared about poetry either. It was just one of those things in life when you know exactly how something will feel even before you experience it. That was what he wanted in actuality; to have the head of the Hawk, if not by his own hand (although it was preferred) to see it happen in all its glory. He might even praise the name of the one to do it and sing their praises to the darkest corner of the abyss; he'd make it a tune to remember, and he hated songs in general on top of that.

It was a challenge to him, a being so divine that he could not possibly be killed by anything of this world or the next. What sane man wouldn't want to take up that challenge? Probably all, but that was beside the point. It was all about the thrill that went into it.

So when that bore named Locus came to him requesting him to fulfill an assassination, Rakshas was all for it. As delusional as he was believing that he was acting the part of a proper knight be defending the Hawk's image, Locus was providing the thrill he had been seeking. The boy who had slapped the Hawk of Light was nothing special at first glance, not to Rakshas anyways.

He had been following the boy since the day after the whole incident, getting a feel for how this boy moved, how he acted around others, his schedule, where he took up work, who he socialized with. The latter consisted of a now one-handed Daiba working at a stable, Serious Silat, his former clansman, a rather attractive lady who seemed to be an inn owner; and lastly, a young girl who called the boy "brother."

It was a bit sad that the girl was soon to become an orphan.

But hey, there were tons of orphans after the war; she was nothing special in that regard anyway. Maybe he could take her out too as an act of cruel mercy.

"Are you done spying on them yet?"

Rakshas' masked face seemed to propel from out of the shadows that filled the narrow, dark alley to give a warning glare of silence to his companion. "Don't talk so loud. Stealth is important, you should know that. Didn't you use to go around kidnapping children?"

"Who told you that?"

"You'd be surprised what one hears when in the shadows." Rakshas teased his tag-along companion by poking the ends of his cloak out of the darkness and wiggling them at the ends. "I know how close you are with Irvine, but he's always camped out in the woods, so don't go and get mad at him."

"I didn't say I would." She pouted just like a child, too. Why a lone predator like Irvine would take it upon himself to nourish this brat back to health, Rakshas would never know. And he would barely be able to understand Locus' reasoning for having this little girl apostle tag along beside him when he was perfectly capable of carrying this out himself.

The closest he could understand for Locus forcing this girl, Rosine, alone with him was to have herself prove that she was truly loyal to the Hawk of Light by carrying out this assassination. Zodd was top dog among apostles and no one told him what to do, save for the God Hand, and he would instantly deny Locus for having him carry out an unworthy death. Irvine was far too solitary to work with anyone especially since he was a long distance based fighter. That just left Rosine, the girl who had been humming to herself and acting like a child on a trip outside of her village.

Fitting since she was a child, but he would have thought her to be more… huh? What had he been expecting?

"Forget about all of that for now, just focus on our target. We'll strike tonight; he seems complacent enough to believe he just got away with striking the God Hand without consequence. Oh, he is in for such a rude awakening."

Rakshas had no idea if the Hawk knew Locus had orchestrated this, but once it was carried out, it wasn't like the Hawk would punish them. This boy was just a tie to his past life, and like the mask Rakshas wore, the boy was replaceable. Just a link to a past that was forgotten.

The image of the setting sun cast over the nearly still water of the Black Lake made for a serene picture and helped serve as a peaceful way to ease the mind after having traveled through someone else's. Farnese could admire the soft, warm orange that was painted across the water, it almost looked like flames were coming to life on the lake's surface, an impossible situation but maybe not with where there were now, just outside a school for magic and everything.

Seeing as that the water was fresh and free of any garbage or waste that would be common for a port city like Vritannis, they had been able to gather enough fresh water to fill a wooden tub located near the port quarters, the ones that were set aside for the three ladies aboard. While the Sea Horse was primarily a warship, it was also built to satisfy and accommodate for luxury. The King of Lith would not let one of his sons sail on just any ordinary ship, it would make the captain and Lith as a whole look like they were in a time of crisis. Having come from a noble family, Farnese knew all about how that would come across.

This bathroom of sorts was typically set aside for the captain alone while the rest of the crew shared a collective bathhouse located on the further end of the ship, but only consisted of a tub that wasn't as large as the one here which could easily fit three people in its waters. Farnese had wondered why that was at first before remembering that this was Roderick's personal setting and with his former position as a bachelor, Farnese could only imagine how many other girls had gotten a chance to climb in this tub. She wasn't that naïve to believe Roderick had been saving himself for marriage, but it was an odd thing to come to mind considering the three girls that occupied it now.

"How does the water feel?" Schierke asked as she poked a finger in to test the water herself.

"Not as warm as any bathhouse in a town or city, but still very accommodating," Farnese replied having already submersed herself in the tub.

"Alright, I'm coming in then." Schierke set her towel aside as she quickly swung her legs in. The small feeling of chill was evident on her face as she paused before sinking down to sit on the bench that ran the circumference of the interior. The water came well past her shoulders and got the ends of her green hair wet as she folded her legs up to get used to the full effect.

"Spring is still in season here, the lake is not as warm as it would be in summer." It was a general observation, but it reminded Farnese a bit of home back in Vritannis. The seasons of this world seemed to be almost exactly on schedule with the seasons back home. It was a small connection to link the two worlds together, but one thing Farnese noticed was different was the moon cycle.

Here, the moon was only half full as opposed to whatever it would be like back in Midland. At least there was only one moon here; having entered a different astral layer, Farnese wouldn't be surprised if there were two, maybe even three moons, but maybe that was over exaggerating a bit.

"If you're cold, couldn't you use a spell to heat the water?" it was not Farnese who asked the question, but the third occupant, Casca.

She was resting a small ways away from the two mages, actually looking to be a bit shy at having to bathe with other ladies, but making no move to leave or dismiss them. In fact, she had climbed in with little problem.

"Oh, I mean, I could, but you seem content with the way the water is and I wouldn't want to be the one to disturb that."

"If you're too cold, go ahead. I don't want you freezing because I don't mind it."

"I see, alright then." Schierke reached over the side to grab her staff. Putting the end of it down to the bottom of the tub, Schierke began to mutter what Farnese now recognized as being a heating spell. Those were the spells Farnese had been the most anxious to learn about. Fire had always fascinated her, before when she was under the Holy See employ; she had used fire as a way of cleansing those who stood against God. Now, she was the one standing against God; one of the ones standing at least.

The change in temperature was almost instantaneous. A thin layer of steam began to rise from the water and Farnese felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as well. Schierke put her staff back outside of the tub. "That feels better."

"It does." Casca had scooped up some water in her hands and used it to wet her long, dark hair.

"Do you need me to help with that?" Farnese asked seeing the other girl try to do her hair. "Before I cut mine, I had long hair."

"You would help?" it almost pained Farnese to hear Casca even ask that.

"Of course. The two of us, I was always the one to help wash your hair – er, Elaine's hair."

Casca got a look of contemplation. "Yeah. I remember that."

Scooting over to where Casca was, Farnese ran her hand through the silky, black hair, wetting all her locks. "You really do have nice hair, Casca. I'm actually a bit jealous." While Farnese's own hair was soft, it didn't feel like soft silk.

"There isn't really anything to be jealous about; I should probably cut it soon." Casca looked at the ends of her dark hair and seemed to be judging how short she was going to go with it.

"If you want, I could help you with that," Farnese offered her. "I cut my own hair before joining the travel with Guts and Harry." Farnese felt at where her blonde hair fell to almost at chin-level. "Your hair is a bit straighter than mine, but I should still be able to do it."

"You would do that?" Casca asked, seemingly a bit confused. Farnese nodded to assure her she was serious. "I… always used to cut my own hair."

"Ah. I see." Farnese couldn't help but feel a little let down by Casca's response. Before, Farnese had been her primary caretaker; it had been her unofficial role within the group and one she had just sort of fallen in line with somewhere along their travels. Now that she was back to her old self, that position was no longer needed – which was a good thing in the scheme of things, but one that Farnese missed in some way. She was still studying magic, but caretaker had been so much more straightforward.

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant!" Casca said, gaining Farnese's attention. "I just meant that I was just used to doing things on my own before. Things, like cutting hair and even bathing, were all things I did by myself when I was a mercenary. Since I was the only woman, I always bathed and cleaned up separately. Hearing you offer to help out and even being here with two other girls is… it's different; but not in a bad way."

"I think we can both relate to that," Schierke softly smiled at the older girl. "Back at the spirit-tree, I never had to really worry about others but… things do change."

Farnese could only nod at her teacher's take on it. Farnese herself had even bathed and groomed separately when she was commander of the Holy Iron Chain Knights. She really had been a blind follower to the Holy See's teachings. Had she known the true origin of the organization as Harry and Guts had to explain it, she certainly would have been less willing to serve.

"So how short were you thinking?" Farnese asked as a way to stop herself from thinking of her previous involvement with the flawed religious order.

"Probably just to my chin," Casca near instantly replied. "That's what I'm used to. I don't really like the feeling of hair touching the back of my neck that far."

"What about your bangs in front?" Farnese asked. The hair that framed the sides of Casca's face fell a bit beyond her chin. "I've always liked them. I could make them shorter and cut most of the length from the back. I can do it as soon as we get back to our cabin. You'll still be sleeping there, won't you?"

Maybe Farnese shouldn't have added that last part, but she was compelled to ask based on that one memory she had seen; the one between Casca and Guts. He was clearly very special to her and considering all Guts went through to ensure her safety, the feeling was clearly mutual. Farnese knew that the two of them weren't married, but Guts was hardly the person to be openly romantic and she was only beginning to know the real Casca.

Speaking of which, the other girl was looking at her a strange way. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"It's not too important, I guess," Farnese covered her previous question, but even Schierke was looking at her a bit funny. "We can go after we're done here."

"Sure," Casca agreed. "I trust you know what you're doing."

Trust?

A woman Farnese was just coming to know was already using the word trust. She knew it must have had to do with who she had been as Elaine, but to actually hear her say the word out loud was a bit surprising.

"Oh!" Schierke exclaimed. "I didn't want to forget, but…" Farnese and Casca watched as the shortest among them pulled a few strands of green hair from her head. "Here." She presented them to Casca.

"Your hairs?" Casca looked at the short strand of green hairs.

"Tie them around your finger," Schierke clarified. "By doing so, you'd be able to use thought transference like the rest of us."

"Thought transference?" Casca just seemed more confused.

"It is a way of staying in contact with one another through thought. I gave some of my hairs to everyone in our group in case we ever got separated or when making plans when in a fight. But it'll only open if you choose so another person with the connection won't be able to read you if you don't want them to." That last bit seemed added on to Farnese. If she had to guess, it was probably because they had already entered Casca's mind once and did so without consent.

"You'd be able to hear what I was thinking?" Casca repeated more for herself than summarizing what had been explained.

"Only what you want us to hear," Schierke reassured her.

Casca tied the hairs around her pinky finger. "What now?"

'Can you hear me?' the mental voice of Schierke resonated with Farnese and Casca too as she looked to see that the green-haired girl's mouth was not moving in the slightest.

'You just… think what it is you want to say, it's that easy?' Casca's mental voice sounded as well.

'Not all magic is easy,' Schierke explained. 'For something like this, no. Magic, no matter what kind, is all based on understanding and intent. As long as you are willing to accept that there is a world larger than yourself, this connection is open to you.'

Farnese smiled at her teacher's explanation. She had said that to Farnese on occasion when they were studying some magic techniques and it was nice to know that it wasn't just directed at her this time for learning benefit. It showed that Casca was willing to trust them with this and not as caretakers, rather, as equals.

The Ideal World; that was what Flora had called it. He remembered every conversation he had with the witch, probably because she had done all she could to make sure every lesson had relevance. Her advice and wisdom had been of use since his previous existence as the Great Uniter of the continent and reign as Supreme Emperor. Those titles were always a bore; a king was just a king.

There had been an extent to what he understood then to what he knew for a fact now.

In terms of astral layers, there were three major ones. The first resided in the middle of sorts and was where the countries that emerged after the fall of his empire resided; countries like Chuder and Midland. Then there was the deeper layer, the Abyss. The dark and twisted realm of the God Hand, but even that was not without layers. Like an onion, the deeper one went the fouler it would become. The valley of faces where sacrifices were made was just the top layer of the Abyss. Flora had done her best to explain that with the use of an astral/luminous body, it was possible to indirectly traverse the layers, but the deeper one goes into the abyss, the harder it is to return. And no one who dared venture into the heart of the Abyss ever returned.

But then there was this layer; the layer he had been exploring since the great schism of energy that ended the Kushan War. This was the highest of the three major layers, and from what he had gathered by observing the people here, clearly the most advanced. But causality would do that; prevent the people of the middle from barely advancing since his once reign as king. There were many people here too, far that exceeded the number of humans that now survived in the middle. And that wasn't all, magic held more of a presence here than the middle even before the First Eclipse and the fallout that resulted from it.

It wasn't visible, but it was almost palpable in the air, he had even come across a few magical creatures in the woods of one of this worlds continents; creatures that had once resided in his own layer of origin. Indeed, this was the world the witch had once told him about, a layer that was a perfect mixture of mundane and magical. The Ideal World.

But having known about causality far as long as he did, it was inevitable any semblance of peace this world knew would not last. It was like a volcano, pressure starts from below and works its way to the top. The middle was already experiencing its share of change and it was only so long until this uppermost layer felt the effects of the fallout. Be it a year, ten years, twenty, but it would happen, time was of little concern to beings that are immortal.

But he wasn't the only one to be here, he felt them some ways off, the behelit the Struggler carried was easy to identify, the collection of trinkets that were forged in the depths of his armor could almost feel a kindred pull toward it. He had a feeling the only way he would be able to reach them there would be through his Sword of Actuation. He would have to inform them of the happenings of what was transpiring in the middle layer at some point. He hadn't yet returned to the middle since having that conversation with the "Immortal One."

He had tried to warn the human version of the Immortal One of the dangers of the behelit he found and how that if he truly sought the thrill of battle, he would only gain boredom as an apostle. His advice had clearly not worked. The Immortal One was keen on seeking out the strongest opponent, an obsession that had perhaps been born when he had easily bested him in their first initial fight. Hundreds of years of experience had easily led to his victory over the still human tribal chief. Even with the lingering animosity, he could rely on the Immortal One to stick to what they had discussed even if he would not betray the God Hand by doing so.

It all tied back to the flow of causality and the Divine Right of Kings; that much he had figured out without any assistance from the witch.

"The Divine Right of Kings." His mount neighed from under him. It had been tied to the past Gaiseric and Gunderic both and was now almost in the God Hand's clutch. But there could still be a way to ensure an alternative. "Those who struggle…"

With Flora gone, he and Void were all that remained of that past, one that was better left forgotten. But they would have to know at some point. The Struggler and his companions, they were proof that causality was not supreme. Through struggle and hardship, they had managed to break from their pre-planned course. Observing this world and the people from a distance, he was able to gain an understanding of what was yet to come. If they so chose it, they might be able to save the life of more than one innocent.

Sleep certainly felt different now. It had since Harry had drawn that rune over the Brand of Sacrifice, an action that effectively prevented any spirits of the damned from stalking him at night. That went a long way, but going to sleep without the Berserker Armor on, Guts experienced something yet again. There was a surprising lack of dreams.

Before he had been on high edge waiting for that next fight to pop up at a moment's notice, but upon Casca's wish, he had shed the armor for the time being. The feeling of the presence of the Beast of Darkness had faded for the moment and allowing him to actually feel a true feeling of rest that he had been lacking for so long now.

And it didn't last; not that he ever expected it to in the first place.

It was the sound of a rather quick-paced knocking on his cabin door that had Guts swinging his legs from the cot and over to the door. He was almost expecting it to be Casca, she had come to visit him earlier when she had discovered the behelit that he still kept. He hadn't seen her since she Farnese and Schierke had taken the time to groom themselves up. as he opened the door, he found not Casca, but rather one of the other female occupants on the ship.

"Farnese?" he asked seeing her looking a bit panicked but still fully clothed in her nightgown with no sign of a fight or anything written on her face. "What is it?"

"Guts! Good, could you… come with me a moment? Schierke said we might need you."

"Need me for what? What's going on?" maybe he picked a bad time to take off his armor.

"It's Casca, she… it's nothing too serious!" Farnese quickly added seeing the look on his face as soon as she mentioned Casca's name. "She just… woke up is all. We had all fallen asleep, but Casca seems to have woken up or maybe she never fell asleep but she seems to have been at it for some time."

"Been at what?" they were already heading out of his cabin and down the hall to where the three ladies were staying.

"Keeping herself awake," Farnese seemed to think that was the simplest answer as she opened the door to her own shared cabin.

All three beds were empty, Schierke was seated at a desk as she worked by candlelight to mix some herbs and other greens together in a bowl; Ivalera resting on top of her head, yawning at having her sleep interrupted. Casca was on the floor, but not curled up or asleep. Every second or two, she would rise, using her arms to push her body back up as she exercised.

Guts could tell that she had been at this for some time now, her arms were shaking and straining looking like they were about to give out at any moment. He could vaguely hear her panted breaths escape from her over the sound of Schierke mixing the ingredients in her bowl. From the way her sleepwear was clinging to her body, she had clearly broken a sweat… or several. With her newest haircut, courtesy of Farnese, Guts could partly see her brow set in deep concentration, and her eyes were fixated on the wood floor, unblinking. Her hair was much shorter now, reaching just past her chin and much had been taken off from the back to the point where it just reached the nape of her neck. She seemed to have settled for a mix between her long hair and the one from before that Guts recognized. Maybe she was testing out how long hair felt, maybe it had grown on her from her time spent as Elaine.

"Casca?" he asked not sounding nervous, just more confused than anything.

She paused once her arms were bent at the elbow at a ninety-degree angle, turning her head to look up at him. A bead of sweat rolled from her forehead and down the side of her face. "What is it?" her voice sounded dry.

"What is this?" Guts asked, walking over and crouching down beside her. "What are you doing?"

"Just exercising," Casca informed, pushing herself back up again.

"I can see that. For how long?" she was clearly exhausting herself.

"I wasn't really keeping track," Casca admitted, bending her arms and pushing back up again.

"You couldn't save this 'til morning?" Guts inquired. "Isidro would have agreed to do this alongside you."

"And he still can. There'll be plenty of time after sunrise, I just didn't want to wait." Her arms were shaking heavily, ready to almost give out. "I noticed when the three of us took a bath, but I don't have the muscle I used to. My arms were so… ordinary. If I start working on that now-,"

"-You'll exhaust yourself," Guts finished for her despite knowing that was not what she was going to say next. "C'mon, you should get some sleep already."

"He's right," Schierke looked over from the desk. "From the look of it, you've been doing this since Farnese and I went to sleep. You're going to overwork yourself. Here-," Schierke presented the bowl of ground herbs and leaves to Casca. "This should help you go to sleep. Mistress Flora made it for me on occasion when I was younger and had nightmares. It's probably not as potent as it could be since I worked with limited resources, but it should work as well as anything Madam Pomfrey could give you."

"That's… kind of you, Schierke, but… I don't want to go asleep. I've been asleep long enough as it is. Everything Elaine saw… that was like a dream to me. If I go and close my eyes now… who would I wake up as?"

"You'd wake up as you," Guts responded. "And you'd be grumpy as hell you didn't get any sleep." He vaguely recalled the night Harry had wandered into their camp and Casca was stuck watching over him for the night. She hadn't been able to get much sleep that night either due to his raiders jesting and drinking all night long.

Maybe she was thinking of the same instance as well as she temporarily paused in her late-night exercise. Guts tried his hardest to try and figure out what exactly was going through her mind right now, a different approach than what had been required with Elaine who had rather simple desires.

"I never used to get any sleep after getting the brand. Puck can tell you just how on edge I was because of it." And it was true. He had always been on edge due to knowing the battlefield for all his life, but the brand had been different; every night was just a struggle to stay alive and if he encountered an apostle during the day that was just another bout of energy wasted. Going on only a few hours of sleep was hell and certainly not something he wanted Casca going through.

"I'd be prepared to stay awake as well," Farnese offered to Casca. "If sleep troubles you, I'll stay awake beside you."

"…You don't have to do that, Farnese," Casca had paused in her routine.

"Are you going to keep this up if she does?" Guts asked but he had a feeling of the answer she would give. As restless as Casca was now, she was never one to let other people suffer because of her shortcomings. She could change her clothes and her hair, but she wasn't going to change that part of herself.

"..." Casca was silent, pondering over what she was going to do. With what strength she had remaining in her arms, Casca pushed up one last time before settling to sit on the floor. "Schierke, I'll take what you have."

The young witch presented Casca with the bowl and the three of them watched as her eyelids began to grow heavy; her concentrated brow relaxed until she looked at peace. Guts caught her before her body could hit the floor. Carefully, he picked her up and placed her down on the cot that had been assigned to her.

"Hey, Schierke?" Guts looked down at the green-haired witch.

"Hm, yes, what is it?"

What you just brewed up, do you have more ingredients for it?" Guts simply asked.

"I have a short supply of them, yes. Why?"

"Just asking," Guts said as he pulled the sheet over the now sleeping Casca. "You'll probably need to make some more in the future."

When morning came, Harry noticed a very visible change about Casca – and it wasn't related to her hair at all. She looked exhausted; her eyelids were heavy and there were dark circles under her eyes as well. Schierke had told him that she had concocted a sleeping substitute for Casca whom they had discovered training her body back up.

He saw it in the way she was walking too, her legs were bent a bit at the knee and her overall movements were all sluggish and bogged down. Schierke hadn't said how long Casca had been at that, but from the look of it, she never went to sleep to begin with.

Casca, not wanting to be slowed down powered through her fatigue to come visit him at his cabin. "Do you have a minute?" Casca asked trying her best to smile, but her energy seemed only a fraction of what it should have been.

"I have a few. What is it?" Any time spent catching up with Casca was time well spent.

"I seem to remember you saying that you wanted to tell me everything from when I was gone. You wouldn't mind catching me all up to speed, would you?"

"Right now?" Harry asked, not sure if Casca meant everything at this exact moment given how tired she looked. "It's a long story, you know?"

"I can keep myself awake, don't worry."

That's not something to be proud since you like you're about to pass out. She seems to be rushing this. Harry idly thought to himself.

'I heard that you know.' The sound of Casca's voice in his head took him by complete surprise.

"You have the-,"

Casca held up her hand to show the few green strands of hair tied around her finger. "Yeah, Schierke gave them to me yesterday so don't try and think of any snarky remarks and expect to get away with it."

"Duly noted," Harry said, silently reminding himself to watch what he thinks. "So… you really want to know about everything right now?"

"Well… maybe not everything," Casca admitted. "How about everything that led to us being here at this castle."

Harry nodded at the shortened material he could cover with Casca to help fill her in. "There's still a lot we don't know ourselves about this place so we're all in the same boat when it comes to that."

"Were you trying to make a joke just now?" she referred to his word choice of being in the same boat.

"If I was, I would have tried harder than that, but really we got here after arriving in Vritannis."

"The port city and a stronghold of the Holy See," Casca recalled the information by herself.

"Yeah… the Holy See…" Harry recalled the truth they had discovered about that.

Casca picked up that there was more on that subject. "You seem to have something against the Holy See. Is it because of what they do to people suspected of being witches?"

"That's part of the reason," Harry admitted recalling the time Farnese had been in their employ and the lashes she had given him across his torso. "I don't know if she told you or not, but Farnese used to be part of the Holy Iron Chain Knights."

Casca was unblinking for a moment making Harry wonder if she had fallen asleep. She responded, "Elaine probably saw her in her armor very early on, but she hasn't mentioned that herself."

Harry nodded. Maybe it was best if he saved that bit of information about Void until he mentioned the Skull Knight, he didn't know what mentioning one of the God Hand would make Casca react. While Griffith was the one to forfeit their lives, it was Void who had administered the brand.

"Yeah, Farnese has left that part of her behind so she could become a witch. Schierke and I offered to teach her some of what we know. Anyway, while we were in Vritannis…" he spent the next half an hour filling her in on the events that had transpired. Casca seemed interested in Farnese's engagement and the fact that it was her brother who had set the whole thing up to begin with. Harry had to agree with what Guts had said previously about Roderick being an alright guy; really, he seemed more an adventurer than a noble.

"What about her brother, Magnifico?" Casca asked.

"I haven't really seen that much of him," Harry honestly said. "He's friends with Roderick, but he seems more concerned with his own status than anything. He usually keeps to his own cabin and only speaks to Farnese and Roderick."

"That doesn't surprise me too much, I guess," Casca said. "I only know a little about the Vandimion family, but I only thought Lord Vandimion had two sons. He seems politically driven like most nobles."

"Definitely, but, I did meet one noble at that banquet Farnese's father held. Do you remember Sir Owen?"

"The one Midland knight? Yeah… we saw him a few times with the war against Chuder. He was there?"

"Yeah, he actually recognized me, and you and Guts too."

"What did he want?" Casca asked.

"He was just hoping to talk to Guts after the banquet ended. It didn't exactly go that way though. He said that there were reports from all over the country of a Black Swordsman roaming and killing monsters and he seemed to recognize Guts as fitting that description. He probably wanted to get to the bottom of what was going on, maybe even get Guts to fight against the Kushan."

"That would make sense from what I know about him. He's probably one of the few nobles who actually does care about the people of the country." Harry thought he could see the gears in her head moving. "Then the Emperor showed up, didn't he. And…Guts rode on Zodd to take him down."

"It was the only way for him to reach the face," Harry recalled Dragonslayer cutting through the mist like it was butter.

Casca let out a small sigh making Harry wonder if she was disappointed or terribly concerned for Guts' actions. "He really is a damn fool." That could be taken either way.

"I'm sure he knows that," Harry partially agreed, not wanting to get Casca worked up. "But three days out to sea and we wound up here and… you know the rest."

"We're in a world where magic is normal for some people, you're apparently famous and there's a wizard out to get you."

"Just about," Harry confirmed. "But… I do have this." Harry presented her with the book Sirius had given to him for him to keep.

Casca flipped open the book and was a bit startled to see the moving picture that seemed to be on a loop. "Do they… also, talk?"

"No. But some paintings in the castle seemed to be able to talk."

"Right…" she skimmed a few more pages. "That Sirius guy gave this to you." She looked over one picture in particular. "Huh. You really do look like your parents. Your eyes are just like your mothers. It's nice." She flipped through a few more pages, stopping at one with his parents and an infant version of himself. In it, he seemed to ride a broom that hovered a foot off of the ground. From the look on his face back then, he seemed to really enjoy it.

"Oh, that must have been taken on my first birthday," Harry examined the picture from his spot, checking the date written below it. "July thirty-first, nineteen-eighty-one. Yeah, that's my birthday." He had never celebrated his birthday back in Midland since the months had different names, but the seasons were close enough there and in this world to line up so he just marked his age a month after summer had officially started in Midland. "I'll be turning fifteen this summer, too. It's a bit hard to believe I've been with you guys for close to five years then."

"Do you miss them?" Casca asked all of a sudden, still studying the picture.

"My parents? Well, yeah, of course, I miss them." He had never really talked about them much before because he had no clue whatsoever about what kind of people they had been. According to the Dursley's, they had been nothing but no good drunks who died in a car crash. But like most of what the Dursley's believed, that was a complete lie. After Schierke and Flora told him that his parents were most likely magical, it had opened up a new way for him to view them. And now, knowing the truth as he did, Harry could say he did wish that he could have met them now.

"And… if you could… you would want to see them again, right? Even if you don't remember them that well?"

Where was she going with this?

"Yeah, of course. Casca, are you-?" he saw that the ends of her fingers were close to her heart. The bottoms of her eyes looked wet. "Casca…?" Harry had been trying to watch what he said, careful to avoid something like this, but he was evidently unsuccessful.

"I'm sure they would like to see you, too," Casca blinked her eyes to stop any tears from escaping. "They should be proud. Your mom looks so happy here."

And then it hit Harry; she was thinking of the child she and Guts "had." Where Harry lacked his parents, Casca and Guts were left without their child.

"With parents who're as happy as that, what child wouldn't want to be with them?" Casca tried to force a smile, but it wasn't about to work. "They both look like they want you, too."

"I know what you're talking about, Casca," Harry said truthfully. "I'm not going to judge you for it."

She looked him in the eye. "I know you wouldn't."

"You can be upset about it. Any parent would be."

"He's out there," Casca suddenly said. "I know he is."

Harry recalled the fetus-like life form that she had birthed shortly after the Eclipse. "Casca, you know that-,"

"-You've met him," Casca cut him off. "Back at that seaside cabin, that was him. Out of everything that Elaine saw, he was the one to stand out the most."

She seemed entirely convinced of that and no amount of arguing was going to convince her otherwise. He tried to think of how that was possible. The fetus-like being was last seen at the Tower of Conviction shortly before Neo-Griffith appeared. Could he have something to do with it? He had to. Even with all Harry knew about magic, Neo-Griffith's presence seemed the only route that made sense.

"Do you think that if he came back, that if he found us again somehow, do you think Guts would want him-?"

"Yes," Harry told her. "Casca, he may not say everything he's thinking, he just does it. And anyone one of us will tell you that he'll do whatever to make you happy."

He was a bit happy to hear her give a slight chuckle. "He would be foolish enough to put himself in danger."

"But yeah, I think he really just wants what you want. If you want to figure a way back to Midland to go try and find Rickert and that boy, he'd get Sirius and Lupin to try and reverse what they did to get us here in the first place. That or try and contact Skull Knight."

The unfamiliar name proved a nice change of topic from the saddened state Casca had been in. "Skull Knight?" she repeated.

How to explain that to her now?

"He was the last user of the Berserker Armor," Harry began. "He's helped us out of a lot of tough spots." Maybe the next time they saw him, they could give him the behelit to deal with, have him add it to his sword. "He might have a way to get back."

"His name isn't actually Skull Knight, is it?" Casca asked.

"Well, it's what Guts calls him. That's really just because his helm is designed like a skull."

"You mean like King Gaiseric used to wear in battle?" Casca asked. To that, Harry fixed her with a look. "No."

"Flora basically said as much."

"You met King Gaiseric?"

"Well, more of his spirit or shadow," Harry tried to clarify. Whatever Skull Knight was, he wasn't human, not anymore. "When you get to meet him, you'll see for yourself." He was a bit glad that this topic had shifted Casca's mood, and she was probably glad for it as well, she wouldn't want anyone to see her distraught over her and Guts' child.

"And how would a king who's been dead for over a thousand years be able to get us back?"

"He's the whole reason I was able to be in Midland in the first place."

"You… you're being completely serious?"

"I am, yeah."

Casca just sort of sat there in a state of stunned silence. "…King Gaiseric…"

"And he's probably our best chance of getting back to Midland again, if he feels like getting us back, at least." It was always a bit hard to tell with Skull Knight. "But if he does help us out, Guts will be right there with you trying to find that boy. He wants what you want."

"…What I want." She was thinking of something, but Harry didn't know what and he wasn't about to use thought transference to find out. "I'll talk to him later tonight then."

Harry nodded. "If that's what you want. Just…" he paused.

"What is it?" Casca asked.

"Just… don't push yourself," Harry advised. She was trying to act like the old Casca and the cracks in her personality were clearly visible. She had been back for only two days now but that wasn't nearly enough time for her to sort through all the emotions she must be dealing with. It was evident when she had been on the subject of her child and filled with remorse only to then be filled with curiosity at Skull Knight. Even if Casca knew what she wanted, she was trying to rush it, not wanting to take into consideration that she should take time to rest.

And that worried Harry.

The rest of the day passed in relative peace. The sun was just beginning to set and Harry, Schierke, and Isidro were up on deck talking amongst themselves. Serpico had been assisting the crew of the Sea Horse with a few tasks and Farnese was reading over a text Schierke had lent her. Guts was back in his cabin already, wanting to turn in a bit early. The Berserker Armor was stacked neatly at the foot of his cot and his prosthetic arm was resting on the nightstand within his reach should he need to suddenly reattach it.

He hadn't spoken to Casca since last night when she had discovered the behelit he carried and he honestly couldn't blame her for that. If he had come across someone with a behelit he would have killed them on the spot. But this wasn't the first time Casca had ignored him because she was angry, it was actually classic Casca behavior. If he did something she didn't like back with the Hawks, she would bitch his ear off and then storm off in anger.

She had yelled less this time, but the temperament was still there. If she wanted to keep some space, for now, he would understand. Of course, he wanted to spend time with her, but if Casca needed to come to terms with everyone else first. So be it. But for now, all Guts could do was to give her the space she needed and let her come to her own conclusion.

He lay back on his cot and closed his eye, ready to fall asleep and call it a day.

…

…

…

Knock-knock.

Guts blinked his eye open at the sound of the noise. Just from looking out the porthole, he could tell a few hours had passed since he had closed his eyes. Strapping his prosthetic arm back in place and hearing the metal fingers creak and grind as he flexed them around. Opening the door, Guts was met with the one person he was sure wouldn't want to see him so soon.

"Casca?"

"Yeah. Can I come in?"

Guts stepped aside, letting her in. "Do Farnese and Schierke know you're here?"

"They're both asleep," Casca answered, closing the door behind her.

"And so should you. If you're up again-,"

"-I took a nap earlier today after I talked with Harry," Casca informed him by cutting him off as she usually did. "And I actually am tired tonight."

"All the more reason for you to get some sleep," Guts crossed his arms. "You're not going to make me drag you back to your cabin, are you?"

"I'll be able to go to sleep, don't worry." That was strange considering Casca often used to tell him he was too reckless. "I just wanted to talk to you is all, something Harry said today got me thinking."

"Yeah? About what?"

"You remember me saying that that boy we came across was actually ours?" Casca tentatively asked.

"…Yeah." How had that subject come up between the two of them?

"If we get the chance to get back to Midland, would you… would you want to try and find him?"

Of course, she would ask him that. "… If that's what you want to do," was all Guts could think of. "Rickert's probably out there too, maybe back at Godo's mine; we could pick him up along the way."

Casca was staring at him with a serious expression. "So, you would want to try and find him?"

"Isn't that what I just said?" Guts asked. "If you want to find him, so be it." He hadn't paid much thought to what he would actually do if ever encountered the boy again in the future. He had said some pretty nasty things whenever the fetus form of the child had shown up to him on his private journey. But if it had somehow evolved into an actual human…

"You want what I want…" she gained a contemplative expression that Guts was unfamiliar with. He had seen her pondering things before, but this time… she seemed to be having some sort of internal struggle with herself over something.

"Hey, Casca!" Guts snapped his fingers to get her attention. "Look, if there's something wrong-,"

"-Come here for a minute," Casca said to him.

"I'm right here."

"Lean down a little then," Casca specified. "I want to see something."

Not really knowing what to expect from Casca, Guts leaned down a little so they were almost at eye-level. Casca held his face with her hands, her thumbs running over some of the faded scars on his cheeks and jawline. She was studying his face too, almost to make sure that it was the same face as the one she was used to. He didn't mind her touch, but it seemed so… un-Casca like in a way.

"Casca, what are you-?" Guts was completely surprised when he felt Casca press her lips to the side of his mouth. He almost jerked his face free of her grasp, but he could tell Casca felt just as weird about it as he did. "What was-?"

"-You want what I want, right?" she was looking him in the eye now and he could see how embarrassed she looked at the moment. Out of all the things Guts could think of for why Casca would be here, this would be on the absolute bottom of his mental list. "You do want this… don't you?" she sounded so unsure of herself.

To be honest, Guts did want this. He had been longing for something like this for a long time now and Casca was the only woman he would ever want to do this with. But it was strange for it to actually be happening now of all times. She obviously still had feelings for him and he was grateful for that. But there was that part of him telling him that this was all wrong, telling him that it was much too soon and horribly rushed.

That side of him was probably right, too. But seeing the way Casca was looking at him, she wanted him to be there for her. If she was ready, he wouldn't deny her.

With his real hand, Guts brought it up to Casca's face, pulling her closer until their foreheads were touching. He felt how soft and silky her hair was between his fingers as Casca leaned closer to kiss his jaw. Moving some of her hair out of the way, Guts kissed her forehead. They both paused for a minute before Casca tilted her head up to bring her lips to his.

This feeling… it was one he had been missing for so long now; he had almost forgotten what it felt like. He, of course, thought back to that time they had shared by that waterfall. Guts just let his mind go blank, focusing on nothing but Casca for the time being.

He vaguely felt the back of his legs come into contact with the cot and Guts was forced to sit down on it. Casca following suit, straddling his lap as her hands ran through his black hair. He could feel her breath on his face as Casca slowly presented another series of kisses to his skin. Her hands pressed against his exposed torso, across the horizontal scar Slan had given him, but he wasn't about to acknowledge the female God Hand now.

Guts moved his hand from her face to her back, pulling her closer on his lap and closing the short distance that was between them. Casca put her forehead to his once more, her breathing seemed much heavier now than it did before.

"Casca, are you-,"

"-I'm fine," she seemed too quick to respond. "I'm fine." She craned her head down to kiss him again, her hands still feeling his torso. Guts could feel her lips move against his and the tips of her nails poked at his flesh.

He moved his hand from the small of her back up to her neck, feeling the shortened black hair. "Nnn." He heard Casca softly moan. Her body started to stiffen. "Nnnng." Her nails felt sharp. "Nnnnngghhh!"

"Gh!" Guts slightly winced as Casca's nails scratched across his chest as she suddenly flew herself off of him now standing at the opposite end of the room, her eyes were wide and filled with terror like a doe staring at a wolf. He could feel a thin trail of blood running down his chest from where she had scratched him. Evidently, she saw it too.

"Guts…" she said as she spotted the blood. "I… I…" she didn't get to finish her sentence as all the pent up emotions she had been doing her hardest to keep contained finally let loose from her eyes. "Damnit!" she yelled through the sobs.

Guts was over by her side in a second; grabbing his discarded black cloak, he draped it around her shoulders. Her fingers clung to the tattered fabric like a lifeline. "They're just a few cuts, don't worry about it." His voice sounded much too flat than he would have preferred. "They'll heal."

Casca shook her head, the tears still leaking out. "You didn't deserve that. I thought that… I know that I..."

"Don't worry about it," Guts tried to reassure her. "You're fine." But he knew that wasn't completely true. She was rushing this, rushing everything. After being Elaine for so long, she was trying to be Casca right away, desperate to prove to him and to herself that she was actually better. The staying awake to exercise, to talking to Harry about their child, to trying to rush intimacy with him; it all had to do with trying to reform her identity, to move away from Elaine to the person she remembered being. And above all else, she was afraid if she didn't try to act like her old self, Elaine would come back out again.

And the result of her hurried behavior was on full display, much to her embarrassment and his concern.

"I do want to be with you… I do." Casca clung tighter to the cloak. "I want you… and I want to see our child again, too. That's all… and I thought…" she paused to try and compose herself. Guts reached an arm out to wrap around her to see if she would retreat or not. She stiffened but kept firm. Guts would take her back to Farnese and Schierke's cabin soon enough but he knew she wouldn't want the other girls to see her like this.

"… I hate him," Casca finally said. "I hate him…"

"So, you're actually leaving?"

Luca watched as Rickert began packing up his belongings into his travel sack. He didn't exactly have much to begin with, most of his stuff was blueprints for future designs and already completed projects like that barrel and hose that sprayed out water when someone pumped it.

"It's probably for the best," Rickert answered as he packed away a few more things. "After my meeting with Griffith, it's best that I not stay for too much longer."

From outside the room in the hall, Luca heard Silat snicker. The Kushan seemed to be in full agreement with Rickert's decision, believing that the insult dealt to Griffith would come back to bite him sooner or later. The only reason Luca knew of that incident was because Silat had told her about it. She was skeptical of the man who seemed to run this city that rose from what used to be Windham, so she had Silat discreetly tail Rickert into Falconia's palace. He had almost been caught, as the local guards believed him to be a thief, but his skills working as an assassin had paid off.

"And is Erica all packed as well?" Luca asked.

"She… was a bit hesitant about leaving, but she came through. Erica actually seems to have taken a bit of a liking to you, Miss. Luca."

"Heh, I'm sure of it." Erica was a sweet girl to all, and a part of Luca would be sad to see the girl leave even if it was for her own safety. "When are you planning on leaving?"

"If you are wise, let it be during the night," Silat silently crept into the room. "It will make it harder to spot if we are being followed."

"'We?'" Rickert parroted.

"Something you want to share, Silat?" Luca already knew; he had told her about it yesterday.

"My two guards and I will accompany you and the girl, this city is rotten. We've consolidated with Daiba, the stable hand, he was once an advisor to Emperor Ganishka, he's promised a secure means of escape out of here."

"Daiba? That old man who Erica brings food to?" Rickert recalled the face of the man.

"Yes," Silat confirmed. "Once the sun sets, we make our move, just be ready by then." He tried to hide it, but Luca could hear the anxiety in his voice. He was convinced that an attack was likely.

"Oh! Before you leave, Rickert, could you show me that one contraption that you made?" Luca asked. "You know, the one with the hose that shoots out water?"

"Yeah, of course," Rickert agreed, digging through his belongings for the invention. "What do you need it for, Miss. Luca?"

"Just something that Silat though might come in handy if you find yourself in a pinch." She had to hand it to Silat for thinking of it. It seemed something the Black Swordsman would have thought of.

"Are you ready, Erica?" Rickert asked as he watched the sun make its last appearance for the day.

"Yeah, I guess." He could easily hear the disappointment in Erica's young voice. "Do you think we'll ever see Miss. Luca again?"

"If we ever come back to the city, of course." Rickert didn't want to tell her that they would probably never get to return to Falconia, but by doing so he would have to explain why, and he would rather not spend any time regarding Griffith.

Silat was waiting for the two of them outside, his cowl drawn to hide his face as he crept around from the side of the inn. His two escorts, however, were nowhere to be seen. Rickert suspected they might already be waiting with Daiba at the stables as Luca more than once confused the two Kushan men as being ogres.

"You are all set." Silat didn't say that as being a question. He was clearly eager to leave now even if they had forgotten something behind in their room.

"Yes, we're ready to go." Rickert felt Erica slide her tiny hand into his bigger one, smiling up at him.

"Then let us be off."

The walk wasn't a long one, Rickert had made it once when he had been asking around where Erica had gone to, but for some reason, it felt much longer. The darkness and shadows from the surrounding buildings and alleys all seemed to blend together, making one giant pool of darkness around them.

Rickert told himself that he was just imagining that. He hadn't really been out at night too much and things always looked different when in the light. But even so, he could make out the square shape of the stables ahead and the shack that was next to them. After this, they could leave Falconia behind them.

A chill ran down Rickert's spine. That feeling of someone walking on your grave… he felt it right now.

Turning his head, he saw a white orb part through the darkness. It was bone white with three eyes and some pointed teeth at the bottom. A mask; and a creepy one at that. Posed to the side of it were two, short pointed objects. He couldn't see behind the mask, but he could almost picture the being smiling in sadistic glee.

"Brother, what's… eek!"

"Za Kuump!" came the cry of Silat's two escorts as they cast aside their dark cloaks and leapt down from the rooftop they had been following from. One went to deliver a crushing dropkick with his heel and the other followed with a devastating downward punch.

But like a serpent made of shadow, the masked being slithered under their legs and around their arms, coming out the other side completely unscathed.

"My, you boys have gotten so big, but so sloppy. Have you even felt the cuts I just made to you?"

It was almost instantaneous. The two escorts muttered a cry of pain as blood leaked from their leg and arm.

"Oh, don't go crying; you'll live from that. But…" the being fixed Rickert in its sights. "But he won't."

Like an arrow, the masked fiend darted straight toward Rickert, his two knives that poked out of his black cloak were aimed directly at Rickert now. He could feel his heart beating a mile a minute trying desperately to figure a way out of this. He wasn't Guts, he couldn't fight this thing head on. He felt Erica tense up next to him. Rickert had to be out of his mind, but he pulled out his dagger, if not for himself than for Erica's sake.

And he never got to use it.

Silat had jumped in front of him, his whip-like blades seemed to shine like silver in the moonlight. With a sound like the crack of thunder, the bendable blades shot out, skimming the hem of the assassin's cloak.

Pulling back from the attack, the masked figure seemed to cling to the wall of a nearby building like a true shadow of the night. "My, Silat, you've really gotten better with those."

"And you're still a slippery snake, Rakshas," Silat glowered from behind his cowl. "I figured you would be the one to come."

"Drat! Have I become that predictable?" Rakshas cloak spread out to cover more space on the wall he was poised. "Thank you. I'll be sure to refine that."

Rakshas launched himself off the wall, his daggers aimed at Silat who stood in front of Rickert. With a swish of his arms, Silat moved his whip-like blades up and then brought them crashing down, the metal moving like a wave on the ocean.

Miraculously, Rakshas was able to dodge that incoming attack, his black cloak somehow managing to cover his body entirely as he had to jump to avoid being shredded to ribbons. But Silat had expected Rakshas to do just that. He let go of his one whip to instead pull out his three-pointed blade and stepped close to the incoming Rakshas.

Seeing an opening, Rakshas went to drive his dagger into Silat's side, but in a last-ditch move, Silat dove under the strike, rolling to safety. Rakshas turned around suddenly, realizing he had been played but before he could aim to strike again, Silat jumped to his feet, his own blade moving up stab right in the center of the third eye of the mask.

Cracks started spreading from where Silat had planted his blade and Rakshas' cloaked body seemed to fall into a fit of convulsions. Pulling his blade free, Silat hurried over to his two escorts, helping them to stand again.

"Thank you… Young Master," they muttered to Silat.

"You may thank me on working on your attacks," Silat chided them. "Now let us be off."

"Leaving so soon?"

Silat stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Rakshas pick up the two broken halves of his mask and try to put them back together again. Rickert couldn't believe it either, he had seen Silat stab him straight through the head. The only one who found the situation to be funny was Rakshas.

"What? You didn't think that just because my mask was there that was where my head is, did you?"

With that, Rakshas' cloaked body seemed to almost grow taller; the darkness seemed to feed him. The now identifiable head looked down at Silat, slithering over to him like a giant serpent. Rakshas drove his two daggers forward only being stopped by the prongs of Silat's blades.

"Your hands seem occupied, Silat."

Like a twisted, black tornado, Rakshas spun his body around like a cyclone, disarming Silat and knocking his two escorts to the side once again. He continued to spin, trying to catch Silat off guard. When Rakshas' daggers came spinning around with the rest of his body, Silat had to react fast to bring his arms up to cover his face and throat.

Blood splattered on the stone road and the daggers cut their length along Silat's arms. "Nngh!" Silat winced at the pain of being cut. He made a move to back away and pick up his fallen weapons, but Rakshas slid his cloak under his foot and yanked Silat to the ground.

"Now, be good and stay there, I have some matters to attend to with the boy over there."

"Brother!" Erica cried in fear as Rakshas closed the distance toward them.

Silat propped himself up on his elbow, shouting over to Rickert, "Douse him!"

With little options left, Rickert picked out the hose and barrel device he had crafted and started pumping. The liquid doused Rakshas, briefly slowing his advance as he chuckled at the feebleness of the action.

"You have some spirit left in you, that's good! But spraying me with water isn't going to…" Rakshas seemed to sense that something was very wrong with this picture. Lifting a fold of his cloak up to where his covered head was, Rakshas took a sniff. "This… this is liquor!"

"Heh!" Silat picked up his fallen urumi. "The woman has fine taste."

Rakshas saw the blades begin to cross. "Silat, don't you dare-!"

With a flick of his wrist, Silat had the whip-like blades move against one another, sparks flying from where they crossed.

"AAAAAAHAAAAAAA!" Rakshas screamed as he was lit ablaze, his black cloak began to wither away and his body thrashed like a wild, caged animal as he attempted to put himself out from the flames that were licking at him.

"Get the two of them!" Silat ordered his escorts as they scooped up Rickert and Erica, hurrying to get to Daiba's shed. Silat pounded his fist against the door of the shed, seeing the usual lock had been undone. "Daiba!"

"I'm here!" the old voice called from the other side. "Get in here, hurry!" Rakshas could still be heard thrashing around, trying desperately to put himself out. Opening the door, Silat ushered them inside.

No one needed to ask how they were getting out as they spotted what Daiba had been keeping tuckered away in the shed. To Rickert, it looked like a giant lizard with wings, but not a dragon, not even close. It looked more bird than lizard actually with the way its neck was shaped, but it was big enough for them to all pile on.

"Hold on tightly to the straps," Daiba instructed. "This is a beast from Kushan land, it is no stranger to an old sorcerer like me, but don't do anything to go and spook it." Once they had all settled on, Daiba began muttering some Kushan words to the creature and soon it was nudging open the door and taking off at a run to make for a proper flight.

"Nneaahh!" Rakshas cried as he rolled around, putting out the last spark of fire that had engulfed him. His eyes followed the shape of the creature that had left that shed. "Clever."

He began snaking his way to where Rosine was waiting for him. he may not be able to fly, but she certainly could. "Did you get them?" the child apostle sounded impatient.

"Slipped away," Rakshas was loathed to admit. "You're up." He pointed to the shape of the creature flying out of the city.

Rosine heaved a sigh as she took flight after. She had no idea what kind of creature they were riding on, but whatever it was, it was fast. She considered pushing herself to outpace it, but thought better of it. With that many people on its back, it wouldn't be able to keep that speed for long, probably just to get over the city walls.

And besides, her wing never really healed right after the Black Swordsman had cut her there. Heck, none of her wounds really healed as they should have after the Black Swordsman fought her. Something about that sword of his… it was unnatural. Irvine had done his best to help her back to health after finding her ready to die in the wilderness outside of the Misty Valley, but even he seemed to be confused at how to treat the wounds that cursed sword had dealt her.

Maybe that was another reason that wizard boy let her live; maybe he knew she would never be back to full strength. She couldn't even really fault the boy for his choice though. After that "paradise" she had created, she had done some truly horrible things. She was an apostle, free to do as she pleased as Angel Ubik had explained. But what had she done, kidnap children to force them to play pretend? She had power for the first time in her life and that was how she had used it.

She was a child. She would always be a child thanks to the longevity that came with being an apostle. They were all immortal from the effects of time, but not to a sword like the one the Black Swordsman carried. Jill and every other sweet child out there would grow and live their lives as they should and she would be stuck like this.

"Screeeee!" the creature let out a warning cry as Rosine approached. She had been right, now that they were past the city walls, the creature could not keep up its speed. They were high enough up that one pass and cut from her head stinger would send them all plummeting to their deaths.

Rosine felt the stinger straighten out as she flew up above them, ready to dive back down and cut the creature across its head. Once she did that, her venom would work within seconds.

As Rosine reached her zenith, she folded her wings close to her body as she swooped down to end the assassination once and for all. The wind blew across her face as she neared her target. She could see each of their horrified faces as they realized that they had not yet escaped death. There was an old man, two muscle-bound guards, a lithe man with a cowl, the blonde boy who had slapped the Hawk, and lastly… a girl of about eleven with fairer hair and bright eyes.

She looks… Rosine was so close now.

She looks how I used to look.

Rosine beat her wings and shot back toward the city, the creature continued its journey undisturbed.

Why did I do that? I don't know them, they'll die out there anyway; it would have been a cruel mercy… like the wizard showed to me… yeah, that's it. Let them die out there, it's the same either way.

Rosine landed back on the roof where Rakshas was waiting for her. "Well, is it done?"

"Yeah, it's done." Her voice gave nothing away.

A/N: I meant to have this out two days ago, but kept getting interrupted. Anyway, thank you for reading.


	52. Chapter 52

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Out of all the tables in the great hall, the Slytherin table was usually the quietest and reserved out of all four. That had, of course, changed a bit with the inclusion of the Durmstrang students who had selected to sit there during meals. It was made even livelier when one of those Durmstrang students was the world-renowned Quidditch player, Victor Krum. Draco was never a fan of Bulgaria, but even he recognized Krum as being an exceptional player. Oh, it had given him great satisfaction when he got to sit next to the star player when the visiting schools had selected their seating; he even shot that Weasley a victorious smirk when that had happened.

Indeed, Krum had been the highlight up until the name Potter had come out of that goblet. Everything had changed after that event. The whole school had done nothing but talk about it and once that ship arrived the talk got even worse. But leave it to the Hogwarts rumor mill to work its magic and all of a sudden, Harry Potter was apparently in Hogwarts.

Once that particular bit of information had leaked, every student from every house and every year were trying to go and get a glimpse of their "savior." While Draco did think the title was a waste, he wasn't above trying to go and see for himself if the rumors were true or not. He wouldn't have put it past the Weasley twins or any other foolhardy Gryffindor to try and gain a moment of fame.

But once arriving at the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey had dismissed him and Crabbe and Goyle, telling them that the infirmary was strictly off limits for the time being. That was without even setting foot inside, too. Yeah, something had been going on there for sure, but if that actually involved Potter or not was a complete unknown.

In all reality, the only ones who had actually gotten a somewhat glimpse at what was going on were the Weasley twins, another set of Gryffindors, the Creevy brothers, and Daphne Greengrass' younger sister, Astoria.

Unlike Daphne, Astoria didn't carry the same distant attitude as her sister and seemed rather friendly, a term not usually associated with their house. She had been tagging along with those Creevy brothers, after all, even if it was just by something she overheard. Draco wasn't about to trust anything out of a Gryffindor mouth and Astoria seemed keen on telling the story to anyone who was willing to listen.

An action she was recalling yet again to her sister, Daphne's friend Tracey, and a few other younger Slytherin's of her year. She was doing so in a normal, quiet Slytherin voice to keep up the public appearance of house unity, but the way she was moving her hands showed that she would be talking much louder if she were back in the common room.

"I still can't believe that you went with two Gryffindor boys," Daphne said to her sister, lightly chastising her.

"Would you rather I had run to get you, too?" Astoria asked. "I just overheard them talking about going to try and see and wanted to tag along. I thought you would be more proud."

"Oh? And why is that?" Daphne asked, her tone cold, but not how it usually sounded since this was her sister.

"Because I also went along to try to keep them check in case they started fawning all over him," Astoria smiled for her benefit. "It would have given Potter a pretty positive view of us Slytherin's."

As if he'd actually bother listening to some random girl, Draco thought with a discreet eye-roll.

Davis decided to chime in at that point. "Ah, I see. You have a fangirl crush on a national hero. I never would have pegged you for the stalker-type, though."

"I-I was acting very Slytherin-like!" Astoria defended, her cheeks turning a bit red from the implication. Her fellow peers lightly snickered at her embarrassment. "I mean, if he does end up attending, he'll at least know that Slytherin is a house that has decent witches… and wizards!" she quickly added that last part.

Draco fought very hard to stop his snort form escaping. Astoria had ambition with her idea alright, but she lacked the common sense of how to apply it. In truth, there were neutral families in Slytherin that would accept Potter, but a great many came from Death Eater parents, or those that believed in pure-blood ideology. Potter was a half-blood and one who caused the Dark Lord's downfall. If he entered Slytherin, he would either be seen as the next Dark Lord, or as an outcast who did not belong. Maybe even both.

"Too bad you never got to see him then," Daphne said to her sister, not sounding sorry at all.

"What happened, Astoria?" one of her young friends asked.

"I was getting to that before I was sidetracked," she sent a pout to her sister and friend. "So when the Creevy's and I show up there, the doors opens, but it wasn't Madam Pomfrey, it was this big guy and mean he was tall! Not Hagrid tall, but he was tall, and he had muscle to him." she held up her arm and used her hand to try and show how big his biceps would have been. "He had black hair and a scar on his face." This caught Draco's attention. Potter was known to have dark hair and that scar that made him famous to begin with. He held his tongue and waited to hear more. "The scar ran across his nose…" so it wasn't Potter then, "… his right eye was closed and there was a patch of white hair right above his closed eye, and his left hand was metal, like Professor Moody's leg. He looked like a dark knight from some old story."

"A knight?" one of the younger students asked. "Did he have a sword?"

Astoria nodded her head in excitement. "It was on his back and it was massive. I wouldn't even call it a sword, more like a heap of raw iron. It was probably taller than he was."

Draco knew she was probably exaggerating on that. While his knowledge of the muggle world was limited, he did know a bit about swords as fencing was a semi-popular pure-blood hobby. In all sense of practically, no one would actually carry around a sword that was useless and they couldn't even swing. It this… Black Swordsman really did have something like that; it had to be for show only. No wizard would ever have a sword over a wand.

"And what did this dark knight say to you?" Davis asked, sounding like she already knew.

"He… told us to leave." Astoria hung her head low in defeat. "He had this look in his one eye, it was like… I don't even know how to describe it. The Creevy's and I just bolted out of there after that."

"Wow. A couple of lions actually ran away?" Davis asked. "I'm surprised that they didn't try and go back after."

"They probably did," Astoria confirmed. "And I would have liked to go back too but someone," she sent an accusing glare at her sister who calmly sipped on drink, "wouldn't let me."

"You were being obsessive," the elder Greengrass said. "It's unbecoming of you, Astoria. If you talked any more about this man I would be concerned that you fancy older men."

"He wasn't that old," Astoria defended, going a bit red. "Even if he had some white in his hair he was probably only twenty-something."

"Exactly, an older man," Daphne said like that proved her point.

Having heard enough, Draco chose this moment to slither into the conversation. "My, what an amusing story that was."

The elder Greengrass eyed him warily. "I don't seem to remember you being a part of this conversation, Malfoy."

"Then maybe you lot shouldn't talk so loud. I was sitting right here, I could hear everything you were saying."

"It's just you?" Davis scanned the table for any sign of Crabbe and Goyle. "It's not that often we see you by yourself."

"They wouldn't have anything to contribute anyways." While Draco was use to their company, the two of them really were as thick as could be. It was probably only due to their parents influence that they ended up in Slytherin to begin with. "What's this you were saying about a swordsman?"

"If we were talking so loud, you would have heard it all, Malfoy," the eldest Greengrass told him. "I thought you were already in the know as it was."

His lip twitched a bit at that jab to his status as self-proclaimed Prince of Slytherin. "I was just surprised that a family of your standing would be associating with Gryffindors of all people."

"It is customary to be ambitious," Daphne told him with a hint of ice. "My sister was merely using them as a means to her own end. That's very Slytheirn-like to me."

He chose to let that one slide. It was beneath him to get into an argument with a Slytheirn in a public setting. House unity had to be presented. "If that's what you believe, Greengrass. But your sister didn't actually see Potter, did she? From what I heard, Madam Pomfrey opened the hospital wing up again."

"Then he's already left, hasn't he?" Davis weighed in.

A new voice cut into their conversation walking up along the Slytherin table. "One ov my classmates saw a boat going to that ship." The deep, accented voice belonged to none other than the world-famous Quidditch player, Victor Krum. He stood off to the side a bit awkwardly, his brow heavy and his feet spread a bit like a duck. "He thought that it vas Potter, as vell." His accent really showed.

The once talkative Astoria seemed to get more bashful at the arrival of the Quidditch star, making Draco wonder what she would have been like had she actually seen Potter. Davis wasn't faring much better, looking like she was going to say something but her normally quick wit seemed to be lost at the moment. The only one who chose to speak up was the designated "Ice Queen" of Slytherin, but even then the elder Greengrass lacked most of her usual tone.

"It probably was. But I can't blame him all that much given how some," she glanced at her younger sister, "view him as."

"He is famous even in my 'omeland," Krum added. "He vas the one to defeat You-Know-Who." And now he's back, Draco thought idly. "Fame bring many good things." He really was trying to speak properly as best he could. "But some bad as vell. Being Quidditch player, I know vhat it is like. I do not blame him for sneaking out."

That probably spoke volumes about Krum's character outside of how he was publically perceived as a star player, but to Draco, it added to a bit of bitterness he had inside of him. Potter was here in secret for less than a day and he had already won Krum over to his side. With his money and status, Draco had only had a few words spoken with Krum at dinner and even most of Krum's answers had been either "yes" or "no" as evident of his lack of full understanding of the English language. But now, he seemed more than capable of having a fully fledged conversation now that the topic was Potter.

"I vonder, now that Potter is here, vill he be competing in the third task?" Krum seemed to ask the question in general. "Ve all 'ear stories about him, I vould like to see if they are true. Your Hogwarts Champion, Diggory, he is very good, ve get along vell."

Great, now a badger like Diggory was getting more attention from Krum. Diggory might be a more than competent wizard, but compared to a line like the Malfoy's, he couldn't bring nearly as much influence to a Quidditch player. Although, Draco did see a gradual decline in his allowance. He was prepared to write home angrily about it, but thought better knowing that any lost galleon was likely being used by the Dark Lord. He didn't like it, but… what could he do about it?

And that was what made it all the worse.

The deck of the Sea Horse was lively at this time of day. While most of the crew still went about their daily business as usual, the passengers were present as well. Harry and Schierke were off to the starboard side rail, talking amongst one another and going over a few things in what magic texts they had as well. Serpico was standing close to them, but was more focused on hanging some wet clothing on the rail to dry off from being washed. Farnese was taking the scene in from the helm of the ship and Guts was more toward the bow, silently watching as usual, his attention drawn to the scene that was playing out near the center mast.

Casca, much like Isidro had been doing previous, was practicing in a mop spar with the Moustache Knight – AKA, Sir Azan. The older knight still kept his full armor and helm on maybe as a sign of repentance for everything that had happened back at the Tower of Conviction and his own drive to live up to his status as a knight. Or maybe the man just liked to wear his armor at all times, Guts really didn't know much about the man.

But what he did know was that even though Sir Azan was a bit over the top in his zealous nature of knighthood, he was no easy pushover either, at least, when it was time for him to spar. Since Sir Azan was used to using a two-handed metal spiked staff, twirling a much lighter mop around was an easy task for him.

Spinning the wooden tool above his head, Azan brought it down for a more defensive stance. "Come now, no need to hold back against an old hedge-knight like myself!"

Casca stood opposite him, holding her own mop and swinging it in the air like she was getting a feel for it again. The effects of not holding a sword for so long was made very evident. "This feels so different," she muttered to herself, her eyes narrowed at the faux weapon she was dealing with.

"Improvisation is an essential skill for any knight in training," Sir Azan heard her speak. "Live steel on the deck of the ship would be far too out of the question, someone innocent could get caught up in it. And even if you are my opponent, it would go against the knight code to shed the blood of a respectable woman."

Guts tried to gauge Casca's reaction to that. "…Right, of course." She looked almost deadpan. She assumed her own stance with her torso turned to the side and put one foot in front of the other. It was very much the one she had adopted from her time in the Hawks. He shouldn't be surprised by that, even if Casca had been out of action for some time, she still knew what she was doing. It was all just a matter of getting back to that; or, as close as was possible.

The memory of last night was still fresh in Guts' mind. The warm, content feeling he had been feeling with Casca was cut off abruptly by concern after she had reacted the way she did. He had just let her cry it out before taking her back to the cabin she shared with Farnese and Schierke. Although the two other girls did not stir a bit when he brought her back, he had a feeling that they knew she had been missing.

But if either of them was awake, they were keeping to themselves about it. Maybe it was for the best if they did. He had yet to talk to Casca about that incident, but she seemed to just need her space right now. Sure she had still greeted him during the morning but the guilt she felt was still present in her eyes when she did so.

He maybe would have tried stopping her from sparring now considering the kind of reaction she had had last night, but this could end up being just what she needed. There was clearly a repressed anger inside of Casca that had reared its head last night so maybe if she was able to better understand it, focus it even, she would feel more in power than she was. Guts had been in a similar state when he was a kid among older mercenaries and the incident with Donovan.

Choosing not to think about that right now, Guts turned his full attention back to the spar going on between Casca and Sir Azan. The older knight proved to still have his speed about him as he swung his "weapon" down to knock Casca's strike aside as she had lunged for his stomach area. Casca was taller than the slightly stunted knight and clearly faster due to her youth and build. But Azan was still hefty and had more of a driving force behind him.

Casca took half a step back before going for a lunge once again. Azan went to intercept, but she had feinted instead, moving around to deliver a strike to Azan's neck, her weapon was knocked aside once again as Azan had to bring the other end of his stick up to counter her would-be hit.

"A simple yet effective combo," Sir Azan called out. "But a seasoned knight knows the basics."

Casca took the offensive again, this time moving her strike up instead of aiming down, trying to disarm Sir Azan by further stepping closer and trying to get him to trip on his own footwork. Instead, Azan pulled his stick back and used it to push the advancing Casca back a few steps before he used one end to skim across the floor, pushing her back or make her risk getting tripped up.

"She really seems to be getting into this," Schierke said to Harry, stepping back so Casca could have some more room.

"Yeah, but this isn't nothing compared to what she can really do," Harry told her, recalling some of the moves Casca had once performed. "She's just getting warmed up." he really hoped he was right on that because Sir Azan was slowly gaining more ground on her to the point where Casca was almost at the rail.

The two combatants were approaching where Serpico was and the blonde youth had to swing himself over the rail and back around to avoid a sudden jab Azan sent at Casca who ducked under it.

"Sir Aza-, er, Black Moustache Knight, isn't it part of a knight's code to always be aware of your surroundings?" Serpico asked, trying to raise awareness for some of the people around them.

No one could see Sir Azan's face, but they all imagined he must have looked pretty bashful at his mistake. "Ah, yes, of course! I should have expected my opponent to avoid that last one. Good on you, young lady!"

"…Thank you," Casca said to the knight, using this opportunity to take a swing at him and start to push back toward the center of the ship where they had more room.

"It is a bit jarring, though," Schierke continued as she and Harry watched the spar go on. "I know that Casca was a commander and all, but actually seeing her more around like one…" Schierke left the thought go unfinished as Casca went low to swing at Sir Azan's stumpy legs, forcing him to step back on the defensive.

"Well, what were you expecting?" Harry asked her, wanting to know more of what she had been thinking. He figured she stopped short because she was thinking of the Elaine version of Casca.

"Just that I can see why she actually gained that title is all," Schierke confessed watching Casca nearly land the first blow only to be pushed back once again. "She has a way about her, I guess."

"Thinking of picking up a sword yourself?" Harry asked, only half teasing the green-haired witch.

"That isn't really my style," Schierke answered, tapping her fingers on her staff. "This… magic is all I've ever know. I have an understanding of it, I've studied it, I practice it. Besides, you've got a balance of both fields. It's best if I stck to what I know."

"Okay, that's fia renough," Harry agreed before asking, "What about a dagger?"

"Isidro has one and I wouldn't want to just practice with him." Schierke said so without real malice. While she still found the other boy annoying, she didn't hate him. but still, Harry knew she probably wouldn't want to take any lesson where Isidro was the teacher.

"What about handling a shield?"

"Well… no."

"A mace then?"

"That's heavier than a sword and…" she saw the small smirk he had. "You're very amusing." She lightly glowered. He lightly patter the back of her head as apology.

Farnese watched the small teasing exchange between her two teachers, her attention flickering to and from Casca's little spar she was having with Sir Azan. The knight had done his best to be the embodiment of knighthood from the time they spent together as part of the Holy Iron Chain Knights. Even so, he didn't seem to be going easy on Casca either as he went ahead and followed through with three hard blows that had the young woman changing her stance to block each strike as they came down toward her head.

Knowing how protective and volatile Guts could get when Casca was concerned, Farnese was actually surprised that the swordsman had not yet intervened and snatched the mop from Sir Azan's hands and whacked him over the head with it for being too rough in this spar. She spotted the dark shape of Guts on the opposite end of the ship toward the bow. He was keeping his eye trained on the spar, but showed no signs of looking to interfere.

If Farnese was to hazard a guess why, she would say that Guts didn't want to embarrasses her. Despite only knowing the true Casca for a very short time, Farnese was able to pick up on a few things about the other girl. The first being that she was wasn't afraid to be a bit different as shown by her new hair. It wasn't customary for women of Midland to have long hair, but it was a sign of maturity and a way to let men know they were at a marrying age as most girls kept their hair short until a certain age, the exception being noble women who usually grew their hair out at all times.

And since Casca had once been a commander, it showed a certain degree of conviction that was uncommon except for soldiers. The main reasons Farnese had gotten into a position of the Holy Iron Chain Knights was due to her father's influence and the fact that they had a tradition of always having a female leader present. If Casca had been born or even lived in Vritannis, she probably would have been chosen for that position instead of Farnese.

But Casca doesn't strike her as being a religious girl at all, especially considering that they were standing opposed to beings and monsters that could only fit the mold as being from either heaven or hell.

"You seem invested in the spar, sister." Farnese turned her head to see Magnifico leaning over the rail to her right.

"Magnifico, you're out of your cabin."

"It was getting too stuffy," he brushed aside one of his golden curls. "We won't be on this ship for that much longer, I take it."

"I honestly wouldn't know," Farnese told him. "You speak with Roderick, he's the captain."

"He is, but he does not have…" Magnifico struggled to find the words, "…magic. Of all things, magic had to be involved."

"I am studying to become a witch, as you're aware of," Farnese felt the need to remind him of that fact.

"Yes, Father would be very proud." It was hard to tell if the bitterness present in his tone was directed at her or toward Father, maybe both. "Not that he'll ever find out, of course."

"What do you mean?" it wasn't like Magnifico to keep a secret if he could use it to his advantage. There was no way that he wouldn't tell father about this if he got the chance.

"Oh, come now, Farnese, don't tell me you haven't figured it out yet."

"Figured out what, exactly?"

Magnifico heaved a sigh before walking over to her. "We're stranded; lost, trapped, we have no idea what we're doing." She was able to see his face much clearer now that he was closer. Magnifico seemed to have aged half a decade or so in such a short time. He didn't have any white hair like Guts had above his eye, but his face looked more haggard than it had any right to.

"Magnifico…" Farnese had never really been close to any of her three brothers as they were almost always away doing their own business, but she did not want to see any of them suffer or stress themselves like Magnifico was clearly doing.

"I thought we would be finding a way back as soon as the woman was cured, and look," Magnifico directed their attention down to where Casca was locking her mop with Sir Azan who was slowly pushing her back while keeping the lock intact. "She seems more than fine to me. And yet, here we all sit like everything is fine and dandy. It isn't!"

"Magnifico, please, calm yourself."

"I would love nothing more, Farnese, believe me." Magnifico ran a hand down his face. "There is just so much going on at once. Can't you just… just… create some magic tunnel back, or something?"

"I don't believe that's how magic works," Farnese told him. If it did, she didn't know about it.

"Uugh!" Magnifico groaned in displeasure like a whiny child would.

"Ah! I thought I heard your frustrated groaning, Magnifico!"

"Roderick," Magnifico greeted his friend as the captain walked up to the helm.

"At your service," Roderick bowed at the waist with an arm behind his back. "Any assurances I can grant to ease your worries, old friend?"

"Uhhh, none you haven't given already," Magnifico slowly blinked. "Maybe ask the Black Swordsman when it'll finally be time to leave, that would be grand."

"He seems ready for any sort of action at a moment's notice, like a shark waiting to strike," Roderick made the comparison. "If you want to ask him yourself, you're more than welcome to."

"Umm," he no doubt recalled seeing what Guts was capable of doing during the escape from Vritannis. "If a fight ever arises I'll pay him handsomely to handle it. Until then… I'll just excuse myself." Magnifico left to head back to his cabin, leaving the captain at the helm with Farnese.

"Ah, your brother really is an interesting fellow, you know?" Roderick asked her.

"You think he's interesting?" Farnese asked. Magnifico was usually only talking about the family banking business and about loans and funds and things only having to deal with money. Interesting would not be the first word she would use to describe Magnifico.

"Well, interesting in a sense," Roderick admitted, patting the wheel of the ship, staring out at the scene unfolding on the deck. "He becomes quite lively when he's upset or distraught, always making you wonder what it is could have gotten him so worked up. But in this case, I think that the answer is more than apparent."

"Hmm," Farnese could only nod in agreement.

"But, he does raise a valid question," Roderick continued. "When do you suspect that we will be underway?" he looked at her, the usual playful smile was still there, but his blue eyes were firm.

"I… I cannot honestly answer that question right now," Farnese confessed to him. "I'm sorry, I wish that I had more of an answer, but my teachers are trying to figure out a way. We don't mean to make you feel that you or your crew is being taken advantage of."

Roderick let out a chuckle. "We haven't been here that long, you know. Besides, I have faith that you and your teachers will be able to figure something out."

While Roderick always came across as a friendly individual, it was still surprisingly refreshing to hear him give out complements when they were earned or needed. "You have that much faith in us?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Roderick asked. "I'm not going to pretend that we haven't had that many interactions so far, but that doesn't mean I haven't seen the fruits of the work you put in." he looked back down to where Casca narrowly dodged a jab from Azan before slashing her mop weapon up knock his next attack aside. "Before, she was making half words and chasing sea gulls around. I don't know what part exactly you helped play, but you did, and there she is."

Farnese really didn't know what to say to that. Sure, her teachers would praise her when she muttered an incantation correctly or drew the correct runic symbol, but hearing it from someone other than those two was… nice, in a way.

"Well… I'm flattered that you think that way, Roderick. But it was no easy task."

"Those are usually the best kind," Roderick said boyishly. "Maybe you could tell me about it sometime."

"You must have quite the collection of stories then," Farnese added.

"A fair few to say the least," he gave a self-confident smile. "If you tell me about yours, I'd be more than happy to delve into some of my own past adventures."

"I…" she thought it over. "…I'm sure that could be arranged."

"Well… I'll certainly have something to look forward to then, won't I?" Roderick asked. "But, in the meantime, I do believe something else takes precedent at the moment." He inclined his head down to where the spar was still going on.

Both combatants had gotten more than enough time to wear the other down and size the other up but it looked like things would soon tip in favor of Sir Azan. Casca could have normally made short work if she had been in better practice, but her stamina was not yet accustomed to being used in high levels just yet and it showed with how her movements were starting to become a bit sluggish.

Sweat glistened at her brow and her breathing was starting to become heavier. Sir Azan could be heard huffing and puffing from behind his helmet as well, the toll just as great on him as it had been to her. "My, you put up an extraordinary good match, fair lady. But, the time has come to end this little mock battle of ours."

Sir Azan went to disarm Casca, but he was surprised when his strike was intercepted and knocked to the side. "Not so fast, old timer!"

"Isidro?" Casca asked at seeing him jump in with his own mop in hand. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Isidro asked. "I'm backing you up, of course. I owe this bastard back since he last sparred with me."

"You have gotten faster since then," Sir Azan overcame his shock at having another join in. "Your interference would normally be considered an honor less act, but… seeing as I am a seasoned knight, I will make an exception."

"What do you say, want to beat this guy?" Isidro half whispered to Casca.

"I…" Isidro heard a hint of protest present in her voice. "I… sure."

"Hell yeah! That's what I'm talking about!" Isidro got ready to charge.

Casca just nodded. "Fine. You go in slowly on the left and I'll-,"

"-Let's do it!" Isidro yelled, making his charge only for Casca to grab the back of his shirt to hold him in place.

"Slowly. On. The. Left." She punctuated each word.

Isidro pouted a bit before agreeing, "Fine. But only because you're a commander, or something."

Sticking to what he had been told; Isidro circled Azan from the left flank, Casca slowly advancing from the center. Spinning his stick around in a defensive nature, Azan made ready for either of them to make their move. And, of course, it was Isidro to move first.

He saw Casca give a glance that seemed to say, "go for it," and so he did. Azan saw this development and made ready to follow through with a sideways strike. But seeing Azan pull this move forced Isidro to duck his head and roll directly under the swing.

Having passed safely under, Isidro made ready to follow through with a jab of his own. But Sir Azan was prepared for the much younger boy to have enough energy to follow up with a quick attack so he was forced to step back in order to avoid getting hit.

However, what Sir Azan had neglected to do was, check where he was backing into. Using the last bit of stamina available to her, Casca raced behind the short knight to use her mop handle to trip him up. "Oof!" Sir Azan exclaimed as he landed on his back. Before he could even attempt to rise or to raise his makeshift weapon to defend himself, Casca had already slapped his wrist with her own mop, forcing him to drop it to the deck. He lay there disarmed.

"Do you yield?" Casca asked, some of her hair sticking to her forehead.

"I yield," Sir Azan accepted his defeat and Casca and Isidro helped him back up to his feet. The crew that had been watching laughed and passed a few coins around, the bets they had made were being collected. "But I must say it was an honor to have been bested in a way that has humbled an old man like myself. I will never forget to look where I step!" they couldn't see his face, but they all imagined he was beaming with pride for his successors and self-motivation to improve his own skills.

"Yes… well… thank you for agreeing to it in the first place, Sir," Casca set her own makeshift weapon against the mast.

"Yeah! Ha ha! We totally did it!" Isidro exclaimed. "Did you see that move I pulled back there?"

"I did. That was some quick thinking on your end." Isidro couldn't help but soak in the praise he was receiving.

"Yeah, I guess it was, wasn't it? But still, that was the most fun I had since we got here. I've basically been sitting around waiting for some action to happen."

"I'm glad I could help then," Casca somewhat hesitantly replied.

"You don't think you'd be able to show me any of those moves, would you?" Isidro asked with little shame. Based on what he had seen, her style of fighting was something more based on speed and resource, something he excelled in himself. That wasn't to say he still didn't secretly view Guts as being the single strongest fighter he knew, or even that he thought Harry was lame. But both of them had something else he didn't; Guts had muscle and strength, and Harry had magic. He… had neither of those things. The closest to either of them was Serpico, but the blonde youth didn't really spar on occasion and his style was more refined like how a noble would fight and Isidro was far from being high class and refined. If he could find someone else… and Casca was back after all.

"I guess I wouldn't mind…" Casca trailed after thinking it over. "…Too much," she quietly added.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Isidro pumped his fist. Finally, he was making progress. Puck was fun and all, but if really wanted to be the best swordsman there was, why not get help from a pro?

Night seemed to have fallen unnaturally fast in Kingsley's opinion. The sky was cloudy, typical for the Scottish weather, but it wasn't to the point where the light of the moon couldn't breach through. It was… calming, almost. He honestly wasn't sure. There was a lot on his mind at the moment and most of it revolved around how he had been assigned to escort Umbridge that day to Hogwarts. He had been against it personally, he really could not stand the woman, but in terms of the Order and his duty as an Auror, he had to.

If Harry Potter really had been there, only Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey knew for certain and he trusted Dumbledore enough to make that information public with the order when he deemed it necessary.

But… he kept thinking back to that man, the one with the ebony armor and massive sword on his back. That man's very presence put every hair on the back of his neck on edge, years of Auror training warning him of an impending danger. His suspicion was proven true when Umbridge had her lights knocked out with a single punch. Dawlish had wanted to arrest the man, but Kingsley knew a lost cause when he saw one. There was no way they would have been able to take that man; their best option had been to just leave and take Umbridge to St. Mungos for treatment.

But that was in the past now. It was time to focus on the here and now.

Currently, he and a few other Aurors, including Moody's young protégé, Tonks, were at Stonehenge. The debut of the Dark Lord was still fresh in everyone's minds and the site was still closed to any public visitors, the muggle repellent charms having been enacted around the site. It was still made unclear what exactly the Dark Lord had been up to out here other than to make his entrance known loud and clear, but it had to do with those runic symbols drawn all over the ground and on the pillars themselves.

"Brrr," Tonks shiver next to him from the bit of chill in the air. "I should have brought a jacket to wear under my robes."

"You are lucky Moody is still recovering from the battle," Kingsley told the young Auror. "You know what he would say if he were here."

"Yeah, I know, 'Constant vigilance!'" she performed a half-way decent of the aged Auror. Her mimic was only enhanced by her natural metamorphagus abilities that made her face sag a bit making her look much older.

"He always has a point when he says that," Kingsely advised. "You would do well to listen."

"I do listen," Tonks defended her pink hair turned a shade darker. "It's just that – what is it?" she tensed seeing him take his wand out and point it toward on of the pillars.

"I thought I saw something move." Kingsely thought he saw a small, dark shape move past all of a sudden behind the stone. "Go and get the others."

Tonks went to circle around to the perimeter where the rest of the team was. The light of the full moon helped light the way for her.

Wait. Full moon?

Indeed, the moon was bright and full in the sky above. In fact, it looked almost too bright. But that couldn't be possible. The full moon wasn't due yet, there was no way it could go from being half full to full in just one night. Even with magic, it would not have been possible. While some wizards could make illusions appear in the sky, like the illusions stars were moving, the moon was tied to magic in that it helped enhance it. Magic was always strongest when the moon was full.

But thlight from the moon also cast its rays on the small, furry black creature that took off after Tonks as she ran to get the other Aurors. Kingsley's instincts kicked into high gear as he shot off a stunner at the creature.

"Stupify!" the jet of red light soared and high the beast in the back of its head. Tonks paused momentarily, her clumsy nature almost making her trip over her own feet.

"Kinsley, what is that? Some sort of gremlin?"

"It must be," Kingsely rushed over to examine it. The nose was large and had some whiskers coming out from the sides. The arms were covered in black fur and were much longer than the legs. It carried a wooden club in its hand to be used as a weapon and Kingsley dreaded to think about what would have happened if he had not stunned it in time.

"It came from down by the site itself, from behind one of the pillars."

"I think it travels in packs," Tonks pointed to where the ancient stones were. From behind the pillars, more hairy creatures were poking their heads out, some had wooden clubs and others had bones. Each of them had predatory look in their eyes.

The largest of the gremlins let out a cry and they all began to charge in full, maybe more than a dozen or so altogether.

"Stupify! Impedimenta! Incarcus!" Kingsley shot spell after spell at the advancing horde of gremlin-like beasts. Tonks fired off her own series of curses next to him, not all finding their mark, but a great deal did.

For those who wound up tied in rope, they began to use their large teeth to begin to chew through it, ready to advance until… Kingsley felt it. The hairs on the back of his neck were all standing up again. The wind seemed to race past him and Tonks both, their eyes catching a glimpse of white, grey and black before it sped off and with a single pass, all of the creatures that were approaching fell to their knees, blood pouring out of a cut that had been made in their necks.

They barely had time to cry out before the last of their blood drained from their body, their killer and the wizards' assistant sat on a horse almost motionless. The blade he held in his large, mailed hand was coated with but a thin line of blood.

"Kingsley…" Tonks sounded nervous. "What… what is that?"

"That…" Kingsely looked at the skeletal horse and to the figure wearing bone-like armor and a matching skull helm. But behind those sockets, a pair of glowing reddish- purple eyes seemed to gaze into him. This was like the feeling he had at seeing that swordsman. Almost the exact same feeling.

What was going on? Why was this happening? Why now of all times?

Those were the questions going through Narcissa Malfoy's head as she slammed the door to her and Lucius' bedroom shut. Her breathing was coming out hard and Lucius was in a similar state of panic as she was. He took out his wand and began putting protective enchantments over the door.

"How?" Narcissa finally found the voice to speak. "How could this be happening?"

Lucius was white as a sheet, having no real answer except for, "The moon. It's a full moon tonight."

Narcissa had seen it too and instantly went into a panic. Not because they weren't due for a full moon, but because of one very special guest their manor was hosting, and it wasn't the Dark Lord. No, it was Fenrir Greyback.

The werewolf was notorious for intentionally attacking his victims, especially children, but one of the conditions Narcissa had made Lucius make before allowing that beast inside their home was that he must be outside and far away from their home when the full moon was at hand. To have it sneak up so suddenly meant that they now had a full grown werewolf prowling around inside their house.

"Arooooo!" they heard the wolf howl from a lower level, some of the Death Eaters could be heard trying to cast spells to restrain the beast as the Dark Lord wanted Greyback for the pack he controlled.

"AH! Ah! Ahhhhhh!"

"Shit!"

"Stun the bastard already!

"Not so close!"

"Nooooo!"

"Grrrrgghhhhg! Arooooo!"

Narcissa covered her ears at the carnage the werewolf was causing all throughout the house. "Dobby!" she cried out.

With a loud pop! The family house elf appeared in their bedroom. "M-mistress Cissa called Dobby?" the elf sounded terrified out of his mind.

"Dobby, take me and my husband and get us somewhere safe out of the manor." Lucius was too stunned at what was happening in his own house to give the order himself.

The elf took hers and Lucius hand and with another loud popping noise, they disapparated. Let the Dark Lord handle the mutt, he was the one to bring it in to begin with.

Back at Hogwarts, Dumbledore perked up at the sounds of one of his instruments going off. "What in the heavens?" his blue eyes widened when he saw that it was one of the instruments used to detect a breach in Hogwarts' wards. "No, no, this can't be." The only person with the strength and means to even attempt this was Voldemort and Dumbledore knew exactly why he would strike now. But the instrument was not wrong.

There was one person on Hogwarts grounds that should not be there.

Turning to Fawkes, Dumbledore prepared his message. "Go, alert the members of the Order. Start with the teachers here and then go to headquarters." The majestic bird nodded his head and took off, flying right into the fireplace.

With his message sent, Dumbledore made ready to go investigate himself. He was well aware of what happened last time, but he wasn't going to underestimate Voldemort again. But as he passed by his office window, an odd sight stood out to him causing his blue eyes to widen even further and making him almost drop his wand.

The moon was full.

"Remus…"

"You're certain about this?" the sun had just gone down and the moon had already risen high into the sky. The night really came early this time, Guts noted.

"I'm certain," Casca said with unfaltering conviction. He noticed that any feeling of guilt she had been feeling since the night previous was gone, replaced by a drive that he was all too familiar with. "Don't you feel it too?"

"I… not in particular. Casca, will you just hold up for a minute?" she had come to his cabin as soon as the moon had risen and demanded that they go and find Roderick straight away.

"You'll see what I mean when we get there."

"Where?" Guts demanded, nearly yanking his arm free of her hold. "What's this about?"

"The moon, Guts, the moon." It was full. "Back at the sea-side shack, it was a full moon when he appeared. It was only half full last night. Something is going on."

"I'm not saying that it isn't. Maybe just talk to Harry or Schierke, they would know."

"They're up on deck trying to map the stars to see what's happening," Casca explained, stopping in front of the captain's quarters and knocking on the door until Roderick answered.

"Chief?" Roderick saw Guts. "Casca? What's all the excitement about?"

"Can you take us to shore?" Casca wasted no time in asking, and it sounded like less of a question and more of an order.

"Is there a problem?" Roderick sounded serious.

"Just, please," Casca pleaded with the captain. "I just… have a feeling."

Roderick looked at Guts to see if he had anything to add. "…If she say's something's up, it probably is," Guts told him. "We're not going to know unless we go and she'll swim there herself if she isn't allowed a boat." He was being dead serious about that last bit. Whatever it was Casca was feeling, it was entirely isolated to just her.

"…Alright. I trust your judgement, Chief. If you think there's something going on, I'll get some hands and take you ashore."

"Thank you, Captain," Casca thanked him before hurrying off to the deck.

Roerick watched her go. "She's… tenacious."

Guts wasn't going to argue or say anything more on that, he just followed after her, working to catch up to her with his long strides.

With a few hands lowering their boat down into the lake, the passengers consisted of Roderick, Guts, Casca, Harry, Schierke and the two elves. If trouble did arise on the shore, it would help to have magic on their side and to help Guts in case he went in berserk mode.

Guts' sole eye focused up at the moon. It seemed much too bright tonight and much too close than it had any right to be. But Casca had been right about the lunar cycle, it made no sense for it to just change overnight.

The wood of the hull dug into the pebbly shore and Casca wasted no time in hopping out first, scanning the shore for any signs of things that were out of the ordinary. "Did she say what it is she's looking for?" Harry asked his staff already in hand.

"She'll know when she sees," was all Guts had to offer. While he did find the moon thing to be strange, he had no actual theories himself. But if Casca wanted to believe that it was somehow connected to that boy they had come across… he really had no right to deny her that.

"Still, it is a bit risky coming here," Harry helped Schierke climb out of the boat. "If a student comes along-,"

"-We tell them to beat it," Guts casually said. "That, or, you could handle it yourself." He saw Casca moving toward the edge of the forest that was near the shore, she seemed to have paused and be looking at something. "Come on." He moved his legs to carry himself over to where Casca was standing. "Casca, what is?"

"Sssh!" Casca raised a hand to signal for him to be quiet. "It's okay, you can come here."

"Casca…" Guts trailed off.

Standing behind one of the trees was a young boy wearing an oversize white tunic with a blanket thrown over his shoulders and head like a cloak. And in his one hand, he held a figurine that reminded guts of the ones Sirius had given to Harry. But there was no mistaking the boy. Casca's feeling had been right.

A/N: So I hope everyone who lives in the States had a nice 4th of July. And as of the fifth, this story has reached its one-year anniversary. Thank you all for favoriting and following and helping this story grow. Thank you for reading.


	53. Chapter 53

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

He could feel it. It was a feeling he knew all too well and despised all the same. He had hated when he first felt it as a child, knowing what was happening but being powerless all the same to stop it or even control himself when it did happen. The looks of sheer terror his parents had given him the morning after and the talk of pulling him before he could even get a Hogwarts letter. He had agreed with them, of course, he could be as polite a man as possible, but there was no stopping the beast within when the time came.

But Dumbledore had insisted, saying that Hogwarts was welcome to accept students of all backgrounds and that no student with a magical talent should ever be turned away from the gates. The Whomping Willow had been planted because of him, an entrance to the now famous Shrieking Shack, again, because of him. His seven years at Hogwarts had fed the legend of that house being one of the haunted places in the country.

Being what he was, he knew that he would never be able to experience a regular semester at Hogwarts, but there had been a silver lining to all of it; James and Sirius, and yes, even Peter before he turned traitor had been the three best friends he could have ever asked for. They had not judged him for being a monster, they had even gone to the extreme of becoming unregistered animagi just to keep him company when he transformed once every month. He could not recall most of what happened those times, but Sirius and James always managed to tell a very vivid story by the next morning, filling him in on the times they had to keep him in check when in their animal forms. They really were the best friends he could have ever asked for.

He wanted to keep thinking about that, when he was a young schoolboy with his pack of friends, the good times. He wanted to focus on thoughts of Harry when he was just a baby and how he had tried teaching him to say, "Uncle Moony," before Sirius could teach him to say, "Padfoot." Lily had intervened only when she became worried Harry's first word was going to be "Quidditch" on account of James' fascination with the sport and tried to get Harry to say her name instead.

Yes, just keep thinking about thoughts like that. He had to, he had to stay focused. The gut-wrenching feeling was growing worse with each passing second. He stifled a cough, feeling like his tongue was becoming longer and wider within his mouth, rubbing against teeth that were much too sharp and threatening to pierce his tongue should he suddenly clamp his jaws shut.

Keep thinking about Harry; think about the good times, he had to think of something, anything to keep his mind sane.

There was the time he had gone to both Dumbledore to try and get him to allow custody of Harry over to him after James and Lily passed and Sirius was thrown into Azkaban Prison without a trial. Dumbledore agreed that he was more than capable and responsible to handle it, but because of his hairy condition, he was unable to fully take responsibility. And because of that, Harry was forced to stay at Lily's awful sister's place, probably the single worst environment for him to grow up in.

If only Greyback hadn't attacked him that night. He wouldn't have been forced to spend nights in the Shrieking Shack, he wouldn't have scared his parents out of their minds, he wouldn't have almost killed Snape as a result of one of Sirius' pranks. And above all, he would have been able to take Harry in after that god awful Halloween night. If not for Greyback, maybe Harry wouldn't have been whisked away to that other world, that… Midland. He could have grown up here, made friends at Hogwarts, studied how James and Lily would have wanted him to.

It was all because of-,

No! What are these thoughts? He wasn't calming himself down, he was working himself up, his thoughts were becoming angrier, primitive like a beast. And he just had to look out the window to figure out why that was.

There, shining in the early night sky was the image of a large, full moon.

It was impossible; he knew it to be so. The full moon had already passed for this month. There should have been more than enough time before the next one rolled around and his transformation began again. But there was no denying the sight that was so bright in the night sky at this very moment.

"Ughhhh!" Lupin clutched at his stomach, feeling a sharp pain spike through him as he doubled over, clutching his knees for support. His vision was starting to blur, but he tried blinking to fixate on just one of the stone tiles to his office. It worked to some extent, his eyesight was starting to shift to black and white, picking up on all shades between those two colors. He was also aware of the hair on his hands starting to grow out thicker and darker. His nails were turning black and growing sharp to a point.

Falling out of his chair, Lupin grabbed onto the edge of his desk for support, picking himself up as best he could. Madam Pomfrey had said that Snape had been preparing some Wolfsbane potion for him for next month, he had to find that. If he got the wolfsbane potion in him, then he would just curl up here as a harmless, sleeping wolf until the moon had passed.

"Gnnngh!" Lupin groaned once again as he felt his shoes, which were already shabby enough, to begin with, become much too small to accommodate his growing foot size. Pushing himself away from his desk and toward his trunk, he found himself unable to stand up properly. "Ghaaaahh!" he cried yet again as he felt the bones and joints of his legs start to bend and rearrange themselves to better resemble the hind legs of a wolf.

His nails were digging into the floor as he tried and struggled to pull or crawl forward to where his emergency bottle of wolfsbane potion should be. His shabby robes were beginning to feel much too tight on his body with every passing second now. It was unbearable, it was a terrible feeling to be experiencing right now as his hair became thicker, like fur as it sprouted from all over his body.

Padding was stretching its way across the palms of his hands and feet and he felt his sense of smell becoming much more attuned to his environment.

Yes, his environment, his territory that must be-

"N-No!" he swatted at his head, trying to push away the primeval thoughts that were going on in his head. They would be the last he thought before his mind slipped into the gaping jaws of his inner beast. And the next sound to escape from him was not one of pain or anguish.

"Aroooooo!"

"Casca, are you even listening?" Guts had Dragonslayer drawn and ready, his sole traveling between the trees of the patch of forest that they were in. he knew that he had heard some footsteps. Some sounded closer than others but it was unclear if they belonged to a person or some animal.

Whatever it was, it had him on edge. It was one thing for this boy to have just shown up out of nowhere, but now that he was here, Casca's attention was dedicated solely on him, the threat of danger was lost on her even for a moment like this. There was someone or something else that was close by. Maybe whatever it was came with the – their boy.

"Harry, Schierke," Guts called to them without turning his back on where he had been hearing those footsteps. "You have magic; can you sense anything close by?" if he knew what he was dealing with, he would at least feel a little more comfortable. And if it meant them harm, he would have no hesitation to cut it down with Dragonslayer. It felt like a long time since he had used his blade. Since arriving here, not much conflict had occurred, at least, nothing that made him take out his sword for. He supposed that it was a good thing that he had not, but there was that side of him that did long for action, the part of him that he had known for all his life and it had nothing to do with the presence of the Berserker Armor.

No, this was just the heart of a warrior that missed seeing action.

"Guts," Schierke spoke having concentrated trying to get a feeling of the od in this area. "This forest, this is such a small spot of it. Since it's by the lake, students probably visit here."

"Is that what it is then? A student?"

"Well… I do feel an additional human presence as well as…"

"What?" Guts asked, hearing another set of footsteps.

"There was a feeling of tremendous od that was present here, but its gone now. I… it was like it just disappeared not too long ago."

"There's something else, too," Harry voiced in as well. "It feels like an animal's od, but not anyone that I know about. And there's more than one of them."

"So a magical creature then, got it," Guts had no idea what it could be, but he didn't really care all that much of what species it was. "Casca, come on, we have to be getting back now." The footsteps sounded that much closer now.

Casca was crouching down to the point that she was at eye level with the child, her back facing away from him. "I… I know that. Just, wait a minute, okay? I don't want to frighten him." her hand was reaching out toward the mysterious individual. "Hey, it's alright. Don't be afraid."

The footsteps had momentarily stopped, an action that could be taken as either a good or bad sign. "Something is close by," Schierke informed.

"Where did he get this?" Casca asked, her attention still focused on the child.

"What?" Guts asked, not hearing anything approaching at the moment.

"He's wearing a sheet." Turning his head, Guts saw that the boy indeed was wearing a sheet that he had draped around him like a cloak almost. It was big on him, covering part of his head all the way down to his feet which were completely covered. If he was wearing anything underneath that, Guts didn't know as the child's hands were tuckered away inside of his faux cloak. "Where did you get that?" Casca asked the child, almost expecting an answer.

He fidgeted a bit on his feet as either a sign of nervousness or excitedness, but he didn't open his mouth to express any sort of verbal response.

"Its fine, you don't have to answer now," Casca tried to assure the boy she was not disappointed by his lack of an answer. "I'm not mad with you." Her hand crept that much closer to the still boy who eyed it with seeming curiosity. And from under the sheet that he wore as a cloak, one of his much smaller hands was reaching out toward Casca's own. His small fingers touched her open palm. "Guts…" she said his name almost to call him over there.

"Guts!" Schierke said in a much more urgent tone. "It's here."

The footsteps had picked back up again while Casca was reaching out for the boy and now they sounded like they were about to come out from behind any tree. And it did.

The first thing Guts made the comparison to in his mind was Skull Knight's horse. The thing looked almost exactly like it except for the fact that its bony appearance did not come from custom designed armor, this was entirely natural. Yes, it looked like a skeletal horse but with molted, dark skin that stretched tightly over its bony looking body. Its eyes were like a creamy white and Guts almost thought that it was blind because of it. But what really separated it from resembling Skull Knight's own steed was the pair of wings that it had growing from its back.

Upon spotting them, the winged horse inclined its head to head of them like it was unsure of their presence here in its natural habitat. And when it came turn for it to look toward the boy, the child inclined his head as well like he was mirroring the action taken by this strange winged horse. With a neighing sound escaping from its throat, the horse-like creature made a slow trot toward where Casca and the boy were.

As soon as he spotted the creature make a move toward where the two of them were, Guts darted to intercept it on its path. He had Dragonslayer raised high above his head ready to take this creature's head with just a single swing of his sword. with just one swing, he could easily cut through that thin, skeletal neck.

Even so, he was not completely caught up by his act to kill to miss a second shape that had wandered in from the trees. This one being of a much smaller and recognizable make. "Guts, wait!" Schierke shouted to get his attention.

Dragonslayer halted for a moment on its arc downwards and it was enough for the strange horse to backtrack to avoid losing its head and instead went to go and scavenge the piece of meat that the new arrival had thrown.

"Oh, hello there," a youthful voice sounded before them, seemingly not too alarmed by their sudden presence in this little patch of forest. The speaker was a young blonde girl with large blue eyes that seemed a bit unsettling with how calm they were. Hanging from her ears was a pair of radishes and her feet were bare as well, letting the dirt and soil taint her pale feet.

"Who in the hell are you?" Guts demanded his attention on the girl standing a few yards away holding a few pieces of meat in her hands.

"My name is Luna," she answered in a dreamy sort of voice. "It's nice to meet you." She said that as if he wasn't holding a giant sword in her direction.

"Shouldn't you be back up in that castle, kid?" they really didn't need any distractions right now.

"I probably should be," Luna admitted to him and to herself, "but lots of students have been out of the castle these last couple of days, I thought it would be a good time to come out and feed the thestrals."

"Thestrals?" Guts asked, his eye darted over to where the winged horse was devouring another piece of meat the girl, Luna threw its way.

"Yes. They pull the carriages to the school, but most people think that they just pull themselves because they can't see them."

Puck chose that minute to fly out from behind Guts' shoulder to tilt his head in curiosity. "Huh? Why's that?"

"Oh, you have an elf with you," Luna smiled at seeing the blue elf.

Guts swore he heard the elf mutter, "Finally someone who doesn't think I'm a stupid pixie."

Luna continued like seeing an elf was a normal occurrence. And considering she was a witch, it was entirely possible. "Thestrals can only be seen by those who have seen death. You can see them, can't you?"

"Get back to the castle or whatever," Guts told her. "Keep feeding your animals, just do it somewhere else." He really wasn't in the mood to be dealing with some dreamy-eyed girl.

If Luna was offended by Guts' brash nature, she didn't show it at all. Instead, her attention focused on Casca and the boy who she was next to. "Oh good!" Luna exclaimed. "Were you taking care of him? I became worried when I saw him just appear." Now she had Casca's attention.

"Appeared?" Casca parroted what the blonde girl had said.

"Yes," Luna nodded. "I came down here before sunset to feed the thestrals and I waited for them to show up. Before I knew it, it the sun had set and there was this blinding glow coming from beyond some of the trees. I went over to look and I saw him there."

"And you just left him here alone while you fed those animals?" Casca asked, her tone wasn't fully irritated, but Guts knew she was holding herself back considering it was some teenager she was talking with.

"I didn't want to, but…" at this point, Luna's eyes seemed less dreamy and more focused, "but I went to go follow the other person who was with him." Guts wasn't touching Casca, but if he had been, he probably would have felt her blood run cold.

"Someone was with him?"

Luna nodded. "A man with white hair."

Guts wasn't even aware his feet had moved until he was staring down at the blonde girl who had to crane her neck back to look up at his face. "Where? Where did he go?"

"Guts…"

"Which way?"

Luna's eyes had gone a bit wide at seeing the expression plastered on Guts' face, the face of a beast ready to kill its prey. Even the voice of the Beast of Darkness seemed like less of a growl from the noise that escaped his throat.

But the blonde girl kept a calm expression on her face. "I'm not sure. He spotted me and then just walked off, leaving the boy here. I followed after him, but he just disappeared. I wanted to tell him to not hurt my friend, but he was gone before I could."

"You have a friend out here too?" Schierke's concerned voice asked.

Luna had to lean over to look past Guts who still stood in front of her, not moving an inch. But Luna waved a friendly greeting to the green-haired witch. "Hello. No, I don't have a friend here with me, she's from somewhere else, but you've met her once before."

"I'm… fairly certain we haven't," Schierke told the other witch.

"Oh no, I didn't mean here at Hogwarts," Luna shook her head. "She told me she met you both in Vritannis. You're Schierke, and you're Harry Potter."

Guts stepped to the side, obscuring Luna's view of the two of them. "How do you know those names?" he could understand why she would know Harry, he was famous here, but someone like Schierke and the city Vritannis as well… just who was this girl?

"My friend Sonia told me she met them," Luna responded. "She met them in that city. I recognized the man from before because Sonia is usually around him. She likes him, but he always creeps me out when he's around her."

This… this had to be made up somehow. All sense of logical reasoning was screaming at Guts to let him know that what she was saying was false, just a lie. How could she, some witch in this world know anything about Vritannis, Midland, and especially Griffith – Neo-Griffith, whatever he was called, and claim that she also knew someone from Midland?

Schierke, is any of what she said true? Guts mentally asked the witch.

'I… well, Harry and I did meet a girl named Sonia in Vritannis. And, she mentioned knowing someone named Luna too.'

Then came the next question, How the hell is that even possible?

'Mistress Flora used to say that there were people called mediums. They have a special connection to the astral world and can often times see things which others cannot. Can I ask her a question?'

Do what you have to. A simple journey to come to pick up the boy had turned into something of a meet and greet with some airhead looking blonde girl.

"Um, excuse me, Luna," Schierke hesitantly stepped forward. "If you don't mind me asking, how long ago did you and Sonia become friends?"

"I don't mind at all, really," Luna tossed another piece of meat to the thestral who was waiting patiently for its next snack. She put a finger to her chin as she thought it over. "It was probably a few months ago, maybe more than that. Definitely, before winter came."

In other words, it was right around the time Griffith had been reborn at the Tower of Conviction. And of course, it was. Everything that was going on was all because of Griffith.

Luna continued, "It first began when he came to rescue Sonia's hometown from the Kushan." She knew about the war too. "After that, it was whenever he was around that I was able to see and even talk to Sonia. We talked about what was going on with us, and I'm happy she doesn't have to be around Griffith anymore to be able to talk to me."

"…Why's that?" Schierke tentatively asked.

"Well, I don't really know how to describe it," Luna said, playing with a pebble between her open toes. "But something big happened and now, it's like Sonia is right next to me sometimes."

What had happened since they had left on the boat? Guts had to wonder. He knew Griffith and the God Hand had some sort of plan, but what exactly was it?

"What does this Sonia person tell you?" it was Casca who asked the question. She was standing now, holding the boy in place by her legs. "Did he ever mention this boy before to her or anyone?"

Luna shook her head. "No, and I'm not sure why he would leave him here like this. But, I'm actually glad that you found him. He seems to like you." Luna tossed her final piece of meat for the thestral. "He seems friendly too. He doesn't come across as some of the other ones."

"The hell do you mean by that?" Guts demanded once again.

"He sounds defensive," Puck whispered to Ivalera.

"Shut it, chestnut!" the pink elf hissed back.

"With the kind of company that Griffith character keeps around, I thought he might be one of those who looks human, but really isn't, like the Black Lion, or Sir Irvine."

"You mean apostles." It was the first Harry had spoken up. Guts figured it was probably due to the fact he thought Luna might be throwing herself all over him due to his apparent infamous status that this place had. But it was made abundantly clear that Luna was entirely focused on other matters completely.

"Yes, that's the term. Sonia is talking about how Sir Irvine is her friend and how he's usually off on his own but is really well spoken." A polite apostle? Guts highly doubted it; it was probably all just a ruse of some kind. "You've seen them before, haven't you?"

"Unfortunately," Harry muttered.

"Some of them do look quite nasty," Luna spoke from her encounters with Sonia. "That's why I was glad that this boy doesn't come across as being like them. He looks and seems like a human, but none that I've ever seen before." Guts hazarded a look at the boy in question.

From under the sheet he had as a cloak, he appeared to be fiddling with something. "What's he got?" Guts asked. Casca looked down too, seeing what he was doing.

"Hey, what is it?" her expression had changed to more concerned now that the boy was involved. She had to crouch back down and as she did, the boy leaned in close to her ear. She had a sharp intake of breath.

"Casca, what's-?"

"He said something." Casca's tone was frantic. "Guts, he said something."

"What are you-?"

"Just come down here please," Casca ushered him over to kneel down to where the boy was. Upon seeing Guts get closer, the boy clung to Casca like a lifeline, but he still kept a full view of Guts. "Go on," Casca urged the boy. "He's not going to hurt you either, just… can you say that again?"

Snuggling a bit closer to where Casca was, the boy brought his lips up to Casca's ear so only she could hear what he was saying. But with use of the thought transference that they all shared, they were all able to hear what the boy was whispering into Casca's ear like he was speaking to all of them.

'Ha…wk in Falcon…a. Big… city. He want me to see you. I want to… talk to you. He want me to tell you… no go to Falcon…a. No go and… he won't do bad to you. He don't like me. He want me to go when full moon. He take me here. Take… to tell you… no go Falcon…a.'

Falcon city? Falcon a? Falconia? What?

From underneath the bed sheet he wore as a cloak, the boy pulled out a wooden knight figurine. It actually almost resembled the ones Harry had been given by Sirius from his old place of residence as a child. But those ones were made of some material that wasn't metal or wood but still bendable to some degree. This was pure painted wood and quality at that. This was a figure from someone who clearly had the money for it. And speaking of the ones Harry owned, the boy held it out toward Harry, almost inviting him to crouch down and take it.

It was bizarre, but after hearing the boy speak for the first time, Harry was obliged to come down to his level and accept the small gift from the boy. "Um… thank you. But, where did you get this? What is this?"

If the answer had anything to do with Griffith, Guts would make sure to break the thing when the kid wasn't looking.

The boy spoke again, softly this time, but enough for those gathered to hear. "Gai…eric."

Guts knew well enough what name he was trying to say. "Gaiseric."

A/N: Sorry if this chapter was really short, but I am going on vacation this week and I wanted to at least get something out before that happened. I hope this ending did a good job of building on a mystery that I've been hinting at for the past couple of chapters and even as far back as ones from before the eclipse. The hints are there if anyone wants to re-read to figure it out. Thank you for reading.


	54. Chapter 54

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

What was actually a moment, seemed like an eternity. No one spoke, nobody moved and even the chirping of crickets seemed to have gone silent. All pairs of eyes were directed solely on the boy who wore his usual impassive but still curious expression. To him, it was as if he hadn't just said the name of the once emperor who united all of the continent and earned names like, "King of Galloping Death." And then there was all he had said about Griffith being in some city called "Falconia," or something like that.

Guts had traveled the land as a mercenary even before going out to hunt and kill apostles, and he had a pretty good layout of Midland to know that there was not a town or city with the name of Falconia.

But, then again, this was Griffith they were talking about. With him being a God Hand and all, creating a new city should be a breeze for someone like him. He was probably back there right now picturing the confusion they all must be feeling right now at hearing all of this. He knew Casca was worried that their kid was somehow connected to Griffith or being used by him in some way, and here was the proof of that. Griffith was using the boy as some sort of messenger.

And Griffith had been here, too. That blonde girl, Luna had seen him, chased after him, only to have him disappear without a trace. If he wanted, he could have leveled that entire castle and killed all the students and faculty alike. He could have sunk the Sea Horse and have everyone aboard drown in the lake. But no; instead he sends a child to deliver some cryptic message about staying away and being able to live out the rest of their lives in peace.

Perhaps that was what had him feeling a mix of anger and disbelief. He knew what kind of person the God Hand was. Harry knew and Casca knew too. It was that idea that Griffith was trying to take some sort of moral high ground and offer them something that sounded too good to even be true. It had to be some kind of taunt, right? He obviously knew they were here and as such, probably knew they were without a way of even returning to Midland as of now.

But even if they did somehow manage to get back, Falconia would be the next stop after meeting back up with Rickert at Godo's mine. If Guts was sure for certain of one thing that the kid said, it was that the God Hand would indeed make good of any promise to do them harm. Or, more harm than had already been done. Casca was still recovering mentally and physically as well and it would be the biggest slap in the face for one of the God Hand to undo all of that and have her revert back to Elaine.

Guts was ultimately the one to break the silence that had fallen over them. "Casca, are you believing this?"

Casca answered with a question of her own. "How does he know that name, Guts?"

"What?" that was what she was focused on? He was equally stumped on that one too, but Skull Knight wasn't one to just appear to anyone.

But this boy wasn't just anyone. He was something else altogether, maybe neither demon or human, but still here right now. Just like Skull Knight himself. It still didn't make sense. If Skull Knight had met with this child, he probably would have tried to kill him, it was what he warned Guts to do when Casca gave birth prematurely. Unless Griffith and the rest of the God Hand had some sort of plan for Skull Knight that he was trying to warn them about, Guts didn't know how that fit in at all.

The closest to Gaiseric would be the Holy See founder, Gunderic who was now serving as mastermind for the God Hand, so unless he was trying to warn them about Void, Guts was left without an honest answer.

"I don't know," Guts answered a concerned Casca. "I've never called him that name, just Bone Head so I don't know how he would know it." He could guess, but it would probably be wrong.

"Maybe he's trying to say his name," it was that Luna girl that offered the suggestion. She was standing a bit away from the rest of them, petting the head of that thestril thing, watching them with curiosity.

"He… doesn't have one," Casca told the blonde girl, a hint of regret clearly present in her tone. And why wouldn't feel regret? She was convinced that this was their child, and she didn't even have a proper name to call him by.

"Oh. That's sad." Luna actually seemed to sound sad as well, her dream-like tone faltered as well when she said that.

Harry eyed Luna a bit strangely, maybe to try and determine if she was genuine when she said that or not. She had not given them a reason to believe she had some ulterior motive even if her story about somehow being connected to a girl in Midland checked out with Schierke.

"I don't suppose Sonia might have seen this boy around Falconia or even mentioned anything about Gaiseric, did she?" Harry eventually asked.

"Not really," Luna was quick to respond in her previous manner of speaking. "We don't really talk about things like that. Sonia tells me about how she tries to make friends with Mule and I tell her about my day at Hogwarts. Mainly that kind of stuff."

Well that was a huge help, Guts sarcastically thought.

"Is there any chance you could ask Sonia about it?" Harry furthered. He seemed a bit more at ease talking to this student given that she already knew all about Midland and didn't seem like she was about to go crazy and swarm him like a fanatic.

"I talked to her before I came out here," Luna told him. "She said she was tired from performing a service and wanted to turn in early."

Service? This girl was sounding weirder with everything she said.

"Would you be able to ask her when you speak to her again?" Harry asked, hoping to get some kind of lead from this.

Luna smiled. "Of course I can, but I doubt she would know. Sonia isn't really one to question that Griffith fellow and that worries me."

"You would actually do that?" Schierke asked the other witch.

"What do you want for it?" Guts stared down at the girl.

Luna hardly seemed offended, adding another layer of strangeness to her character. "I don't want anything. Why would I need something for talking to a friend?" What is it with this girl?

"You don't want anything?" Schierke did have an optimistic side to her that was able to shine through, but she wasn't about to dismiss the idea that people usually did want something in exchange for their services.

"Well, my shoes are missing and I would like them back," Luna wiggled her exposed toes for show. "But my mother used to say that lost things have a way of returning back to us. I usually eat some pudding and I'm able to get a good idea of where they are."

"Well, that's… good to hear, then," Schierke said, not really sure if she should offer some sort of condolence for the lost shoes or not. Based on how out of it Luna appeared to be, she ultimately decided against it.

Luna just nodded. "If you're staying on that ship that's anchored out on the lake, I could have a school owl send you a letter once I talk to Sonia again letting you know what she says."

He didn't sense any sort of deceit from this teenage witch, but it all just seemed too convenient for Guts' liking. She just happens to be out here feeding these things and just so happens to have some sort of spiritual connection with a girl from Midland who was close enough to possibly get information out of Griffith.

"Why?" Guts asked the simple question. "If you want nothing out of us for this, why even bother?"

To that, Luna just said, "You just look like a few people who could use a helping hand." To Guts, it was a naïve answer he would expect a girl like Erica to give. Luna then added, "Also, if you do find a way back, would you mind bringing some pudding and ice cream with you? I told Sonia about it, and she wants to try some." Guts hadn't the slightest idea what either of those things was.

Casca was picking the boy up to hold him in her arms; his small arms instantly went around her neck to hold on. Guts saw the kid sneaking a glimpse at him but turned his head when he was caught staring.

Guts sighed. "If that's all there is, let's get back already, this forest doesn't sit right with me." They weren't that deep in and the lake was still in sight, but with the trees so close together, it reminded him of a good spot to set an ambush, but Schierke and Harry had assured them that Luna and the thestrils were the only things near at the moment.

"It is called the Forbidden Forest," Luna offhandedly mentioned. "But Professor Hagrid took us here for threstril lessons before, and told us it was safe."

Schierke looked a bit concerned at that. "There's a forest that's forbidden right next to a school? Wouldn't that just be a hazard?"

"Well there were trolls in the forest outside of Enoch," Harry reminded her.

"Yeah, and we sealed their cave up," Schierke, in turn, reminded him. "Before all that, the only thing anyone had to worry about was golems chasing off anyone who might have gotten past the barrier."

"I seem to remember the golem trying to do more than just chase me away," Harry muttered.

"You pulled a sword on it," Schierke defended.

"Enough, already," Guts strode past the two mages. "I don't care what else lives in here, let's just get back to Roderick and have him take us back to the ship."

Harry and Schierke had the decency to look embarrassed by their mild banter. "Yeah, you're right," Harry agreed with Guts. But he paused to look back at Luna. "You really mean what you meant about asking Sonia?"

"Of course, I do," Luna answered. "I always enjoy talking with her. Outside of that Neville boy, she's the one I talk to the most."

"Thank you, for agreeing to this then," Schierke kindly spoke to the other girl. "And I am sorry if Guts came off a little too hard on you, since arriving here the few interactions we've had with some other mages were… less than ideal."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I can understand why you would want to be on that ship. All anyone really talks about now is you, Harry." It looks like she knew he didn't really care for this fame. "After all, the more people talk about someone, the more likely that person is to attract nargals."

Harry leaned over to Schierke. "What's a nargal?"

"I don't know," she whispered back.

"Nargals?" Puck hovered off of Guts' broad shoulder. "I thought they only lived on Elfhelm."

"Who cares about that," Guts dismissed the blue elf's curiosity. "Let's just get back already."

Guts' sense of danger seemed to go on high alert when a distant "Arooooo!" echoed throughout the night.

"A wolf?" Casca asked, her hold on the child tightened.

"It doesn't sound too close," Guts said, and that was if his hearing wasn't faltering.

If anyone looked concerned by the howl, it was surprisingly Luna. The girl who had been so calm in the face of strangers actually seemed worried now. "Professor Lupin…" she trailed off.

"Lupin?" Guts repeated recalling the name of Sirius' one friend and one who helped bring them here. He was also one to help sneak them in so they could help heal Casca. "What are you on about, blondie?"

Luna was looking up at the sky, having been here from before the sun went down, she had not looked at the night sky above them until hearing that wolfish howl. "It is him. It's not supposed to be the full moon tonight. Unless…" Luna's blue eyes drifted over to the child in Casca's arms.

"I'll ask you one more time, what about Lupin?" Guts demanded of the girl.

"Professor Lupin is a werewolf," Luna admitted to him.

"You mean like a lycan?" Schierke inquired, she sounded less at ease. "Mistress Flora told me clans of them once inhabited the land, but were hunted to extinction."

Luna nodded. "Every full moon he transforms into a werewolf. Professor Snape got him sacked last year for it. If he's a wolf now… he might actually attack one of the students."

"Well, the professors can handle it, can't they?" Harry asked. "They had to have been prepared for something like this if he transforms every full moon."

Luna looked unsure. "I think Professor Snape usually brews him wolfsbane potion in advance. But if he hasn't taken it, he'll be conscious and much more dangerous. The professors might be able to get a handle in him, but werewolves have a high tolerance to some magic spells and if they ganged up on him he might lash out in fear."

Guts mulled that all over. He knew of werewolf or lycan stories that were only ever supposed to be just that. And in every single story, they all shared one common trait in common, if you get bit by one, you turn into one too. Stories like those were meant to keep children from wandering outside their homes at night to ease a mother's worried mind. If Lupin was loose inside that castle right now, it was up to the teachers to handle it.

And if he ended up attacking some kid… Guts' eye passed over the child Casca held. It was because of this kid and Griffith that the moon was even out tonight like it was. Lupin seemed to be suffering the unfortunate consequences of that happening. Guts wouldn't say that he cared about the man even if he was someone who was close to Harry's parents; he wouldn't even say that they were even close acquaintances. But there was a sense of indebtedness he had for the professor. It was thanks to him and Sirius that they were able to get into Hogwarts in order to properly heal Casca. And now, Lupin was the one who was losing his sanity to an inner beast. And that, Guts could explicitly relate to.

"Harry, Schierke, can you lock onto Lupin's od or whatever from here?" Guts asked the two mages.

"With all the magical energy around here, it should be pretty easy," Harry guessed. "What did you have in mind?"

"You think it would be possible for you to lure him out of the castle and out here?" Guts bluntly asked.

"…If Harry and I went into our luminous bodies, we could, in theory, have him lock onto the scent of our physical bodies like giving him a scent to go after," Schierke was very tentative to answer that question. "What would we do after that? Lupin would still be wandering the grounds as a werewolf until the morning."

"No. Not if we subdue him, he won't." Guts stretched his neck.

"You're going to fight a werewolf?" Casca sounded incredulous. "One bite from him and you would…" she trailed off like she didn't want to finish that thought and he hand would have went to her brand if she was not supporting a kid in her arms. "You've done some stupid things, but this is just being reckless for the sake of recklessness."

"I don't plan on fighting him unless I have to," Guts clarified to her mild confusion. "This is a magic forest, right? So some magic spirits must be here. If Schierke or Harry make contact with them, we can have him trapped until the morning." He looked back to the mages. "Feel up to it?"

"It would be possible," Schierke thought the plan over. "However… this forest, I feel the od of many dark, unfriendly spirits here, nothing like the Four Guardians that are prominent back in Midland. To properly interact with these spirits, summoning them will most likely kill Lupin. Harry and I will likely have to manipulate the spirits with our own energy to make them more stable."

"Wouldn't that mean someone would have to hold Lupin at bay until you managed that?" Casca asked, picking up on the more risk-based nature of the plan.

"If that's the case, just leave that to me then," Guts said, his tone the same as it would be before a fight.

Casca looked grief-stricken. "Guts, you-,"

"-Unless the Luna girl knows some spell to calm down a werewolf," he looked at the blonde who shook her head, "then it's pretty simple on my end; I just have to not get bit."

"What about your armor?" Casca asked the question that posed the biggest threat to them.

"Like I said, I don't plan on killing Lupin and sleeping without it on at night has helped. The Beast hasn't been a problem as of late, but if it is… go back to shore as fast as you can and have Roderick take you back to the ship. Harry or Schierke will have to pull me out." He looked to Luna once again. "Same for you, blondie. Either run for the castle or follow them."

Luna nodded. "Okay," she said like she had some intuitive nature that made her aware of the whole thing. But if she was a medium, Guts guessed she probably did.

Together, with Schierke, Harry felt the familiar feeling of weightlessness spread across his body as a second flesh of sorts was being removed from him, taking him up and off the ground, but having a tether of sorts connecting his new, weightless body to the one that was standing still in the small patch of forest. He looked over to Schierke to see that her body was like his as well, like it was made of light and radiating soft, white flames that were harmless to touch.

Schierke gave him a nod to let him know that she was good to go, and before traversing the air toward Hogwarts Castle, Harry noticed that Luna was staring at their physical bodies like she was expecting them to say or perform a spell. Magic really was incorporated differently here it seemed.

But while Luna was keeping an eye on the physical forms, a certain pair of dark eyes were staring right up at where their luminous astral bodies were. Like most of his stares, this one was filled with curiosity as well. It wasn't enough to hinder their trek to the castle, but it was important enough for Harry to bring up to Schierke.

"He saw us. He was looking right at us."

"I saw him, too." Schierke acknowledged. "Maybe it's because his presence is manipulating the astral energy, or maybe he is just something more than human. Either way, he didn't seem scared at seeing us like this, as ghosts almost."

Harry nodded. It would make sense with what they knew, or at least, suspected about the boy. He was tied to the God Hand and Neo-Griffith in some way. Maybe he was leeching off some of that power, enough to manifest during the full moon. "You're probably right, as usual."

"I'm flattered, but it isn't the time for that now." The closer they got to the castle, the more they were able to feel the raw, deep-rooted magic that was stored and contained within the ancient stone fortress. And it wasn't just a feeling of ancient magic, there was newer magic here as well. The culmination of students of past and present most likely. There was probably more magical energy here in this one castle than there was in the entirely of Midland; well, at least before Neo-Griffith did whatever it was to acquire his own city if Luna was to believed as a reliable source of information.

When they got just outside the front of the castle doors, their astral bodies allowed them to traverse through the solid material, but Harry found it a bit taxing to do so. Magic was clearly meant to keep unwanted intruders out and away from ever entering, but if no one in this land even knew what an astral body was or how to access it, then it would be very difficult to put charms up to specifically protect against them.

"Whew!" Schierke heaved a small sigh of relief. "That felt more than it should have. Almost like squeezing through a small opening in a brick wall."

"Not turning back, are you?"

"And leave you all alone?"

The entrance hall was deserted, the only source of light coming from the stone braziers that lined the walls. Most of the feeling of od was coming to the right, up the same staircase set that moved that they had climbed when going up to meet with Dumbledore. Their astral bodies drifted in that direction, going up the staircases as they rearranged themselves seemingly out of boredom like they missed granting students access to various floors within the castle.

The paintings that they passed along the way still talked and mingled with each other, but this time, they seemed to be in a much more frantic state as they talked.

"Did you hear what was going on?" a painting asked a neighboring one.

"Is it those Weasley twins again?"

"No, no, it isn't them."

"Ah, so it must be Peeves."

"Peeves is tilting paintings down by the kitchens. I would know, I just came from down there. He was giving me a headache."

"I know what it is!" a loud and rather boisterous painted figure declared as he clanked his way through the frames. "I, Sir Cadagon, have seen the beast with my own eyes. Teachers are on high alert, heads of houses are keeping the students in their dorms, and I bravely volunteered to fight, but was declined." This knight figure reminded Harry a bit of Sir Azan with his over-the-top manner. "There's a werewolf on the prowl! Up near the seventh floor."

Trying to focus his concentration up to that floor, Harry was searching for an out of place od signature, something that would almost feel like a Berserker mode Guts in a way as he wasn't about to just take the word of this knight figure who seemed a bit out of it.

There were multiple od signatures, each one unique, but most of them were being centered around in groups near where some towers would be viewed from the outside. Were those the dorms for the students? And there was another strange source of od that came floating from out of the wall above them and continued upward to a higher floor.

It was an actual ghost.

"Can they see us?" Harry asked Schierke. His own experiences of dealing with spirits were the kind that were attracted to the brand on his neck. But if these were at this school, they must be of a different make.

"It… may be possible for them to see us," Schierke answered. "In all sense of the word, we are basically spirits when in our astral bodies. If we're invisible to the physical eye, a spiritual eye might be the only thing that can see us."

"So now we have to avoid ghosts." If they were spotted, they could at least try to pass off as being actual ghosts themselves. "But I did feel a strong malevolent od signature on one of the higher floors," Harry told her. "And I'm pretty sure I know who it is."

Together, they drifted weightlessly up the still changing staircases, passing more paintings along the way and even more doors that made the central stairway seem like a maze designed to hold criminals instead of helping students find their way to whichever class. Footsteps were heard racing up the stairs behind them.

Looking back, Harry saw the one teacher who seemed especially hostile toward him when they first met not too long ago. His black robes billowed behind him as he sprinted up the stairs, wand held tightly in his hand. A few of his greasy black locks stuck to his forehead. And he wasn't alone. A ghostly figure was gliding along beside him. If what Schierke suspected was true and ghosts could see them, Harry didn't want him blabbing to that Snape guy of all people. He clearly hated Harry enough as it was and giving him an excuse to be more hostile wouldn't end well for him.

Taking Schierke's astral hand, Harry pulled them both aside and behind a tapestry to avoid the specter's gaze. "Where is he, Baron?" Snape asked the ghost.

"The Headless Hunt reported seeing him on the seventh floor, heading down to the sixth," the ghost of the Baron answered.

"Tch!" Snape must have sneered. "He's already moving away from his office then. Must be trying to sniff out a little midnight snack. Go tell the rest of the ghosts to find some of the other staff and let them know of his location. I'll keep him contained until the rest arrive."

"As you wish," the Baron said before he glided away.

"We need to hurry then," Schierke said.

"Right." While Harry did not like Snape based on what he knew of the man and how he had acted, and he wasn't going to try to help him out because he cared about him. If anything, it was more for Lupin's sake than for Snape's. Lupin, despite helping to pull them off course, still remained very open and friendly to all of them. And he had helped too in sneaking them into the castle, and Harry figured the man behind the wolf wouldn't be able to live with himself if he hurt anybody while being a werewolf, even someone as unpleasant as Snape.

Traversing further upward, the two of them were now down a corridor with suits of armor lining the walls. Considering this was a magic castle, Harry suspected those suits could probably move if the paintings were anything to go by. But aside from the décor, Harry could feel the presence of a dark, wild od coming from up ahead. Schierke felt it too.

"Oh, my! Is that actually Lupin?"

Just ahead of them in the corridor, was the source of the benevolent od. Like Lupin's rather shabby and graying hair, the beast had similarly matching fur. It was down on all fours, but its limbs were too long to belong to any regular wolf, and Harry suspected he would be a little over seven feet in height if he were to stand on his hind legs. And while the limbs were thin, there was no mistaking the sinewy muscle that was lined just beneath that fur.

There was a surprising lack of tail though, just a bit of a nub really. Maybe he had bit it off at an earlier point in his life and it wouldn't be too surprising either. Lupin's canines were clearly visible as his jowls were pulled back. His sensitive nose sniffed at the air while ears perked up and fierce amber eyes darted around.

"He seems especially agitated," Schierke studied his behavior.

"If he's been taking that wolfsbane potion to keep himself under control for years, it must be bit of a shock to be a full wolf again." Harry looked at Lupin's muzzle. "There isn't any blood on his snout, so the teachers must have already gotten all the students in their dorms."

"That just leaves us to…" Schierke trailed off a bit.

"Lure him back to where we are," Harry finished. With Schierke, he drifted over to where Lupin was sniffing about. "I feel Snape's od a fair ways away, so we better get him out of here before then."

Both reached out a luminous hand and put it on Lupin's snout. To have an interaction with something of the astral world in the physical was a rare occasion for most, but not entirely unheard of. Harry knew that behelits and by extent, the Brand of Sacrifice acted by that standard. But since their astral bodies were just traces of their person, lingering energy could be left behind as a result; they were imprinting their spiritual sense to Lupin, setting him on a trail to the real thing, their bodies.

They pulled their hands back as Lupin's ears perked up and he began sniffing in the direction that led to the staircase and subsequent outside. He pulled his head back and let out a primal howl, a sense of prey had infected his senses. Lupin had begun his hunt.

Guts had been waiting, keeping a close eye on both Harry and Schierke's bodies as they stood stone still, their mission still in progress. Luna seemed to be biding the time by catching and releasing fireflies, but it lacked the enthusiasm she had when she had introduced the thestrils. To Guts, it seemed she had enough common sense to know when something was serious, but still having enough innocence to try and be a proper kid.

He could tell Casca was nervous for their two mages, whispering only to the child in her arms and making small talk with Luna about topics she would be able to answer. She must be feeling out of place holding a kid and not a sword when she knew for a fact that trouble was about to be coming their way.

"You didn't seem to know what it was the both of them are doing by being still like that," Casca offhandedly mentioned.

"Not really," Luna admitted. "But, I get a feeling I get when I'm able to talk with Sonia, so it must be some kind of magic I don't know about."

"Hm." Casca nodded. "So how old were you when you started studying to be a witch?"

"Eleven, that is when most kids in England start Hogwarts. Pure-bloods and half-bloods get their letters pretty early on, but for muggle-borns, they get a letter and a professor to explain to them what is going on."

"Pure-blood?" Casca repeated that word. "Meaning…?"

"A witch or wizard whose parents are both -bornss come from a family with no previous magical ability."

"You mean, you don't just decide to become a witch and study to do it?" Casca asked.

"No, not really," Luna casually said.

"A friend of mine would probably disagree on that," she referred to Farnese. "So I take it different kinds of magic are popular here then. You have a wand over a staff."

"Only the most powerful of mages are ever said to wield staffs," Luna explained. "Like Merlin. But, I'm not sure if Harry or Schierke know, but there is something called a patronus charm."

"They probably do," Guts said, unsure himself but not wanting lack of information to be used against them. "But for our sake, why not explain?"

"My father says it's like an extension of the caster. If it's powerful enough, it can take the form of a unique animal. I guess you need to be thinking of a really happy memory when you cast it. Because of that, it can keep dark creatures away." Luna's description was vague, but it was enough for Guts to know that he had never seen either mage performing that spell. If they did know it, it could have come in handy when fending off accursed spirits.

"Arooooo!" a howl rand out through the night. It was loud enough for a few bats to fly from a nearby tree in fear. Both Harry and Schierke's green eyes opened as their astral bodies must have returned to them.

"Well?" Guts asked as soon as they were back.

"Lupin, he's coming alright," Harry nodded.

"He couldn't get through the main door, so he just threw himself out a low window," Schierke explained. "He has our scent, he'll be here soon." She looked to Harry. "Ready?"

Giving Schierke an affirmative nod, they both made ready to traverse the astral world one final time to better control the raw power of this forests spirits.

"The two of you get back," Guts instructed both Casca and Luna. He could hear howls getting more frequent, the sounds of padded paws were soft, but growing louder; the same could be said by the low growls of a hungry predator on the hunt. Bats and birds were taking off from their designated perches, a clear sign that nothing good was on the way.

"Guts," Casca said his name, "how close is…?"

"Get back!" Guts yelled as a pair of amber eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. And the next thing that shone in the moonlight were the sharp, white canines of a leaping wolf that was gunning straight toward the bodies of Harry and Schierke.

Guts intercepted the wolf form of Lupin, using the broadside of Dragonslayer like a shield. He felt his legs shake a bit from the force of Lupin's pounce. Whereas Lupin was a man of mild to shabby build as a human, his physical traits seemed to have been enhanced as a wolf.

Digging the metal heels of his boots in the ground, Guts pushed back with all of his weight and knocked the werewolf back. Lupin crouched down on all fours, his head hung low, but his eyes never once left Guts; his jowls curled upwards in a snarling expression. Lupin began walking a circle, trying to find an opening and attack from there.

In turn, Guts stared the wolf down as well, holding his ground, but still shifting to never have his back turned on the wolf. Doing this, he was vaguely reminded of the night he had fled his first mercenary camp after Gambino had tried to kill him. He had taken an arrow to his shoulder and had been stalked by a pack of hungry wolves. Guts thought himself to be dead, but his sword had moved seemingly of its own accord and killed the beast that dared tried to eat him.

Here, the circumstances were different, but he would not be made prey anytime soon. Least of all to a shabby man who had no control of himself at the present moment.

The wolf Lupin snarled at him as he made for a quick dash around Guts, trying to target the still forms of Harry and Schierke. Guts was quick to intercept the wolf once again, Dragonslayer still being used as a shield.

Lupin's clawed paws tried to pull the massive blade down, but it resulted in Lupin to cut his long, hairy fingers as a result due to the sharpness of Dragonslayer and its special aversion to having killed so many supernatural creatures. But it seemed no semblance of human remained in Lupin's mind at the time as he surely would have pulled his hands away at the feeling of pain, and although the wolf seemed agitated by it, he was intent on biting into Guts' throat.

Drool flew from Wolf Lupin's maw and jowls as he snapped his abnormally large, white teeth in Guts' direction. Some spittle flew on Guts' face, making him snarl just as fiercely in return as Lupin stood on his hind legs to try and get the height advantage over him. Again, something that would not happen if he was a regular human.

Putting his weight into his hind legs, Lupin tried barring down on Guts, his snapping jaws just inches from biting Guts on the nose or even tearing a piece of flesh from his face. Seeing a desperate situation, Guts held the hilt of Dragonslayer in his real hand while his prosthetic curled into a fist and slammed itself against the snout of the werewolf.

Clearly not expecting its prey to fight back in such a way, the werewolf Lupin staggered a bit from the recoil of the punch, but still remained standing on his hind legs, trying to keep the height advantage over Guts.

Taking advantage of Lupin's stunned state, Guts used his metal fist to punch Lupin on the snout once more. This time, he managed to elicit a whimper of pain from the werewolf and Guts followed up with a series of left hooks to the muzzle of the wolf. But true to any dog that was being hit, eventually it was bound to bite back.

Lupin's teeth bit down on the metal of his prosthetic. Naturally, Guts did not feel it, but he could see that Lupin had some serious strength to his jaws as his teeth were able to make tiny dents along the metal arm. He was making his way to where the prosthetic met real flesh.

"Nice try!" Guts snarled like a beast seeing what the wolf was working his way up toward. Swinging his leg back, Guts then kicked at Lupin's knee joint with his heavy metal boot.

A sickening crack! Was heard as Lupin stopped biting down on the metal arm as he soon lost the height advantage and found Guts on top of him, pressing down with the broadside of Dragonslayer.

'Your blood is pumping.' The voice of the Beast of Darkness echoed in Guts' mind. 'You haven't had a true fight since you got here. It has been too calm for your liking, you were not meant for such a life. Kill the wolf that lies under you! Strengthen your blade with his blood, he is weak as a human, you would be doing him a service.'

Guts could feel the presence of the Berserker Armor becoming stronger, working to overpower his own ego, his sense of self and plunge him into the nightmare of endless slaughter. He could hold Lupin for now, but both Harry and Schierke were working to summon that spirit to contain the werewolf.

Pushing back mentally, Guts fought the advancing feeling the armor was bringing. The Beast clearly wanted to be unleashed after having been chained up for so long, and it was taking his full mental fortitude to keep it at bay and keep his own mind sane. It took a lot, enough for Lupin push Dragonslayer off and scurry a distance away, eyeing the still targets of Harry and Schierke as well as a wide-eyed Luna and Casca with child.

Sensing danger from Guts, the wolf went after what it deemed as easy prey. "No damnit!" Guts yelled as the sensation he had been fighting to keep at bay was finally starting to return. Lupin was closing the gap toward Schierke, and Guts felt his feet feel like they had the speed of a dozen horses.

Guts closed the distance Lupin had created and tackled him from behind, using only his body. The Berserker Armor was starting to creep down his arms, covering them in the near impenetrable ebony plating. Knowing what would happen if he were to grasp Dragonslayer, Guts resorted to using both of his armor covered fists to subdue the wolf.

His left arm went to wrap around Lupin's neck and Guts pressed his full weight down on the wolf's back. He brought his leg around to Lupin's side and slammed his armor coated knee into his ribs. The wolf howled in pain, but still tried its damn hardest to buck Guts from off his back and continued to try and claw his way over to Schierke.

"No you fucking don't!" Guts snarled as his other armor covered fist punched continuously on the side of Lupin's head. He could feel his strength already being enhanced from the partial armor use, and even then Guts had to fight to not use his full strength at this. If he did, he could easily punch a hole right in Lupin's head and end up killing him.

With his other leg, Guts rammed it into Lupin's back, further trying to pin him down and fight off the urge to give up his mental struggle and maintain his sanity.

'You have him pinned, kill him already!' one wolf yelled in his mind as the other howled in reality.

"Arrghh!" Guts yelled before biting down on the nearest thing to keep himself from giving in. He bit down on Lupin's ear, careful not to let any fur or blood touch his tongue. The werewolf gave another cry of pain before a voice called out his name, nearly breaking him out of his near rampage state.

"Guts!" it was Casca calling his name. "Guts, move!"

Both Harry and Schierke had completed their spell and a large shape seemed to be emerging from the ground itself as a result. It was made of bark, soil, rock, and moss and resembled a half-man half-horse type of creature, a spirit that is native to this forest. It started at ten feet in height before almost doubling in that. It stepped over both Guts and Lupin and its legs buried into the earth again, looking to press down and make an impromptu sort of cage.

Still, under partial influence of the armor, Guts used his now enhanced speed to quickly roll off of Lupin and to safety as the spirit cage trapped Lupin beneath the solid body, effectively restraining him.

But a much bigger problem seemed to be presenting itself now. Guts could feel the helm of the Berserker Armor sliding up from the back, seeking to envelop him without restraint this time.

And then there was the light.

It seemed to shine into existence in front of him, radiating light like a fire. And… it was taking shape; the shape of a small figure.

Guts eye naturally went to where Casca was holding the kid and saw the boy staring straight at him. The boy raised one of his hands like he was reaching out to Guts, and the visage of light in front of him seemed to sprout an appendage and reach out to touch the ebony surface of the armor's chest piece.

And he felt his mind growing clearer, like the feeling of being taken over was starting to lessen to some degree. Was no one else seeing this? He suspected the mages would be able to see it, but they were keeping a safe distance from him and staring at him rather than the being of light standing right in front of him. Whatever it was the light was doing, it was working on clearing up Guts' mind, even slowing the progression of the helm sliding into place to cover his head.

"Harry… Schierke…" Guts spoke their names. "I don't care who, just… put me out already."

Both mages came rushing over, seeing the armor being halted in its place. Two staffs reached out and made contact with his head. There was a blinding light and Guts' vision went dark.

It was about an hour later and Luna found herself sitting in the headmaster's office. Harry, Schierke, Casca, and that boy had left before then. The two green-eyed mages having to levitate the unconscious form of Guts back to the boat they had docked with. But Schierke said that he would be okay, so Luna was glad.

After Guts fought barehanded against a werewolf and the two managed to subdue Professor Lupin, they instructed Luna to head right back to the castle. She agreed and made a parting promise that as soon as she got in contact with Sonia, she would write to them to know what she knew about this boy and Gaiseric.

But as she was entering, Professors Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, and even Dumbledore were coming out with their wands drawn, probably in chase of Professor Lupin. Flitwick had been alarmed at seeing one of his raven's out so late and when a werewolf was on the loose to make matters worse.

This was really the first time Luna had seen Professor Flitwick so worked up, but he was her head of house, so it made sense. She had to explain that she had just been out to feed the thestrils before it had gotten dark out and she assured them that Professor Lupin had been restrained for the time being.

Not ready to take her word for it, Professors Dumbledore and Snape went to go investigate the site of the fight she had pointed out, leaving her alone with Professors Flitwick and McGonagall. Flickwick was understandably worried, and Mcgonagall was strict to reprimand her for being out so late; but given what they knew of her often bizarre nature, they could believe her excuse and ended up only taking thirty points from Ravenclaw.

When Dumbledore and Snape did return, the headmaster insisted that he speak with her in his office. There, she recounted to him the story she had told the two other professors and had to include her meeting with Harry and the Black Swordsman to him and the other teachers present.

"You are saying that the Black Swordsman actually wrestled with a full-grown werewolf?" Professor Snape asked with the usual drawl.

"Yes," Luna nodded. "He actually pinned Professor Lupin before he was properly captured." She could tell he was having trouble processing that.

"Good gracious, the man must be mad!" Professor Flitwick nearly fell off his chair. "If he had gotten bit… did he?"

"No."

"Truly? Well, he must have quite the experience to hold his own. Still mad, but… he is unique."

"I'm not sure unique is the word," Mcgonagall corrected. "Suicidal is more like it. If he were a student and in Gryffindor-,"

"-He is the embodiment of Gryffindor," Snape muttered.

"-And you say Harry Potter was present as well?" Mcgonagall continued as if Snape hadn't interrupted.

"Yes. They were there to get the boy that appeared."

"You mean they kidnapped a student?" Snape was quick to assume that was what she meant.

"No. He was too young to be a student. The man in white escorted him here. He's the reason the moon was full tonight."

"And you want us to believe the Hogwarts wards were breached then?" Snape asked. "Headmaster, did your instruments indicate such a breech?"

"As fate would have it, there was one such occurance," Dumbledore admitted. "If you all would, I would like to speak with Miss. Lovegood alone for a moment." Respecting the wishes of the headmaster, the professors filed out. From his desk drawer, Dumbledore pulled out a stack of papers. "Miss. Lovegood, your father runs the Quibbler, correct?"

"Yes, papa says he might have found a lead in Sweden about the crumple-horned snorckack."

Dumbledore nodded patiently. "Yes, well, these are papers are from when it was announced Harry Potter had indeed returned. Your father covered this topic as well, yes?"

"That sounds about right."

Dumbledore picked a copy of that issue and handed it to her. "From what I was able to read, you seem to have been involved in shaping how the article was written. You seem to believe that there is a land called Midland." He seemed to be watching her reaction. "And in the article, you said you have a friend named Sonia who is close to a man in white. Am I to assume this is the same individual?"

"That's what I saw, sir," Luna responded.

"Hm. I see," Dumbledore seemed to be mulling it over. "Well, the hour is very late, Miss. Lovegood, and I don't mean to keep you from losing any more sleep than you already have. You may go."

Luna did, but she almost heard a sigh escape from the Headmaster as she exited his office.

Chaos. The Ministry was in absolute chaos at the moment, and it clashed horribly with Umbride's orderly nature. Everyone from every department, even pathetic Arthur Weasley in Misuse of Muggle Arts was getting letters about what was happening outside right now.

A full moon out of the schedule. It was throwing everything out of balance! Her mind naturally went to those cursed half-breeds that turn into wolves. They would be transforming all over the place, attacking people and creating more filthy half-breeds. Merlin forbid that they bite a muggle! That would cause the expose of their world and they would have to lock said muggle off in an institution to keep them from spreading that horrible disease.

But there were things that even the Ministry could not control, and that was muggle media. Their press would be all over this mystery lunar change, and they would of course be able to come up with no solution.

The people were going to go into a full state of panic over this, and rightly so! They needed to be reassured that the Ministry was strong and still in control. They needed that Potter boy now more than ever, even with all this going on about You-Know-Who. The dementors were still loyal to the Ministry for now, but it would not be long before they switched sides. She would have to think of something fast to get rid of those filthy muggles. She just needed an opening to present itself to her.

When he opened his eye, all he saw was white, perhaps a lingering effect of the spell Harry and Schierke had used to put him under before he lost it and went Berserk. "Ugh." Guts groaned as he sat up in his cot.

"You're awake."

Sitting at the foot of his cot was Casca, the boy was still present and wrapped up in the bed sheet he had shown up with.

"How long was I out?" Guts asked pushing himself up to which Casca made a disapproving face.

"Hour and a half, maybe. Schierke came by a little while ago to check on you. She said your od felt stronger before dropping back to normal, whatever that means."

Guts looked at the boy who poked his head to hide behind Casca. "Yeah, I wonder what."

Casca caught him staring. "You mean him?"

"I take it you didn't see it then."

"See what?" she insisted.

"There was this… light or something that I saw as I was being taken over. I saw him staring at me and as he reached out, the light touched my armor."

Casca was focused on the boy now. "Hey," she said in a gentle tone. "Did you do that?" the boy stared into her eyes and briefly glanced at Guts before nudging his head into Casca's shoulder.

"What does that mean?" Guts asked. He had his suspicion for sure.

"I wish I could tell you." Casca began stroking the boy's long, dark hair, easing him as he buried his head deeper with his nudging. "I really do. And… it will sound selfish but, I want this to last."

"Casca…"

"Even though I know it won't and he'll be gone by the morning. Just… the three of us for now. Can that be the one good thing about tonight?"

Guts sat up fully and sat next to Casca who continued stroking the boy's hair, whispering comforting words to the child until the point where she herself began to drift off into a sleep of her own. Guts had to get off the bed to lay her down properly across it, letting her enjoy whatever dream she was having. From the look on her face, it was something good this time.

That left him and the boy who was staring out the porthole window.

"So," Guts began, not really sure what the hell to say to the kid. "If you can't talk now, fine, just… that was you, right? That light?"

He received a quick glance before the boy turned his head down. And then gave a very small nod.

"…You're not, uh, one of them, some demon or something?" Casca would have hit him hard for saying it like that and he was glad she was asleep.

The boy met his gaze and blinked while tilting his head to the side. It was a sign of non-aggression on his end.

"That's… good. Any point to me even asking where you came from." The boy spared a glance over to Casca's sleeping form. "Yeah, I figured that much, I mean… ah, forget it. I don't even know what I mean." He slumped his back against the wall and slid down to where he was sitting. "That figure you gave Harry, you didn't meet Skull Knight, did you?" the boy stared curious at that name. "Skull Knight, you know, glowing reddish-purple eyes, big horse, bony head?" Guts pointed to his own head not really sure how to make him understand.

That almost elicited a smile at the gesture he made, but the boy remained tip-lipped and just shook his head.

"Ah, I see. So you haven't met him. No real point in asking you how you know that name then."

The boy was silent. "…des…dan…"

Guts perked up at the sound of his voice. The boy was obviously trying to utter a word he didn't know how to say, or maybe he couldn't say. Guts was about to ask what, but the boy just shook his head, giving up on it himself.

The boy walked over to the bed and climbed up onto next to Casca and lying down next to her. He looked over to Guts with an almost inquisitive look as to why he was against the wall and not in bed. Guts turned away from his stare, not wanting to disturb the sleeping Casca himself. He would tell her about what the boy had tried to say in the morning but by then, Guts knew he would be gone.

A/N: Back from vacation, I meant to have this up on my birthday, but I only had so much free time since getting back. Anyway, this one is longer and more to my usual style and I hope to have the next one out soon. Thank you for reading.


	55. Chapter 55

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing

Voldemort had thought the night would have been an easy one. He had temporarily left the safe house that was Malfoy Manor to travel north to meet with some of the last remaining tribes of giants currently alive in the United Kingdom. He knew that giants, no matter which tribe, respected strength above all else and he would meet with them personally since none of his followers magic could possibly compare to his own.

It was something that could be considered a menial task for someone of his power and status, but aside from strength, giants did value a leader who would fight their own battles instead of relying on followers. It was a trait that these giants had carried over from their close relatives in the more Nordic territories, the once great giants of frost and ice. But these giants were far less cultured than their Nordic brethrens.

Their camp, if it could even be called as such, was feeble, an easy target for another tribe of giants should the other attack. There giants were still massive, but seemed innately dumber than he would have ever expected. No doubt, it was due to actions put forth by the Ministry; killing giants had reduced their population by so much that they seemed to have taken to inbreeding to sustain their population. Or they might have even mated with humans like the mother of that great oaf of a gamekeeper, Hagrid. It was disgrace enough to have to be a creature of such low intelligence, being a half-breed of such would be an unbearable humiliation.

But, the thing that did impress Voldemort, albeit only slightly, was their tenacity for violence. In terms of strength, they could make up an entire division of his growing army alone, with only a few of his Death Eaters having to stay on as guards and shepards to make sure that they stayed on point with their given assignment. On the contrast, it was the reason behind the violence that led to his skepticism of using such creatures; they were violent over just about everything.

By Merlin, he saw one rip another's head off for supposedly stealing a goat. And that led to the mother of the now dead giant coming out and bashing the head of the other giant in with a club. It was really no different than seeing a couple of trolls hit each other with their clubs, and that had been the first sight he had seen upon arriving just outside of the camp. But from what legends and old folk tales told of giants, these actions were relatively tame by those standards, and it wasn't as if they were all that surprising to him anyhow.

Yes, they could be useful and surly a match for anyone who was trying to safeguard Potter. Voldemort briefly reflected on what the other apostle, Zodd, had told him before he had left the city of the God Hand to return back to headquarters; how Potter was supposedly in the company of one called the "Black Swordsman" who could fight like a vicious hellhound. What's more, this man was just a mere mundane human, nothing special about him in the slightest. Yet both apostles Zodd and Locus seemed to speak in tones that conveyed implication of an unknown danger, and in the former's case, a sense of admiration.

Voldemort had not pestered either of them before leaving the city with his followers, but if he was so dangerous he could make two other apostles waver in their own power and confidence, they were either weaker than they cared to admit, or, the Black Swordsman was the real deal. But if this swordsman was truly just an ordinary man, he could be killed just as easily as one, albeit, with some difficulty.

The thought of his pseudo-apostle Death Eaters being so easily humiliated came to the forefront of his mind as well. Loathe as he was to admit it, the hulking apostle did have truth to his words when he said that Voldemort and his followers possessed great power but lacked the skill and knowledge to master it. And with that, came the other reason for his visit here tonight.

Being an outsider in their camp, Voldemort was escorted by two lumbering giants to the hut where their chieftain stayed. Bones of various goats, cows, and pigs were decoration for the throne where the biggest of the giants sat. The chieftain had a head that resembled a rock stacked on top of a pile of other rocks and hardened clay. Like the decorations of his hut, he wore armor made from various bones, and a large club lay across his lap with bones protruding from the end; some splotches of red tainted the faded white of those bony spikes.

The giant chieftain pointed at Voldemort and began speaking in a series of grunts that seemed to comprise the giant language. It wasn't really difficult to understand what was trying to be said since a translation charm would be useless in trying to decipher a tongue with no meaning. Voldemort understood that the chieftain was asking who he was, what he was doing here, and that if he did not answer soon, he would be killed.

As if a primitive being could actually harm him, especially one as dumb as this one.

Voldemort made a sweeping gesture of his arm to indicate the giants gathered around the tent, then to the chieftain, and finally, to himself. The implication could not have been more direct and to the point. The reaction was as expected.

The chieftain snarled down at him, a hand reaching for his massive club weapon. The other giants in attendance growled as well, some beat their chests and others yelled insults in that guttural language of theirs. It was all put to an abrupt end when the chieftain rose from his seat, his club pointed down at an unfazed Voldemort. All other noise stopped for the chieftain to yell his own personal growls and grunts of insults down at the Dark Lord, ultimately culminating in him taking a step toward the dark wizard and making good of his threat to squish him like an insect.

And it was all the action Voldemort had needed.

His wand slid into his hands from the sleeve of his robe and with a powerful reducto curse, shattered the wooden weapon before it even got the chance to strike him. The shattered pieces of wood and bone alike fell to the ground, but stopped short when Voldemort reached out a hand to hold them in suspension. Thanks to the deal he made with the God Hand, his body was magic incarnate, feats like wandless magic were of little consequence to him and wielding a wand was only for familariety sakes. It was like in his brief duel against the old fool, Dumbledore back at Stonehenge.

With a flick of his finger, the pieces of debris angled themselves facing up and shot back at the chieftain like a shower of wooden hellfire. Some pieces bounced harmlessly off of his bone-plated armor, but others found the soft, exposed flesh that surrounded his eyes. The chieftain.

"Grrrrgaaahhh!"

Roaring in pain and defiance, the giant chieftain powered trough the pain and went to swipe down at Voldemort. Seeing the incoming hand, Voldemort decided to borrow a spell from Severus' own make.

"Sectumsempra!"

It was like a dozen invisible swords had suddenly appeared from nowhere to slice at the fingers of the giant chieftain, spilling large droplets of his blood. But they didn't stop there; with the kind of magical power he had put into the spell, the giant lost much more than just some of his blood. Three of his massive, meaty fingers were severed as well as a result.

As the giant howled and clutched at his bleeding stumps, Voldemort smiled in self-satisfaction at his handiwork. It had taken some manner of… negotiating to get Severus to reveal some of own crafted spells, and now, Voldemort could see why the potions master would be so reluctant to share a spell like this one. Maybe Severus was afraid someone would put it to better use than he ever did. And he would be right.

The other giants gathered around seemed too shocked to even comprehend what was going on right now. No doubt, they were used to seeing their chieftain at the top of his game, easily killing anyone who dared to insult or look at him the wrong way. It would probably be the way some of his Death Eaters would look at him if he ever faced defeat.

Speaking of which, Voldemort supposed it was time to finish off the giant for good; no use in prolonging a fight that means so little, even if it was serving as a way for him to grow more accustomed to his new powers Clenching his fingers together, Voldemort extended his arm toward the wounded giant.

"Depulso!" Voldemort let his fingers spread out.

It was as if five different forces of pressure invisibly exploded outward at once. The force of it was so great that the chieftain did not just fly back and hit the wall of his hut, instead he flew all the way through it.

Due to the force of which he had been flung and the impact of landing, the chieftain's armor began to crack and fall apart. One such piece was the rib of animal that must have belonged to a bear of some sort given its size. With a swish and flick of Voldemort's wand, the bone was levitated from the ground and hovered in the air, awaiting instruction from its master. Voldemort spared a brief glance at the downed giant, seeing the disbelief in its eyes.

Voldemort lowered his wand and the bone stabbed right through the giant's eye, burying itself to its length in his skull. The chieftain could only twitch as his brain as his brain was pierced, his mouth gasping open wide like he was trying to take his last breath, his arms and legs shuttering from one last involuntary command before he stopped moving completely.

Turning back to face the on looking giants, Voldemort pointed to the body of the dead chieftain and then to himself. He raised his wand hand in the air, a clear sign of triumph over the fallen giant. The reaction was near instantaneous; the giants all gave a bellow of victory, raising their fists in the air as well, a sign that they had accepted his victory. The now dead chieftain must not have been the most well-liked of rulers; or maybe it was must part of giant culture. Either way, Voldemort did not care.

What mattered now was that this bunch of giants would follow him now. And if any attempted to usurp his position, they would easily meet the same fate as the one that lay dead outside. Now, he would return to Malfoy Manor and-!

He felt it. The feeling of an influx of the magical energy not just in the area, but in himself as well. This was a feeling that would normally only be experienced once a month. Looking up to the clouds overhead, Voldemort cast a spell that dispersed of the overcast and shining very brightly overhead was a very full moon.

With haste, he apparated back to Malfoy Manor, knowing the type of guest that they were housing. The moment he apparated outside of the manor gates, the chant of the giants was replaced by the screams of terror and pain accompanied by an animalistic howl that could only belong to a werewolf.

By the sounds of it, Greyback was really making a mess of the place.

Fools!" Voldemort cursed to himself as he cast the gates open, taking long strides toward the manor doors; the howls and screams getting louder as he got closer. Even if this change of lunar cycle was unexpected, his subjects should still have enough reason to contain a beast like Greyback.

The doors to the manor nearly flew off the hinges as the Dark Lord strutted his way into the luxurious manor. From the entrance hall, the damage did not appear to be too bad; aside from some obvious claw marks on a few of the marble columns, and some paintings of previous Malfoy ancestors having been torn up; the people of those paintings no doubt sought refuge in another painting within the manor. But it seemed the commotion was mainly coming from the second floor as indicated by the howling.

Taking the steps two at a time, the Dark Lord passed along the railing of a balcony looking down into the foyer, rounded a corner to find a large, matted wolf sinking its teeth into the forearm of Barty Crouch Junior.

The sandy-haired man writhed from the pain of the fangs digging into him coupled with the knowledge of what he would become come the next full moon. Crouch would have raised his wand to push the werewolf back, but that was the arm Greyback was turning into his personal chew toy.

Voldemort took notice that the werewolf did have some ropes wrapped around his paws and hind legs, an indication that some Death Eaters had tried to restrain the deadly beast. Fools! When he said that Greyback was a valuable asset, he didn't mean to go lightly on him if he were to transform into a wolf. Werewolves were tough creatures and only a suicidal idiot would take one on alone, especially if they didn't have the power he did.

"Crucio!" Voldemort cast his second favorite curse, striking the wolf on its back.

With a whimper of pain, the wolf released Crouch's arm from his jaws, turning to face Voldemort with those amber eyes of his. Sensing a new threat, Greyback sprinted on all fours toward the Dark Lord. Greyback pounced at him, his jaws open wide looking to sink his fangs into the Dark Lord's flesh.

But as Greyback neared, Voldemort stepped aside, pointed his wand at the wolf's open jaw and hit it with a quick bone-breaker hex. The wolf landed off balance, making small whimpers of pain as it tried to properly close its mouth only to find that it was useless to try and do so. Seeing the weakened wolf, the Dark Lord decided to quickly end things before the wolf would try any other foolish actions.

With an almost lazy flick of his wand, Voldemort casted his next spell. "Levicorpus!"

The werewolf Greyback was lifted from the floor by some unseen force, suspended by his hind leg. Feeling the sensation of suspension, the werewolf fought and struggled wildly to try and break the invisible hold upon its hind leg, but the struggle was futile. Voldemort had begun to walk back toward the railing, the werewolf Greyback still dangling by his hind leg a little in front of him.

When he reached the railing looking down at the first floor, Voldemort raised his wand, lifting the wolf higher before cutting the spell off, letting the wolf fall the rest of the way down. Brrrk! From the sound of it, he had shattered multiple bones, but as he peered down, he saw that despite effort, Greyback was still attempting to rise.

Voldemort hit him with another levicorpus jinx and followed up with a second bone-breaker aimed directly at the ribs. Greyback could still be useful, so it wouldn't bode well to have him sustain any mortal wounds, ust ones that could be easily healed once the sun rose.

With Greyback still suspended, Voldemort sent a banishing charm his way, knocking him out of suspension and flying directly into one of the marble columns. He could tell the wolf was getting worn down, so as a finishing move, Voldemort sent three stunners in quick succession down at the wolf. Each bolt of red struck true, finding his ribs, back and head.

The werewolf collapsed, defeated.

And even with his newest victory, Voldemort felt no real sense of satisfaction. He knew for an absolute certainty that tonight was not suppose to be a full moon and while magic was powerful, it would be near impossible for any one wizard to accomplish, even for Dumbledore and himself. But… perhaps not for someone with god-like powers.

But what would one of them even be doing here to begin with? He didn't like being kept out of the loop, especially if he was the only apostle in this world. If they were up to something, he ought to have knowledge of it. Voldemort was tempted to hurl a killing curse down at the stunned werewolf because of what he considered a slight against him by the God Hand, but that would just be nonsensical. There was still Potter to deal with; he just had to take this one step at a time, then he could worry about whatever the God Hand was up to.

Come the next morning, Hogwarts was abuzz with all sorts of chatter and gossip and it was no secret as to why that was. Every student, no matter what house or year saw the odd lunar occurrence that had occurred last night. And for those who knew about Professor Lupin's condition (which was the entire school) were worried out of their minds for their safety, and his own. Neville had never seen Professor McGonagall in a more anxious state; granted, she was always the strict teacher out of all the staff, but she had been in full lioness mode, a term coined by Fred and George once she too caught on to what was going on. Her Scottish accent sounded as fierce and commanding as ever as she had ordered the prefects to watch over the common room after she went to go try and subdue Professor Lupin. And none of that would have been too surprising, if the Ravenclaw students hadn't noticed that one of their own was personally escorted back to the common room by their head of house, Professor Flitwick.

And for the first time Neville could remember, Luna Lovegood was the center of attention not for her unique personality, but for more information about what had happened last night. Only a bit of information was really known for certain, but for those curious enough, they had skipped on breakfast to go and find the spot where Luna had been last night. They seemed to be talking about a statue shaped like a centaur and a large set of heavy prints that looked like the user had been wearing a set of armor.

So with that coupled with what the Creevy brothers had said about briefly seeing a man in armor that day outside the hospital wing, it of course, led a vast majority to believe that it was this swordsman and Harry Potter who managed to subdue the werewolf Lupin before the rest of the professors arrived on the scene. Not to mention that when Professor Lupin did show up later at breakfast, he seemed totally winded, with his fingers wrapped in gauze and looking like a piece of his earlobe had been bitten off. In short, he was shabbier than ever; even after being properly treated by Madam Pomfrey. From down the staff table, Professor Snape was directing a hateful stare at Professor Lupin. No surprise considering he was the one to get Lupin sacked last year by leaking that information.

Neville did not fault Professor Lupin for whatever had happened last night, no one could have predicted that it was going to be a full moon all of a sudden and anyone who knew Professor Lupin knew that he was the farthest from a beast as there could be. And Neville doubted he would comment on what actually happened since he probably had no memory of it, but one thing was for sure, this event was only contributing to the wild theories running around about Harry Potter and this Black Swordsman.

"So if Harry actually fought a werewolf, that means he must be a Gryffindor, right?" Dennis eagerly asked his elder brother next to Neville at the Gryffindor table.

"I'd say so!" Colin answered back with an equal amount of entheausm. "It matches everything about the stories written about him in all those books. He's like an actual hero! The swordsman must be like his bodyguard, or a sidekick."

Neville could only imagine, but he wouldn't judge for certain on account of not actually knowing Harry, but Neville did have to admit that helping capture a werewolf Lupin did seem on the list of things that a hero would do. But if their previous description of the swordsman was anything to go by, Neville highly doubted a man like that would be anyone's sidekick.

"Is that what the Lovegood girl said?" Angelia Johnson leaned asked from where she sat by the other Gryffindor Quidditch players. Neville noticed she sounded skeptical about it, she was an older year, after all.

"She only said so much," Colin said. "But she couldn't have meant it about anyone else. All the other students were in our dorms and she said Professor Lupin was already restrained when the other teachers found her." True, Luna never once said the name Harry Potter when she was being continuously hounded like she was right now as she was trying to enjoy her morning pudding with those colorful glasses of hers.

But the Hogwarts rumor mill seemed to be running a bit behind as news of Lupin's transformation was not even mentioned in the Daily Prophet as the press instead was more focused on the mystery as a whole and what the muggle world must be making of the whole situation. Even now, letters were being delivered by the usual owl post. No doubt they were from concerned parents who knew of Lupin's condition and were writing to see if their kids were okay.

Neville suspected that his gran would be sending him one at some point, so taking the initive, he finished up his breakfast to go and write her a letter at the owlery to let her know in advance. No sooner than he left the great hall, than he heard his name being called.

"Hey, Longbottom!" the voice was familiar enough. Halting in his tracks, he saw it was the Slytherin who he had managed to built a secretive and tentative friendship with, Tracey Davis who was joined by a younger Slytherin girl.

"Uh, hi there, Tracey," Neville greeted. "Did you need to see some of my notes about herbology?"

Tracey fixed him with the most deadpan of stares. "Do you really think that with what just went on last night, I wanted to talk to you about plants?"

"Look, I know as much about that as you probably do," Neville reasoned. "I don't see what you would be coming to me for about that."

"You're right on that," Tracey agreed. "It's just… ugh, just follow me, I don't want to be overheard." Most of the students were still in the great hall sans Dumbledore, but that didn't seem to matter much to the Slytherin girl. She led him and the other girl to an empty classroom on the first floor.

"This should be good."

"Are you going to explain what is going on now?" Neville asked. "And uh… why is she here?" he referred to the younger girl.

"You know who she is," Tracey said like it was obvious. "This is Daphne's adorably annoying little sister, Astoria."

"Hello," the younger Slytherin offered a kind smile, unlike her sister who kept a mask about her.

"Hello there," Neville greeted back in a shier manner of speaking. "So, what is it? What's going on?"

"We don't know," Tracey said rather bluntly. "And like you, all we've been hearing are a bunch of wild rumors. Astoria, however, seems keen on believing that one about Harry Potter and that Black Swordsman somehow being involved in all of this."

"You didn't see his sword, though," Astoria told the older Slytherin. "He could have fought a werewolf and won."

"See what I mean?" Tracey deadpanned once more.

"Well, that's… fine, isn't it?" Neville really didn't see much problem is she believed the rumors or not.

"Do you believe them?" Tracey asked.

"Well, I've never seen or met Harry or this other fellow, so I can't really answer that." He tried not to get involved in rumors or any sort of drama.

"Hm. Then you sound more Slytherin than Astoria," Tracey teased. "Believing rumors may not be a big deal for you Gryffindor's, but information – real information – is valued in Slytherin. It wouldn't be becoming if my best friends sister started falling prey to wild rumors without any way of knowing if they were true or not."

"Even though this one probably is," Astoria muttered so Tracey wouldn't hear.

"The point is, there is really only one person right now who knows what really happened last night."

And it began to fall in place for Neville. "Well, that really is more suited to Luna than me. I haven't asked her about it at all."

"But you're one of the few people who talk to her?" Tracey asked like she already knew.

"I've spoken to her a few times, yeah," Neville admitted as much. "But not enough to be considered a friend or anything. And even if I was, I would just feel like I would be using her to get information, and I wouldn't do that to satisfy curiosity."

"And there's the Gryffindor nobility," Tracey noted. "And I thought you would say as much. So if that bothers you, just tell her you were asked by someone else; save yourself the burden of lying about it to begin with. Lovegood has that open personality about her, as long as you're honest about it, you should be fine."

"I haven't even agreed to this," Neville made a manner to point out.

"How about we appeal to your Gryffindor sense of honor then?" Tracey asked. "Show him, Astoria." She gave a small nudge to the younger girl. Astoria dug inside her robe to pull out a small letter of some kind.

"What's that?" Neville asked, not expecting that of all things.

"Just a silly little letter she wrote as thanks if Potter or that one man did help in restraining Lupin," Tracey explained. Astoria pouted at the use of the word "silly."

"But, of course, it would have all been in vain if it really is just some wild rumor generated from a noisy Ravenclaw or those two Gryffindor girls, Patil and Brown. You really wouldn't want Astoria to have wasted her time on that, do you?"

She was playing him, and Neville knew it. Outside of Tracey, no other Slytheirn really so much as even acknowledge he even existed; except for Malfoy and his goons in their attempts to humiliate him in front of their peers. But just looking at the younger Greengrass sister, she didn't strike him as being like that, just an overexcited kid who was being kept under control, really.

"I guess not," Neville ultimately admitted defeat. "But, if it matters so much, why don't one of you ask her?"

"It seems you have learned to not just go along with whatever someone tells you, good. But to answer that, you have to know Slytherin has a very strict social circle. We think we're the elite, so to just go and ask someone like Lovegood whom we've never spoken to before, it would be social suicide in a way. But acting through a middle-man, that fits the guidelines."

"So you admit to using me, too?" Neville wasn't too surprised even, even if a Slytherin was nice to him, they still had their own set of plans.

"I'd be willing to make a deal with you," Tracey defended her honor.

Now he was just downright suspicious. "What kind of deal?"

"I'll just say it'll be worth your time," Tracey answered. To that, Astoria snickered, but it was directed toward Tracey and not Neville. The youngest Greengrass decided to speak up on it.

"It's because she-,"

Tracey quickly covered the other girls mouth before she could finish. "Like it said, it'll be worth your time." She dragged the now silenced Greengrass sibling out, leaving Neville alone to think things over. But whatever he was going to do, he still had a letter to send himself. However, the entire walk to the owlery, his thoughts kept getting sidetracked.

Once he did arrive in the tower, Neville scribbled his letter out on a spare piece of parchment, trusting a school owl to make the delivery since he only had his toad Trevor as a pet. He thought he was alone in the tower, but a sudden voice almost made him jump out of his skin when he heard it.

"Oh, hello, Neville."

He put a hand on his chest as he recognized the speaker. "Merlin, Luna, you scared me."

What were his chances, the unluckiest boy in the year, running into the center of attention of this morning's gossip?

"Sorry about that," Luna apologized. "I thought you knew I was here."

"What? No. I got here first, how could I have known?"

"You could have heard me walking up," Luna countered. "But it does get noisy with all the hooting that goes on up here."

"Yeah, I guess it does."

Luna pulled a letter from the sleeve of her robe and gave it to one of the school owls, similar to what he had just got done doing. Neville felt really awkward just standing and watching her go about such a normal routine, but he found the words already leaving his mouth.

"You must feel relieved to get away from all the gossip in the great hall, huh?"

"Yeah, I like it better up here, being with a friend."

"You… think I'm a friend?" Neville asked. He was on good terms with his fellow Gryffindors and even a few Hufflepuffs like Susan Bones, Hannah Abbott, and Ernie, but he had only had a few conversations with Luna in the four years he's been at Hogwarts.

"Don't you think I'm a friend?" Luna asked, tilting her head like a child almost.

"Well… um, ah, if that's what you want to call it, sure," Neville nearly stumbled over some of the words.

"That's good," Luna simply said.

"Uh, I know you probably got asked this a lot, but why exactly were you out last night?"

"Huh? No one really asked me why I was out there, just what I saw," Luna thought it over. "I had just gone to feed the thestrils. You know, the ones that pull the carriages."

"Oh yeah, those." Neville could see the strange horses, but always kept quiet on account that no one else seemed to be able to see them. But Luna seemed to be an exception to that.

"Since you're my friend, I'd tell you more, but I promised my other friends that I wouldn't say too much about it."

"Oh, yeah, I can understand that," Neville admitted. Professor Lupin was probably ashamed enough as it is. Professor Flitwick had probably asked her to keep quiet so not to frighten some of the younger years.

But then again, what other friends did she have? Luna was a real nice girl, but given her unique personality, a lot of people tended to avoid her because of that. And a strange thought popped into his head; was this Luna's way of basically telling him that the one rumor was true? Had she actually met Harry Potter last night?

"Well, I'm sure your friends would like their privacy about them," Neville tested to see if she would comment further on that.

"Yes, I think so, too."

Yeah, she actually did.

While Dumbledore was considered to be the most powerful sorcerer of the time, he was still just a man. And having been up all of last night and now skipping breakfast to have the Minister of Magic meet with him were slowly taking their toll of the aged wizard. His blue eyes, which were lacking their usual twinkle, glanced down at the paper of which Cornelius had laid down on his desk. The Minister paced about, twirling his green bowler hat as he did so.

"This is certainly troubling indeed," Dumbledore could only say.

"Oh, I expected you to say more than the obvious!" Fudge exclaimed, briefly pausing in his pace. "Of course it is troubling. Owls! Flocks of owls are plaguing the Ministry as we speak, Dumbledore! Dolores can only do so much to help me keep things running smoothly. But this is something that cannot be easily exclaimed to the muggle government. I just got done meeting with the Prime Minister, he's been getting bogged down in all this as well. Tides have changed, astronomers are baffled, news networks are running the story all day long. Historic sites like Stone Hedge were all abuzz and Aurors Shacklebolt and Tonks reported hallucinating of some knight of skeleton." That caught Dumbledore's attention, and he made a mental note to discuss that with the both of them.

"This is not something that can just be swept under the rug, this is a global impact!" Fudge briefly paused. "Not to mention the reports of the multiple werewolf attacks that happened. Dolores wanted to know how you handled that particular situation."

Of course, Umbridge would be looking for an excuse to have Remus sacked again. "The incident sneaked up on all of us without warning. Remus Lupin, like most who seek a cure for their curse, did not know such an event was going to occur. If they had, they would have taken their wolfsbane potion as standard."

"Yes, but was anyone attacked?" Fudge asked. "After last night, werewolf population has surly skyrocketed! Some of which now include muggles, I might add."

"No," Dumbledore assured the Minister. "No harm came to any student or faculty alike. Remus was successfully restrained."

"And it was your staff that managed to capture him?" Fudge asked.

"Remus had been restrained outside the castle and we were able to properly sedate him until morning."

"Hm. And they did so without any outside interference?" Fudge was clearly suspicious. "Harry Potter didn't have a part to play in all this, did he?"

"If Mr. Potter did have some role to play, I did not see it." Of course, Miss. Lovegood had explained the whole story to him, but Fudge seemed up to something, more than usual.

"If you say so," Fudge said with clear disbelief. "Regardless of that, this is still a serious situation. Something has to be done! The people need to be assured that there is still something they can be assured of for a certainty."

"You speak with much conviction, Minister," Dumbledore nodded. "I take it you have something in mind?"

"Yes," Fudge stopped twirling his hat around. "The Triwizard Tournament still has one task left to go. Two other magical schools are well aware of all the craziness that has been going on and with You-Know-Who on the loose, they will be wanting to get back to their native countries as soon as possible." Where was he going with this? "I have owled the other judges to propose that the date of the third task be moved forward to an earlier date."

"This is your idea?" Dumbledore asked, thinking there were much bigger issues at hand than the tournament.

"Dolores suggested it, and I happen to agree," the Minister told him. "And what better way of finally introducing Harry Potter to the public?"

Dumbledore let out a sigh. "Cornelius, from the initial meeting with Mr. Potter, he has no intention of participating in this task."

"And what about the needs of the rest of the magical community?" Fudge asked. "What about the people who have no idea what to think, who look to the Ministry for strength and support and see us doing nothing, too confused by everything going on? Do you know what happens then, Dumbledore? Disorder, that's what! We're already dealing with a dark wizard, a shift in power would only allow him to gain more influence. And who is the one person, aside from yourself, that can oppose You-Know-Who? Harry Potter. Now, Mr. Potter may not have asked to be a cultural icon, but he is and he has a civic duty to help the magical community the same as any other wizard in England. Not to mention he has a legal obligation to participate; his name did come out of the Goblet of Fire."

"A name entered by a Death Eater is disguise," Dumbledore argued. "I would say that constitutes an exemption."

Fudge was shaking his head. "Champions have had their names entered by others in the past and they still had to compete. Death Eater or no, Potter's name was still drawn. Now, enough time has passed for Potter to know what is going on here from wherever it was he was being kept all this time. I doubt he will speak with me, but you may have more luck. Let him know that he can either compete as the rules dictate, or a team of Aurors can be sent to take everyone on that ship into custody for failure to comply." Before he turned to leave, the Minister had one last thing to say. "And make sure to bring the Sorting Hat to the task. Even if he doesn't attend, the public has a right to know which house he would be sorted into."

For Harry, the night had been taxing, and it had nothing to do with the whole werewolf Lupin scenario; Guts had been the one to physically wrestle with the wolf, he and Schierke had only perfomed the spell to hold him for after.

No, it was more to do with trying to decipher the mystery surrounding the child that had appeared for a second time now. He and Schierke compared it to the first time they had encountered him back at the seaside cottage. Both instances involved the full moon and that led to them talking about the influx of magical energy that came along with it. Such energy could be what allows him to come into physical existence; or so they believe.

But to do that would mean that he would have to be something more than just a human child, and based on Harry knowing what he did about the fetus Casca had following the Eclipse, it was safe to assume that they were one and the same, ust different in appearance.

And so, that led to them trying to figure out why that was. The closest would have to be everything that happened at the Tower of Conviction. If that behelit apostle had done something to bring the Neo-Griffith into existence, it stands to reason that it would operate like a regular behelit; a sacrifice was needed. So by that logic, the fetus-being would be dead, lost to the abyss. But Schierke had suggested that it might be a symbiotic relationship between the Neo-Griffith and this boy.

Neo-Griffith used the fetus as a host body to be reborn, and as such, the fetus was leeching off some of that power. It would help to explain how Guts had been pulled from the Berserker Armor back at the cottage as neither of the mages had any pull in that. And if that was truly the case, it got Harry thinking of a very strange topic; would any child be like that if it came from a God Hand? It wasn't a welcome thought, but it still got Harry thinking about it. Griffith's dream had to possess his own kingdom, and kings usually left heirs. But the God Hand were immortal, it would be senseless to have an heir of any kind; not to mention Griffith wouldn't waver in his path of achieving his dream, he would want it for himself.

So was the Neo-Griffith perhaps nervous about this child then? Is that why he sent him here, to perhaps be rid of him and have him deliver that message about staying away from the city known as Falconia? As much as Harry wanted to believe what had been said was a lie, he knew there had to be some truth to it all. After all, what were they to the God Hand? Just a bunch of pests who probably should have died long ago and just continued to be thorns in their side of whatever grand plan they had for both worlds. But bar Lupin, they had not succumbed to one attack. It had been Schierke to suggest this, if the God Hand were planning some kind of attack on this layer, they would have to have some sort of direct access maybe like a bridge between the two like the boy was to Guts and Casca and Neo-Griffith.

Even with all that theorizing, they were still no closer to finding out what Gaiseric had to do with any of this. Skull Knight was probably the one who could do any real damage to the God Hand so perhaps the boy was trying to warn them that they were going to try and kill Skull Knight which would be no easy task. The explanation they both came to was something that looped back to the theory that the boy was leeching off of Neo-Griffith. If he was leeching, he might have some glimpse into the mind of the God Hand and what they had planned.

And for all that time spent, sleep eventually came for them as they mapped and wrote this entire out on a small desk in Harry's cabin aboard the ship. Evidence that the morning was actually here was made clear when a ray of sunlight passed through Harry's glasses, hitting his closed eyelids. Harry groaned as he became aware of his neck bent at an awkward angle on the uncomfortable wood of the small desk. His glasses were a bit askew, poking into the side of his temple. He found himself slightly unable to move his left arm on account that Schierke was resting her head on his shoulder, her hat as askew as his glasses were.

Harry had to rearrange himself very carefully so he did not disrupt her from her slumber, and while he was successful in making sure Schierke kept asleep, Ivalera who had been asleep on the witch's shoulder was not so blessed.

"Don't go getting frisky," the elf warned. "I got my eye on you."

"You scare me senseless, Ivalera," Harry assured Schierke's closest friend as he stretched to help get the pins and needles out of his stiff body. He would let Schierke get a few more moments of sleep before coming back to wake her up; the sounds of wood clashing against one another drew his attention from up on the upper deck of the ship.

Wiping a few crusties out of his eyes, Harry made his way to the upper deck.

"Yeow!" Isidro yelped as his makeshift weapon was knocked from his hand from his partner's attack. "Cutting it a little close, dontcha think?" Isidro rubbed at his swollen fingers.

"You were getting distracted," Casca's voice was incredibly lacking. She looked and sounded well-rested, but her tone was that of disinterest even. With the night having past and the sun out, the boy was undoubtedly gone until the next full moon. And because of that, Casca seemed well… she was trying to handle it as best she could. More than anything, she probably wanted to get her child back from wherever he had gone and along with that, protective instincts seemed to be working in full for her.

So if she seemed snippy or disinterested in Isidro's performance, it was only to really toughen him up to actually be serious about what he wanted. Or so Harry suspected.

"Rough night?" Serpico asked as Harry walked past, taking notice of his stiff and tired appearance.

"Guts probably had it worse," Harry replied.

"Hm. Yes, that does sound like him." Serpico pointed to the bow where Guts was watching everything. "He told me about what happened. Both you and Schierke are alright?"

"Yeah, just tired. Where's Farnese?"

Serpico looked up at the helm. "Speaking with the captain."

Harry looked as well. Farnese was listening to a story Roderic was telling. He seemed to think it was funny and Farnese smiled along to it, mildly amused herself. "She seems happy."

"Yes, I have noticed that," Serpico turned his gaze. "In fact, she has been much happier since we started out journey with all of you. You all gave her a new reality to cling to after leaving the Holy See behind and now, as a witch, I fully suspect she is understanding more about the world with every lesson."

Harry spared another glance up at her and Roderick. "And she's still balancing that with her position as a Vandimion."

"I wouldn't have thought it possible, but, yes, Roderick does seem like a good match for someone of her personality. I don't think Lady Farnese's brother had that in mind when he made this deal, but seems to be working out all the same."

"And if he wasn't a good match?" Harry had never asked the blonde man about his opinion on Farnese's marital life.

"I am but a servant," Serpico admitted. "There are forces that will be out of my control. However, if he were someone who would treat Lady Farnese unfairly, a noble family would have found themselves short of an heir." Serpcio quickly went back to his usual aura. "But luckily Roderick does not seem the type so there is no point in pondering the rhetoric."

"Couldn't agree more."

For now, he was content to just have a moment of peace, no matter how short.

"Hoo!"

An owl swooped low overhead, dropping a letter at Harry's feet and flying up to the top of the crow's nest. Having seen this, Guts was making his way over, his eye darting from the owl to the letter at Harry's feet.

"What's going on?" Isidro asked, distracted once again, this time with Casca's foot on his torso.

"A letter?" Serpico inquired, looking down at the dropped letter.

"What do you got?" Guts asked, eying the letter with clear suspicion.

Harry picked it up to see the light writing on the outside of the envelope.

To my friends on the ship in the Black Lake

From, Luna Lovegood.

"It's from that Luna girl," Harry had not been expecting a letter from her so soon. He opened it.

Hello, friends! I know I promised to write back once I got in touch with Sonia, and I did. I had to wait until very early in the morning, but I managed to catch her at a good time. We talked for a bit about how our day was going (she's doing well by the way) and I was able to ask what you were curious about.

She says that she has never seen that boy around the Griffith figure at all, but believed me when I said that he was able to bring him here. She now wants to ask him if she can come to visit me next time, which I would love so long as it isn't through him. She really has no idea where that boy could have come from or what he is, but she seems to think whatever he is, is like a bridge of some kind. That tree already exists, but it only seems to have real power if there is a connection between here and there. I don't really know, and thinking about it makes me feel like I have brain freeze.

Anyway, I was able to ask her if she knew anything about the name Gaiseric and all she knows is that he was once some great emperor whose kingdom vanished overnight. It would make for an excellent story in Beetle the Bard, but that's really all she knows. She also said Griffith never mentioned that name before so I'm sorry if that isn't much of a help.

But she did say that during her last sermon, Griffith said something about the divine right of kings and how it was a manifest for being able to rule. Neither of us really know what that means, but it sounds like something an emperor would say if that somehow connects.

Also, I did my best not to tell anyone, but Hogwarts does have a rumor mill and there are a bunch of things being said about last night. Some of them involve Harry and Mr. Guts fighting Professor Lupin as a werewolf. I'm sorry for not being able to stop some of them from spreading, but that would only make them more believable, I hope you aren't too mad because of it. Professor Lupin is fine as well and back to being the teacher we know and love, so thank you for what you did last night. The nargals have not infected your brains.

Your friend,

Luna Lovegood.

P.S.

I found my missing socks. Hey were hanging from some rafters.

Well, it did help to some capacity. The legend of Gaiseric seemed as close guarded as ever. And with this "divine right of kings," it only added to the growing list of clues he and Schierke were working on piecing together to decipher.

"Aye, Chief!" Roderick called down from the helm to them. "I don't mean to be the one to break up the circle, but we seem to have a visitor inbound."

Approaching from the starboard side was a lone rowboat being propelled forward by magic. In it was a lone occupant, one with a long, silvery beard and outlandish lavender robes. It seemed the headmaster would be paying them a visit. So much for having a moment of peace.

A/N: Fudge is reaching his tipping point and the Third Task draws closer than expected. On a side note, since I mentioned Patronus' last chapter, does anyone else see Schierke having an owl for hers? It was always a headcanon of mine that that's what it would be for her. Thank you for reading


	56. Chapter 56

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Dumbledore had come alone, but not empty-handed. He had with him a bundle wrapped in some paper and tied with a piece of string. With permission from Roderick, the headmaster was permitted onboard; albeit the parcel was confiscated from him by Guts who kept it wrapped in the event it was deadly, but still looking like he was trying to piece together what it could possibly be. Harry would have done the exact same thing if he was being honest. While his opinion of the headmaster had improved a bit since their initial meeting with him granting permission for Casca to be properly healed, Harry would take whatever Dumbledore was here to talk about with a grain of salt.

"So, what brings you out here, old man?" Guts asked of the headmaster. His tone conveyed casual annoyance instead of any hints of aggression or the likes.

"A fair amount of things actually," Dumbledore said in a calm manner, not seemingly put off by Guts' tone. "First of which, I wish to offer my best wishes to the miss over there." His blue eyes twinkled a bit as he looked over at Casca.

"Me?" Casca looked a bit confused. "What for?"

"Just that I am pleased to see that your mind has been restored to its full mental capacity." Dumbledore's eyes gained a bit more of that twinkle. "You seem to be making substantial progress in your recovery as well, I shall have to give Poppy a raise to her salary for her involvement."

"Oh, I see," Casca said, sounding just a tad bit unsure herself. "Well, you certainly have my thanks for allowing that to happen then."

Guts was picking up on her hesitation and decided to get off that topic. "That's well and good and all, but I doubt that that's the only thing that you came out here to discuss."

"And you would be correct," Dumbledore confirmed. "In fact, there is a great many things that I wish to discuss with you all if that is alright with you."

"What kinds of things would those be?" Harry asked, not really liking it was put as such a broad topic.

"Mainly a few Hogwarts related topics, but also about that strange occurrence that happened last night as I'm sure you all must have observed."

"The moon," Farnese said.

"That would be it," Dumbledore nodded. "Is there a place onboard we might be able to discuss?"

"We could go to my cabin," Harry said. "Schierke is probably still asleep down there and she'll want to be included on this."

Isidro looked at him a bit strange but with a hint of admiration. "She's in your cabin?"

"Not like that, but yeah." Ignoring the look of admiration still being given to him by Isidro, Harry led the way down below deck to where the personal cabins were located. He knocked to give indication that he was coming back in which worked out since Schierke seemed to have only woken up mere minutes ago.

The green-haired witch rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Hm? Oh you're back." Both her and Ivalera took in the multitude of people that followed him in as well. "And… you're not alone." She seemed embarrassed at having just woken up from her seat near the desk. "What's going on?"

"Rise and shine," Isidro took a seat on the single cot. "That's what we're here about."

"I do apologize for the intrusion," Dumbledore said with sincerity. "But there are matters of most importance that require all of your attention."

"What's so important that the headmaster had to come all the way down here, huh?" Ivalera asked a bit grumpy herself about the unexpected visit as well as being woken from her sleep.

Puck flew over to the pink elf. "Uh, maybe try asking a bit nicer. He did help us out with Cassie and all."

Ivalera remained stubborn. "Don't call her that, and I was just asking what's on everyone's minds."

"I take no offense to your question," Dumbledore told the elf. "And I don't mean to beat around the bush as the popular muggle saying goes." Harry suspected he did just that by even mentioning the phrase. "But, I suppose it is best to start with the biggest and most pressing issue; the events of last night."

"You mean with Lupin?" Harry asked. A lot more had happened, but that stood out as being the biggest.

"Indeed," Dumbledore confirmed. "As headmaster, I have to extend an offer of gratitude for your assistance in helping to restrain him in the manner that your did. Perhaps you'll be pleased to know that Remus does not blame any of you in the slightest for what transpired; if anything, he was overjoyed to find out that he did not harm anyone while transformed. However," Dumbledore looked over to Guts, specifically Dragonslayer which was sheathed on his back, "Madam Pomfrey found that she was unable to heal a series of scars that Remus now has on his fingers. Scars that I presume could have only come from that sword of yours."

"This thing?" Guts partially moved his cloak out of the way to show the end of the massive blade. "Yeah, it would probably end up doing that."

"Being such a unique make, would you have any idea why that is?" Dumbledore inquired of the blade.

"It killed a lot of things," Guts replied. "Not all of them were human."

Dumbledore ran a hand through his long, silvery beard. "Hm. I see. So, it takes in only what makes it stronger." Dumbledore took a brief pause. "It wouldn't happen to be of goblin make, would it?"

"No. it was made by a cranky old man living in the mountains." Guts' response brought a wave of nostalgia for Harry. It had been Godo who crafted his own sword, and he wondered how Erica and Rickert were fairing. They might still be living in the forge for all he knew.

"Truly remarkable," Dumbledore admired. "Despite being of muggle make, it seems to share properties with the Sword of Godric Gryffindor; taking in properties that will only strengthen it."

"Sword of who?" Isidro asked having not recognized the name. Harry was actually glad that Isidro had asked, he had no idea either.

"Godric Gryffindor," Dumbledore repeated. "He was one of the most powerful wizards of his time and was one of the four to found Hogwarts. His sword is a treasured artifact of the school; but I digress. Remus will likely have the scars on his fingers for life, but, it was a small price to ensure he did no harm."

"Good to know, I guess," Guts said. "It isn't really his fault for what happened anyway." If this had been before Guts had gotten the Berserker Armor, Harry highly suspected that his response would have been drastically different. But, Guts knew better than all of them what it was like to be lost to the mind of a beast.

"I am glad that you see it that way," Dumbledore sounded relieved. "Yet Remus should have never transformed to begin with as I'm sure that you've grown accustomed to the lunar cycle. Now, I questioned a student by the name of Luna Lovegood about what happened. She was a very well informed young witch. She seems to have a… connection of sort with the world in which you all came from."

"That's what she claimed and it seems to be true," Harry answered. He would keep the fact that Luna had written to them a secret for now, only those who were up on deck to see the owl knew what the letter said. "She said something about it being a medium thing."

"Her head of house, Filius Flitwick, was convinced that she was a natural seer, but a medium is as close as any," Dumbledore explained a bit about the odd, blonde girl they had met previous. "Miss. Lovegood has acquired a reputation for being bit of an oddity among her peers."

"Odd? For a magic school?" Farnese looked puzzled. She looked to Schierke.

"Nothing was ever really odd about Miss. Flora's place," Schierke said, but it didn't really compare to an entire school filled with students though.

Dumbledore continued. "While the concept of a medium is rare, it is even rarer to actually have the ability to see, let alone talk with someone with the same ability as her own. But what is perhaps the most remarkable, or rather, terrifying fact was that Miss. Lovegood reported seeing a man accompying a small child out on Hogwarts grounds. It was a man who matches a description of that Griffith character that I saw while viewing Harry's memories. He is not aboard this ship now, is he?"

"Neither of them are." Casca answered before anyone had a chance to speak.

Dumbledore was looking at her strangely like he was trying to figure out more about how she answered. To Harry's surprise, he saw Dumbledore looked a bit understanding of the situation. "I thought as much but needed to ask all the same," the aged headmaster replied. "I didn't mean to bring up a sensitive topic, but-,"

"-But you're going to anyway?" Guts eyed the older man.

"Only to try and get to the bottom of this odd occurrence myself," Dumbledore tried to clarify. "For an intruder to have breached the protective magical wards in place without outright destroying them is a terrifying feat to accomplish."

"Boundaries never mattered to him," Guts said, drawing Harry and Casca's eyes to him. "He was all about doing the impossible. Wards or whatever aren't going to stop him, not with what he is now."

"And that would be?" Dumbledore was eyeing Guts closely.

"Not human," was the only words Guts said on that matter.

Dumbledore stared, pondering the meaning of what Guts could have meant by that. "If… that is all you have to say on the matter…" he looked around to see if anyone else had something to add. They didn't. "Then, regardless, I feel it is my duty to inform you all of some of the activity happening outside of Hogwarts from what I've been told."

"And this has relevance for the oddity last night?" Serpico asked this time.

"It certainly does," Dumbledore answered, the twinkle in his eye seemed to dim. "You know that here there are people who possess magic and those who don't, similar to your own with the exception that here one if born magical and we use wands in place of staffs." Harry, Schierke, and Farnese all nodded. "And with a divide like that, there comes two different governments that coexist with the fact that the magical community must be kept secret." Again, they nodded, it was a bit similar to how many witches were no longer present in Midland as they had been hunted and burned after the Holy See was founded. "Well last night's incident saw about many a global fiasco. People with conditions like Remus' broke out as well and countries all over the world now have a spike in werewolf population. Tides were affected and the likes and both sides are trying to come to a conclusion over what caused this."

Harry didn't even to look over to Casca to know the answer as to why all this happened. It had been her child. By Midland's time, it probably would have been a full moon back there; Neo Griffith had somehow altered the moon by use of the boy since the full moon gave energy to sustain him. Just one visit that lasted a few hours had caused all of that. He spared a glance at Casca to try and gauge her reaction to this.

It was… a mix. A mix between concern and guilt. She had been able to feel the tiniest sliver of happiness and fulfillment with her child at the expense of many others suffering. If she thought about it like that, she might actually be comparing herself to how Griffith was to sacrifice all of them. So it didn't surprise Harry in the slightest when she spoke up.

"And what is happening now because of it?" Casca asked. "If the two are separate, how would one even justify what happened?"

"Ah," Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, our Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, has been in correspondence with the muggle Prime Minister, you see. He has been trying to work with him to come up with a believable excuse, but is struggling to do so. I myself have been in contact with the International Wizard Committee earlier this morning to help ease confusion going about, but this incident is just a stone to be added to the already growing amount of pressure put on Fudge."

"So he feels a need to act even if it is irrational?" Serpico guessed, having grown up alongside Farnese as her attendant, Harry assumed the blonde must have picked up on the inner workings of politics.

"And you would be correct to assume so," Dumbledore sounded almost melancholy. "He met with me earlier as well and before I came here, I received an owl from the Ministry informing me of a change that has, unfortunately, been put into effect."

"And what exactly is that?" Harry asked, not liking the way in which the headmaster spoke as it only hinted at bad news to come.

"Cornelius believes that what people need now more than anything is hope, the idea that things are okay and fine because they are protected. As such, he saw it fit to go ahead and move the date of the third task of the Triwizard Tournament to a much closer time slot." Dumbledore didn't sound too enthused at all. "It will be in a week's time to be exact."

"Wait," Schierke was thinking, "the same tournament that Harry was supposedly entered into?"

"That would be the one." Dumbledore spared a look over at Harry like he already knew what he was going to say next. " And as such, Cornelius has proposed an ultimatum; either Mr. Potter participates in the task whist making his official return to the public, or multiple teams of Ministry Aurors will be sent to arrest everyone on this ship."

"We could get arrested!" Isidro jumped from the bed. "Shit, old man, why didn't you open with that instead?"

Puck looked at the aspiring swordsman oddly. "Didn't you used to be a thief in your village? We've been through worst stuff than getting arrested."

"Doesn't mean I want it to happen," Isidro backed his reasoning.

"But my teacher shouldn't have to compete," Farnese defended. "He had no way of ever entering."

Schierke agreed as well. "You're the headmaster, isn't there something you can do? You don't seem too thrilled on this idea either, there has to be a way you can negate this absurd ultimatum."

Dumbledore heaved a heavy sigh. "While I am a judge, I am but one. Out of the four others, two are just scared headmasters who wish to leave as soon as the tournament is over with the return of Voldemort being a driving factor; they want it to end as soon as possible. The other, Ludo Bagman is all too excited about the return on Mr. Potter to give any sense of reason. And lastly is the Minister's personal lacky, Dolores Umbridge." Guts rolled his eye at the mention of her name. "It was her idea to move the date to begin with and at this point, Cornelius will do just about anything if he thinks it will boost his political favor. I wouldn't be surprised if this evenings post has a front page advertising Mr. Potter's return during the task."

Casca was slowly starting to shake her head. "That makes no sense." Dumbledore looked at her curiously. "If what I've told is true, then this… Voldemort guy is after Harry. Wouldn't attacking during an event that says Harry will be there seem likely? All this Minister would be doing is inviting an attack on your school."

To that, Dumbledore allowed a small smile that was laced with irony. "It would appear we are of the same mind. Voldemort has proven that he is on another level than I, an old school master. But Fudge is insistent that both Harry's presence, as well as my own, will be enough to repel any attack. I have ordered some wizards in an organization of mine to come as security to play it safe. But, I would be remiss if I did not even ask Mr. Potter for his thoughts on all of this." Those blue-eyes with a trace of twinkle looked back over to Harry.

"Look, Professor Dumbledore, when we first met you really kind of put me on edge." Dumbledore had the decency to look embarrassed. "But you were helpful when we really needed it, so I have to thank you for that."

"Of course. Help will always be given at Hogwarts to whoever needs it." He spared a look over to Casca. "Magical or not."

"Right. And as big a help as we got, all of what you just told me just seems like some sort of entitlement act coming from your Minister Fudge. I thought it had been made pretty clear the first time that whatever this tournament is, I never entered and really don't plan on being viewed as some kind of show animal on the grounds that if I don't people are going to be arrested for it." Plenty of crew mates on the Sea Horse were just ordinary Lith sailors who were just doing their duty to Roderick. They didn't deserve to be put through that or any of his companions as well.

"I thought that would be your answer," Dumbledore did not sound disappointed about it. "Maybe if circumstances had been much different, but it is not wise to dwell on such a topic like that."

The way Dumbledore said that did kind of strike a pang with Harry. While he didn't fully trust the headmaster, his opinion was much higher than it had been previous. This school, maybe even aspects of this world that he had been away from, still had some good sides to it. While he wasn't planning on attending school here, it did keep that curious spark burning inside of him that Flora often remarked on. While this place didn't have a direct appeal, it did have the want to have an interest. But it was not something that he would let distract him from his companions and what they had planned next.

"Well, I'm glad that you can understand my reasoning then," Harry said to the headmaster who gave a small smile.

"Yes, but I'm afraid Cornelius won't be the same."

"After what Guts did to that one assistant of his, wouldn't he know what will happen if those… Aurors try to come here?" Harry asked. Everyone looked at Dumbledore for his answer.

"He is making a dangerous gamble indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "If they encounter resistance, Aurors have permission to use deadly force and if a fight breaks out, I have no doubt that those Aurors would not be around to tell the tale. "When news of that gets out… it will be trouble for all involved. And as a counter measure, I believe the swordsman has the gift I brought for Mr. Potter."

Guts eyed the man before pulling out the wrappings. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"Just an old heirloom of his father's." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with nostalgia.

"You want to open it?" Guts asked Harry what he wanted to do.

Harry felt the wrapping, whatever was inside was very light and soft too. Dumbledore had been honest so far and being outnumbered should this be anything dangerous, the old wizard really had nothing to hide at this point.

"Yeah, might as well." Harry took the wrappings and began to peel them off. What lay underneath was a soft, smooth and silky fabric. "A cloak?" Harry ran his hand over the texture.

"A cloak of invisibility," Dumbledore clarified. "The user is completely hidden while under it."

"You freckin' serious?!" Isidro exclaimed as he tried peaking around Harry to get a better look at it. "Do you have any idea how many people I could have spied on if I had this?" Harry made a note to himself not to leave this where Isidro could find it.

Dumbledore continued, ignoring the remark made by the aspiring swordsman. "Your father got into many of his infamous adventures by means of this cloak and it is only right that it be returned to you."

"Interesting," Serpico admired the cloak as well. "It is almost like my sylph cloak then in a way."

As neat and useful an item as this was, Harry was compelled to ask, "And there's more to it than just being something that once belonged to my father, isn't there?"

"You would be correct on that," Dumbledore made no move to hide a double intention. "Given your previous answer to the tournament and the ultimatum proposed, I would give you this in the hope that you stay clear of any confrontation that might arise. As capable as you are, things would only be made worse if you had any direct involvement in a fight against Ministry officials."

"You want me to hide while everyone else gets but in danger?" Harry asked, the idea not sitting well with him at all.

"I propose it merely as a suggestion," Dumbledore defended. "What you chose to do with it is up to you. However, I do have a proposition to make myself, if you would hear me out." Dumbledore's eyes went to Casca like he was aware of the part Hogwarts played in her recovery. "If Voldemort does attack during the third task, I would like to see to it that no harm befalls any of my students. If possible, I would like all the help that can be given to repel any attack made."

"Is that it?" Guts asked, his face was keeping that stoic expression. "Just a simple fight?"

"It is never truly simple when it comes to Voldemort," said Dumbledore. "He will want to make a show of things as a testament to his power. My most recent defeat at his hands only proved that point. Given your clear history of experience dealing with insurmountable odds, I would be a fool not to ask."

"Well, headmaster, I can't really answer for everyone," Harry looked around at his companions, "but all I can say is that if Voldemort really does attack this place and us by extent, he'll be dealt with the same way we've been taking care of challenges." Harry looked up to Guts whose expression had changed, if only by a bit. It was hard to tell if he found it amusing or if he would have said something similar.

Dumbledore nodded like he understood. "I see. Of course, I do not wish for a fight to break out in any way, but we cannot always have what we desire. As I've said, I will have some of my own personnel on the grounds as well for added measure, two of them include inside Ministry employees by the names of Shacklebolt and Tonks."

"Are we supposed to know who they are?" Harry asked seeing Isidro getting ready to ask in a much crasser manner.

"No, I would expect not," Dumbledore said. "But they have reported back to me on another strange sighting as of last night."

"Another one?" Casca was anxiously curious.

"While patrolling at the site of Stonehenge, they reported seeing a multitude of hairy creatures with clubs of bone that they believed to be gremlins."

"They sound like some of the trolls from the forest," Schierke recalled when they sealed the cave off.

Dumbledore continued. "And that wasn't all. They claim that those very same creatures were soon slain by a knight of skeleton."

The Skull Knight was here?! Harry nearly shouted the words, but maintained his composure. If he thought about it, Skull Knight did have a way of moving about with that sword of his, it was entirely possible for him to have crossed over from Midland. But what was he doing?

Guts was the first to speak, "So, the old Bone Head is here, is he?" he rubbed his chin. "Yeah, that sounds like him. he shows up and then leaves, nothing new about that."

"So you have not had any contact with this individual then?" Dumbledore asked.

"He's the one who comes to us," Guts answered. "Trying to find him is a lost cause; he does what he wants when he thinks it's necessary. If he didn't harm your wizards, he probably knows about what's going on with this Voldemort guy. He knows a lot of what's going on and he owes us some answers too." Harry instantly thought of the child from last night.

"I almost expected as much," Dumbledore nodded once more. "I have a few questions of my own that I would ask of this knight of skeleton, but I have to prioritize first about keeping Hogwarts safe." He made his move to exit. "And for what it's worth, you have my thanks if Voldemort chooses to attack. I can only hope that I am wrong."

Only a day had passed since the oddity that was last night. An out of the blue full moon, Professor Lupin being found near the Forbidden Forest, news coming in about a state of panic at the Ministry, it was all so much to take it. Not to mention all the wild rumors that were flying around about some sort of fight that broke out in order to restrain the werewolf Professor Lupin. As usual, it was impossible to trace the rumor to a single source, but it seemed even some of the visiting school students had picked up on the wild words that were being carried throughout the school.

"Cedric, what do you make of zees rumors?" the French-accented voice of Fleur asked him as the three respective champions walked out to the Quidditch pitch as instructed by Ludo Bagman.

"Which one?" Cedric asked offering the blonde girl a small smile. Not that he was going to cheat on Cho, just one of friendliness. After the first two tasks of the tournament, he had gotten to know a bit more about his two competitors.

Fleur, while dazzlingly beautiful on the outside that many boys seemed to be attracted to – Cedric suspected it had to do with veela heritage – she also had a vulnerable side to her as seen after the second task. Cedric had been the first to rescue his hostage from the bottom of the Black Lake, but he was surprised to see Fleur waiting topside without her little sister who had been taken hostage as well. Cedric had tried to assure her that Dumbledore would let no real harm befall any hostage and that once the time limit was up, she would be released. He doubted it helped, but Fleur seemed to appreciate the effort.

"Vhat other could she mean?" the low voice of Victor Krum asked. In all his years spent at Hogwarts, Cedric would have never thought that he would ever be walking side-by-side with the best seeker in the world.

Victor certainly came across as brooding and a bit of a loner at first glance to anyone who say him apart from his status as a famous athlete, but that was really due to the fact that Victor believed no one really saw past his famous persona as a seeker. So when the tasks rolled around, Victor put everything he had into completing as best he could to show that he had skills outside of his well-known profession. Cedric could respect that hard-working attitude that the seeker put forward and the two got to talking about different ways they would have handled the dragon task once Madam Pomfrey healed them up. Victor laughed in good sport when Cedric suggested flying. To that, Victor offered to teach him the Wronski Feint, a move he had performed at the World Cup.

Of course, any training would have to be put on hold on account of the pitch being secured for the third and final task. It was news that all players in the school had been disappointed to hear.

"The rumors about Harry Potter?" Cedric asked just to be clear.

Victor nodded.

"Well… it could be true. I try not to judge people on what I don't know, but if he did, we could be competing with a real strong wizard."

"But ee ees just a boy," Fleur said in her accented voice. "Ee did not even put es name into ze goblet. Competing in ze tournament let alone fighting a werewolf, eet is not possible for a boy."

"To be fair, he did defeat You-Know-Who when he was just an infant," Cedric said on behalf of the supposed fourth champion.

"But he came back," Victor pointed out. "Ve all thought he vas dead."

"He still came a lot closer to finishing the monster than anyone else," Cedric reasoned yet again.

"Zhat maybe true, but why 'ide away if ee ees so talented?" Fleur asked. "'Zurely zhere must be a reason."

"Fame is not alvays good," Victor spoke before Cedric could. "I vould know. Vhereever I go, people act differently. Many ask vor autograph or picture. Ve at Durmstrang sit at Slytherin table because three other tables seem to avoid them." Even a visitor could see the inner disputes between the Hogwarts houses.

"I think Harry's popularity may be a bit more infamous though," Cedric said to the Durmstrang pupil. "No offense on your end."

"None is taken," Victor agreed. "Even at home, Potter's name is big."

"Oui," Fleur agreed as well. "Even een France, the name ees famous."

"Well, maybe a change of topic then." Cedric offered as they neared the pitch. The stocky form of Ludo Bagman was excitedly bouncing on his feet.

As soon as he saw them, his face split into a wide smile. "Ahha! Our champions have arrived!"

"Has something 'appened, Monseiur Bagman?" Fleur asked.

Victor nodded. "Yes. Vhy have ve been summoned?"

Bagman seemed more energized than usual. "Big news then everyone." He paused to build suspense. "Due to unforeseen circumstances, some changes have now been implemented by the Minister of Magic and the rest of the judges as well. You see, the Triwizard Tournament will be concluding soon with the third task!" Cedric watched his two rivals let out near-invisible sighs of relief. No doubt they wanted to just return home where it was safe.

"Bagman continued. "Yes, well, all good things must come to an end sooner or later. And in this case, sooner. What I am saying is, the task has been moved to six days from now! I'm sure you're all excited!"

"Are you mad?" Fleur demanded, her expression angry, one that did not suit her features. "Zhat ees not enough time. I want to go to back home to France, but this ees too sudden."

"I agree," Victor said. "Ve vere only told of vhat the task vould be a few veeks ago."

"And I assure you nothing has changed about that," Bagman assured the seeker. "The task is still the hedge maze with Mr. Diggory entering first, followed by yourself and Miss. Delacour and the first to find the Triwizard Cup will be the winner."

"If it's all the same, why move the date?" Cedric asked. There had to be more than just what was going on with You-Know-Who.

Bagman just smiled. "Well… there is one major change." They all held their breath with anticipation. "I have confirmation from Minister Fudge that our long-awaited fourth champion will make his glorious debut!"

Harry Potter was going to be here?!

"How?" was all Cedric could actually say.

"Well Dumbledore went over to that ship to talk things over with young Harry on behalf of the Minister. Knowing Dumbledore, he would have talked some sense into the Boy-Who-Lived for him to see reason. He'll be entering after all of you no doubt, being new and all. But it will give the spectators a chance to finally see the person we've all been waiting for this whole time."

Cedric frowned at the implication as well as the other two. When Harry's name had first come out of the Goblet of Fire, it had caused all sorts of media coverage. When it was becoming more evident that Harry would not be showing up anytime soon, things had started to die down a bit and the focus was back on just the tournament itself; not that Cedric desired attention, but he did enter fairly along with Fleur and Victor. So for Bagman to imply that they were just extras in someone else's game didn't sit right at all.

"Now that you've all been officially informed, I have to go and make a public statement!" Bagman practically bounced out of his shoes. "This task is going to bring a crowd, that's for sure!"

The damage inflicted to Malfoy Manor was nothing too substantial. Greyback had scratched up a few of the walls and family portraits, and the only real Death Eater who had been bitten was Crouch; a sure humiliation for the son of a Ministry official. Knowing Crouch however, Voldemort knew that he would try to rectify this embarrassing condition by seeking to prove that he was still useful.

And he could be, Voldemort wasn't one to just throw away followers who still could serve a purpose to him in the long run. Even if Crouch would now transform into a mindless werewolf every full moon, he still had magic.

Currently, the Dark Lord resided in the private dining hall of the manor, a light fire burned in the fireplace, magically charmed to rekindle itself from the ashes once the flames got too low. If he hadn't made the sacrifice to make his horcruxs null and void, he would be petting Nagini on her head just about now. The conversations he had with her were more memorable than any he had with his Death Eaters, not that he socialized with them much outside of their meetings, save for Bellatrix perhaps. But even so, the great snake had served her purpose as well in his movement to once more gain a body of his own. Still, her presence always provided an extra amount of intimidation when his Death Eaters met with him.

Not that the one he was expecting would require Nagini to be frightened into line.

"Enter, Lucius," Voldemort said, hearing the knock at the door. Voldemort didn't even have to turn around in his seat to see the humiliated look of Lucius having to be given permission to enter a room in his own abode.

"You wanted to speak with me, my Lord?" Lucius' voice sounded dry.

"Indeed I did. Tell me, Lucius, where were you and your wife when Greyback was rampaging around your mansion?"

"Narcissa, she… panicked, my Lord. She called the house elf to us and had him apparate us somewhere safe."

"Ah, I see. So it is your wife to blame for any injury one of your fellow Death Eaters would have sustained."

"No, my Lord!" Lucius was quick to respond. "I was also one to listen to her when she suggested it."

"How very Slytherin of you, Lucius. Self-preservation has always been a trait I admired, but running from a situation within your own home? Tsk. Actions like that make me doubt your conviction sometimes, Lucius, surely you can see why."

"I…" Lucius swallowed a lump in his throat. "I certainly do, my Lord."

"Because of that, I need to make sure that I can still trust in you, Lucius, and trust is so hard to come by in these times." He could almost feel the fear of anticipation radiating off of the head of the Malfoy family. "Come time for our attack on Hogwarts, I would have be the first to lead a team of Death Eaters onto the grounds."

"You… would put me in the infantry, my Lord?" Lucius had composure to his voice, but Voldemort knew he was hiding the dread beneath it.

"Your son will be in attendance in the third task, will he not? As a father, wouldn't you want to be in a position where you could secure his safety and well-being? Unless…" Voldemort let the word trail on a bit. "Unless you can give me a reason to have you in a more secure position."

With that, Lucius' voice changed to being more of the composed pure-blood he usually held. "Actually, my Lord, I believe I do."

He sounded sure of himself. "Oh, and what would that be, pray tell?"

"I've received an owl from Severus."

"Severus? Strange that I have not. Perhaps being in that school is making him question his true allegiance. Hm. No matter, what did Severus say?"

"The date for the third task has been moved, my Lord." Voldemort turned his head to stare back at Lucius.

"Is that so?"

"It is, my Lord." Lucius stood with confidence, sure his information was true. "I have sources in the Ministry that can confirm it as well. I can also write to my son as well if need be."

"And when is it to take place now?" Voldemort asked, never blinking once.

"Five days from now," Lucius answered evenly. "And apparently, the Minister is insisting Potter will be involved this time as well."

Five days? His return must have the Ministry and the old fool struggling to find a way to assure the public that they were truly safe. Potter's name alone would spark a false hope that they had nothing to fear and serve as a way to secure Fudge's position within the Ministry from the masses. It was actually laughable. If Potter had actually agreed to this or was being strong armed into doing so was completely irrelevant; the point was, Voldemort knew of this.

"If that is true, then you have just made me a very happy man, Lucius," Voldemort smiled a tight-lipped grin. "I, being the merciful lord I am, will instead have you serving in the reserve division. You will be safe there and be able to enjoy seeing your wife and son by the end of it all." He saw Lucius relax his shoulders at the news. "Now, go and inform Dolohov and Macnair that they are to go and meet with the giant forces I have secured for us. It would seem we will be striking sooner than expected."

The news obviously caught Lucius off guard as his eyes widened and the corner of his mouth twitched. "We are not going to wait, my Lord?"

"Waiting would be pointless, dear Lucius." Voldemort smirked. "The dragons that are being smuggled into the country will be arriving in two days time. You don't want dragons making a mess of your property until the initial day arrives, do you? I thought you were all about minimizing the costs you had to spend."

"I am, my Lord. I just-,"

"-You will inform them as I have informed you," Voldemort ordered his follower. "We will wait no longer; in five days time every magical community in the world will know the true power of my magical might."

And his long-awaited duel with Potter would take place at long last.

The shore by the Black Lake was especially nice today. The forecast only had a few clouds overhead, but not nearly enough to block out the sun which promised good weather for the rest of the day. The Durmstrang ship lightly rocked with the small waves and the other ship with Harry Potter and the rest remained still and calm farther out on the lake. Some other students were milling about on the actual shore, but Luna had managed to secure a tree to herself and was hanging upside down by her legs, her blonde hair almost touching the ground.

Of course, to Luna, she didn't just see the ground beneath her, she was seeing an image of Sonia laying down and looking back up at her, swatting at her dangling hair like she was some sort of house cat.

"That's some pretty big news there, Luna," Sonia said. "Just four days until that final task comes around?"

"Yes, that's what the judges said and the papers too. But I think they're making it a bigger deal than it really is."

"Yeah, it's because of that one guy with the glasses," Sonia made circles with her fingers and held them up to her eyes. "He really is a big deal around there, huh?"

"He is," Luna knew very well what was being said around the castle. "He was nice when I met him, a bit nervous around me like he didn't really know what I was going to do. Maybe he thought I was a vampire."

"I bet he thought you were something worse, like a fanatic!" Sonia smiled. "Griffith has no shortage of those."

Luna's smile lessened at the mention of the man who made her feel nervous. She thought about telling Sonia about Griffith just abandoning that boy in the woods, but she knew her friend would be too stubborn to believe he would do that. She decided to change the topic knowing how Sonia felt about the white-haired man.

"The papers said something about Harry being here for it, but I don't think he will. He seems nice and a bit shy to want any attention."

"What even is the third task anyway?" Sonia asked, her eyes shining with excitement.

"Oh, this one is a hedge maze," Luna answered. "Since this is the last, there wasn't really a reason to hide it. They even grew the hedges on the Quidditch pitch. A lot of the players weren't happy about that."

"Wait, we can actually see this task?" Sonia asked. Since making the connection with the other blonde girl, Luna had told her about the previous two before. But now that their connection was much stronger because of that tree acting as a sort of link, Sonia would be able to witness it as well.

"That's what it sounds like," Luna replied with a smile.

"Well, that sounds great!" Sonia beamed. "From what you told me before, that second one would have been really fun if you could see what was going on down in the lake. Couldn't someone have, I don't know, enchanted some crystal ball to see what was going on?"

"Maybe," Luna was inclined to agree. "But I think it was to build suspense, but it would have been useful instead of just staring at the lake for an hour."

"Well, will you be able to see down into the hedge maze?" Sonia asked.

"I hope so," Luna said. "I believe there are going to be a bunch of creatures inside as obstacles."

"Well sure, but actually being able to see into the maze itself would be really neat just by itself," Sonia agreed. "I would feel like a queen watching mice run around."

"Is there no hedge maze in Falconia?" Luna asked. From what she had seen of the city through Sonia, it didn't appear to be lacking in any means.

"We have a nice garden and all," Sonia shrugged. "The queen spends a lot of time there planning her wedding I guess. I don't know why, she doesn't really seem Griffith's type."

And they landed back on Griffith. "What makes you say that?" Luna asked.

"I don't really know," Sonia admitted with a playful shrug. "She's his biggest fanatic of all and Griffith doesn't even spend that much time with her. It must be for other reason he agreed in the first place, I don't know, I don't even like romance."

"That just means that the wrakspurts haven't invaded your head," Luna remarked.

Sonia smiled. "I owe that to your tip." She moved her hair out of the way to show a small raddish earring similar to Luna's.

"Oh! You actually made one."

Her exclamation drew the attention of a few Ravenclaws gathered by the shore. Luna spotted them staring and gave a friendly wave.

"Loony's talking to herself again," one of the girls said to her friends and was met with giggles.

Oh well, looks like they aren't in the mood to be friendly today. She looked back down at Sonia to see the other blonde narrowing her eyes at the giggling bunch of girls. "You okay, Sonia?"

"I don't like when they laugh at you."

"You don't get mad when Mule can't see you talking to me," Luna pointed out. From what she knew of the young Lord Wolflame, he was kind but narrow-minded.

"Mule never laughs to be mean," Sonia said. "I would let Rosine or Irvine have a few words with them to teach them to be nice."

"That would just make them afraid of me," Luna pointed out. "And I want people to be my friend because they want to be, not for any other reason."

Sonia looked like she was thinking that over. "I guess." She smiled mischievously. "I would still love to see that happen though."

"People can be mean sometimes, but they can be good too," Luna felt compelled to mention. "Most focus on the bad because that's what stands out the most. But when people do actually do something good, it makes it all the more important, I feel."

Sonia clapped a little. "You could give speeches before battle."

"Not really," Luna said. "I'd much rather eat some pudding."

Tick-tock, tick-tock, time was really flying by.

Things at the Ministry were still as hectic as ever, just three days until the third task was upon them and Dolores Umbridge was smiling to herself as she thought over everything that would occur in just three short days. Dumbledore would have already met with the Potter boy and delivered the ultimatum to him. And while she knew next to nothing about Potter personally, no sensible human being would willingly risk the wrath of the Ministry coming down on them. She didn't care how capable some of those muggles were, they had to have a limit like anyone else. Two – no! Four teams of Aurors should be enough should Potter not show up for the third task as intended.

And either way, if Potter showed up or not, her plan would come to fruition. If Potter left to compete, she would send the dementors in to finish the deed, and if not, they would be apprehended by the Aurors, taken to Hogsmeade Village where a sudden dementor attack would leave them as soulless husks. And the best part about it was she could blame the whole thing as being an attack from You-Know-Who.

Of course, with all the security put in place, Hogwarts would be quite safe and the dementors would be stationed just outside of the wards to wait before moving in and to avoid detection from Dumbledore. And it would be believable too, You-Know-Who already broke his most loyal followers from Azkaban so it was only a matter of time before the dementors sided with him anyway. She had to work fast to secure a few before that actually happened and it worked with her plan to move the third task to an earlier date.

Umbridge giggled to herself at the thought of a well-executed plan coming together to completion. Three days, that's all that was left.

"You are sure this report is sound, Severus?" Dumbledore leaned on his desk as both McGonagall and Snape met with him in his office.

"Yes," Severus drawled a bit. "He still plans on attacking the day of the third task. And he has managed to secure the allegiance of a giant clan as well."

Minerva was shaking her head, looking like she was ready to explode. "Giants now? Albus, please see reason!"

"I have talked with Bagman and Fudge, Minerva, both are adamant on continuing forth with the task."

"To the devil with both of them!" Minerva nearly shrieked. "You are the Headmaster of Hogwarts, your word should trump theirs on a matter like this, especially when student lives are in danger. Cancel the tournament if you must; just do not let it go on!"

"That would be ill-advised," Severus coolly spoke. "The three champions are magically bound to serve until the tournament has completed. Doing so would have catastrophic results to them."

"Yes, because you care deeply for them," Minerva said with fire to her tone. Her fierce temperament was only one of the reasons why she was second-in-command. "If it were one of your Slytherins that was competing, you would be saying many of the things I am now."

"Diggory is not one of your lions," Severus pointed out with disinterest.

"That does not mean he hasn't the heart of one! You saw what they had to face in the first task. And You-Know-Who is more dangerous than a dragon!"

"You raise a fair point, Minerva," Dumbledore tried to placate his deputy. "And I agree with you. But the others will not. They have a say as well. That does not mean I will let any harm come to any of our students," he added seeing the fury in her eyes. "I want you to gather all the teachers and have them at vital points around the school. Our priority is the Quidditch pitch, all the students and spectators will be gathered there. You and Filius are still more than capable."

Minerva looked a tad insulted. "Of course we are. Filius may be retired from dueling, but he remembers every move and charm there is. And James and Lily Potter studied under me. I don't need to remind you how skilled they both were." She shot a look over to Severus like she was expecting him to speak ill of the dead.

Severus remained quiet, more out of respect for Lily than James, of course.

"I will have the Order, those capable of fighting anyway, here as well."

"And that includes Black?" Severus asked with a slight sneer.

"The two of you will be comrades in battle soon," Dumbledore pointed out to the potions master. "Unless, you are standing with the Death Eaters and your allegiance has shifted."

Severus scowled deeply. "I have always known where my allegiance lies."

Dumbledore didn't even need to search his eyes to see if he was telling a lie on that. "Very well then. You each have your instructions then, see to it they are completed."

"And what of Potter?" Minerva asked with concern. "He does not plan to attend, have you told Fudge?"

"Cornelius is in need of a hard truth. No, I have not told him. I rather he finds out like everyone else." Dumbledore allowed a cheeky smile at the reaction the Minister would have.

A peaceful setting had come upon them at last. Too bad that tomorrow would bring about an end of that. If Harry borrowed a spyglass from one of the crewmen, he would be able to see out to that one sports area on the castle grounds. The hedges there had been grown so tall that he was able to see them as well. A few wizards were magically raising a few more stands, clearly expecting a big turnout for the task set for tomorrow.

"So, you're really not planning on competing?" Isidro asked of Harry, joining him and Schierke up on the main deck. Isidro used his teeth to pull a splinter from his hand. "Yeaow! Damnit!" he had just finished mock sword fighting with Casca. She had beaten him once again.

"I have no idea what the task even is," Harry pointed out. "I'd be going into it blind if I did."

"The headmaster did seem to neglect saying exactly what it was," Schierke recalled. "Maybe he was actually hoping you would refuse."

Isidro leaned against the rail. "Yeah, that guy seemed to have left out a few things."

Harry looked at him with mild surprise. "That's pretty attentive for you. What else did he leave out?"

"If this is a tournament, there must be some sort of prize money!" Isidro exclaimed with a greedy glint in his eye.

Both Harry and Schierke simultaneously deadpanned at his answer.

"That sounds…" Schierke began.

"Possible…?" Harry wanted to say.

"Hey, when I'm right, I'm right," Isidro put his arms behind his head. "You could mop the floor with those other three wizards no problem if you wanted."

"I don't think the last task would be some kind of fight," Harry said.

"Well how would everyone know who the strongest is?" Isidro plainly asked.

"Have you even paid attention to how magic works?" Schierke asked in mild annoyance. "Think of it like sword fighting, the strongest one isn't always the winner, but how they use their skills."

"You're wrong on that one," Isidro argued. "Guts has won in every fight I've seen him in."

"And he did it because he knows how to win," Schierke argued back.

"Annnnd, because he's super strong," Isidro said like it was the final word.

"Ugh, do you talk like this to Casca when you practice with her?"

"I can answer and say that he knows better." A new voice joined in.

"Greetings, Teachers," Farnese bid them as she approached with Casca.

Casca eyed Isidro who was idly whistling to himself to make himself seem inconsequential. Casca saw through it. "Didn't I tell you that strength doesn't guarantee victory?" Casca asked.

"Puck is always saying to hit as hard as I can," Isidro shrugged.

"And you listen to him?" Schierke spoke on behalf of Ivalera who was napping back in her cabin.

"If you want to live, listen to the one with experience." Guts had walked over as well.

Casca looked at him surprised. "You agree with not going full out all the time?"

"Sword fighting is about change. If you keep it the same every time, you die. Strength works, but it will only help out if you know how to use it." He looked at Isidro. "Listen to what she has to say."

"Very wisely spoken," Serpico floated down from one of the masts, his cloak billowing to slow his descent.

"And the gang's all here," Isidro leaned back on the rail some more. "Well, not the elves, but still."

Farnese smiled lightly. "It would appear so. It feels… right, in a way."

"Uh huh…" Isidro nodded, but not so much out of disagreement, but more of not really knowing what else to say.

"I would say so too." Their eyes were now drawn over to Casca. "I know that I might have been a bit… well, not myself for most of the time you've all known me; but really, I am glad that I got the chance to be with you all. And it's all the more important that we just try to survive whatever happens tomorrow."

Harry knew exactly what she was talking about. Aside from the tournament, Voldemort was suspected to attack the school and by extent, them as well. He had never really given that much thought to what might happen regarding Voldemort, he was an unknown phantom from a part of his past he didn't even remember and assumed he would never even come across not even knowing who he was or what he wanted.

And now, actually knowing that this wizard had actively tried to kill him once before and was also responsible for him ending up with the Dursley's, there was a bit of a pull to put an end to that part of the past. He had always assumed he would never be back to this astral layer, this "Ideal Plane" as Schierke had theorized; and it was clearly not the case. Midland was like a fantasy world come to life, a dream to almost escape from the darkness of that unknown past. But as the Eclipse had proved, there was no real escape from that darkness. Everyone had it in their hearts to do good or bad, that was just the reality of it. And reality always had a way of catching up to everyone sooner or later. But, if he had the choice, he would stick with the companions he had made, not the past behind him.

"This will just be another fight," Guts tried to ease Casca's worries. "Whatever trouble this Voldemort guy starts, just let me handle it, alright?"

"He'll probably be wanting to fight with me," Harry pointed out.

Guts looked over to him. "Yeah, well, I want to see if he's all he's cracked up to be. He has his magic, I have my sword."

"Yeah, that's the spirit!" Isidro pumped his fist. "You actually got me looking forward to tomorrow now!"

"Don't get eager for a fight," Casca advised him. "You might underestimate the enemy if you believe you can instantly win."

Serpico nodded again. "And, it may not concern us, but what about the students?"

"You mean the danger they'll be in?" Farnese asked for clarification.

"Indeed. We may not have any personal connection with any of them, but it would be a bit cruel if we leave them to suffer such a fate. But, my devotion is to you, Lady Farnese, as well as those here. I will follow in your lead, whatever you may decide."

"That Dumbledore guy will have his people be there," Guts reminded. "If they can't handle it…"

"Then we will?" Casca finished for him. Guts had an expression that indicated that may not have been what he was going to say. "What?"

"Nothing," Guts brushed it aside. "I was just going to say I'd follow your lead."

"My lead?"

"Yeah, you are second-in-command."

Harry just stared at Guts in surprise. The swordsman rarely, if ever, mentioned the Hawks or their old positions within them. He could have been doing it to instill some newfound confidence in Casca, but his face and tone both seemed like he already had full confidence in her. And Harry only hoped that she saw that too.

At last, the time had come. In fact, time actually seemed to be flying by at an unnatural rate. Breakfast had come and gone, classes hardly seemed to matter as even the professors were also anticipating what was to come. Lunch was just a social gathering, a minefield of excited chatter and speculation for what was to come. Dinner hardly seemed to matter, save for the three champions who only ate to feed their bodies and give them energy for the trial ahead. Dumbledore was not exempt from the energy in the air either. The only difference was his was out of anticipation of attack, not good-sported nature.

"Ees it time now, Dumblydoor?" Madam Maxime asked, her food hardly touched from where she sat at the staff table.

Dumbledore looked over to McGonagall who gave a small nod of her head, her attention mainly focused on the students sitting at their own respected tables. "Yes, madam, I do believe it is."

Putting his wand to his throat, Dumbledore said, "Sonos." And his voice became magically magnified for the entire hall to hear. "Attention everyone! The time has come for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. These past few months have built out champions up high to stand tall among all in the magical community, and tonight is to them. /may the best champion win and best of luck to you all."

Clapping erupted from the hall as students from all schools wanted to show support for their champion. Even Slytherin house managed to elicit a few claps for a Hufflepuff champion but they largely went unnoticed from the sound of the yellow and black banner table. From down on the staff table, Dumbledore saw Professor Sprout wipe a tear away at the thought of how far young Diggory has come.

"If could all please, file outside in an orderly fashion. Your prefects and head of house will escort you all to your seats." Dumbledore lowered his wand as the crowd already started to file outside to the setting sun.

It is so close now.

He was a good gambler, but he hated the game. At this point, Dumbledore could only hope that the crew on that boat would help when the time called for it.

Outside by the Quidditch pitch, students, faculty, and spectators alike flocked to their seats, a collective of chatter engulfed them as they continued to file in and wait for the upcoming finale. Dumbledore went to the stand that had been specially conducted to seat the judges, the Minister and other Ministry officials that were attending.

He spotted Madam Bones sitting behind Madam Maxime, but it was only due to Kingsley standing in attention by her side that he was able to spot her from behind the tall woman. Seeing him approach, Kingsley sent him a nod letting him know that he was ready and that the Order members were in position as well.

"So lovely to see you here, Amelia," Dumbledore greeted as he took the seat next to Maxime.

"Likewise, Albus," she greeted back with a professional tone of voice. "I wish I could be here without bringing a few squads of Aurors," she lightly glared over to where Fudge was talking with Bagman, "but I have little choice when I am threatened to be sacked if I don't cooperate."

"That is unfortunate indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "Let us hope it does not have to come to that."

Amelia scanned the crowds, spotting the security put in place. Her eyes drifted down to the start of the maze where the three champions were meeting with friends and family before the task officially started. "I don't see him anywhere."

"Neither do I." it was a bit hard to keep a small grin from appearing. It was made even harder when he saw McGonagall and Snape bring out the stool and Sorting Hat, placing right at the front of the judges stand.

"You spoke with him like the Minister asked?" she questioned.

"I did indeed."

"He knows what Fudge will order me to do if he is not here soon?" she also witnessed Harry's memories; she knew how violent things could get.

"I imagine that he does."

Their conversation was cut short as Ludo Bagman jumped from his seat and paraded around the three gathered champions, his voice magically amplified as Dumbledore's had been. "Ladies and gentlemen, good evening! Welcome all to the third and final task! We have a real treat planned for you all tonight; as you can all see, these hedges have been growing since the start of the school year, a great disappointment to all you Quidditch players, I know." The crowd laughed. "But your pitch will be back to normal after tonight, but first, let me explain the rules. For each of the previous two tasks, your champions have been gathering points based on daring and ingenuity, the points earned will determine the order in which they enter. In first place, Cedric Diggory!"

The crowd cheered in support, Amos being the loudest of them all.

"In second, the famed player himself, Victor Krum!"

Many sports fans and Durmstrang students gave loud cheers of applause.

"And in third place, Fleur Delacour!"

Many boys cheered and wolf-whistled while the French students gave polite claps that were overlooked by the boys vying for who could cheer the loudest.

"It is simple," Bagman continued. "Touch the cup which is hidden somewhere within the maze, and emerge victorious! But before our champions enter, I was informed we would be receiving another candidate."

Everyone knew who that was and instantly went silent as soon as Bagman mentioned it. The lingering thought among them had to be, "where is Harry Potter now?"

Bagman smiled and continued. "You must have all heard the news by now, that person is none other than our own Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter! And as you can see, he is not here just yet. No doubt he wants to make this an entrance we will not soon forget!"

Fudge was leaning over to quietly ask Dumbledore, "Well, where is he? You did talk with him, didn't you?" there was a panic to his voice.

"I did indeed talk with Mr. Potter."

Fudge was staring. "Well?"

"His answer was to be expected. I have told you before, Cornelius, I am Headmaster of Hogwarts, I cannot force someone who does not attend this institution to take part in an event that was rigged to have his name pulled. I'm sorry, Cornelius, but both of our hands are tied."

Fudge's mouth was shaking as his face began to turn red with fury. Umbridge chose that moment to join the conversation. "Well, I'm afraid that simply won't do, Dumbledore. One way or another, Potter will be here." She finished with an overly girly giggle. "Madam Bones, send out the Aurors."

Elsewhere, just out past Hogsmeade Village, multiple sharp cracks could be heard echoing down the deserted streets of the small village. No doubt all the residents were out watching and gathered at the school for the final task. Voldemort could practically roll his eyes at their absurdity.

But, it seems they weren't as incompetent as he had originally thought.

Two Aurors were racing toward the series of growing noises, wands already drawn but not at all prepared for the fate that soon awaited them. The two Lestrange brothers moved first, wands out, they cast the two words that had become Voldemort's two favorites.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Two jets of emerald light hit the ill-prepared Aurors square in the chest, killing them before they even hit the ground.

"Should we put up the mark now, my Lord?" Bellatrix hopped her way over the two corpses as they advanced down the main road.

"Not just yet," Voldemort instructed. "Let them first realize that their defenses are meaningless before my power."

Not a single light shone in any of the shops and homes they passed along the way, only serving to cement his thought that everyone really was at Hogwarts right now. When they approached the gate near the train station, Voldemort held up a hand for his Death Eaters to hold. He would wait a few more minutes to let the beast handling unit time to catch up. When he heard the roar of a dragon and the shouting of a giant, Voldemort knew it was time.

"Let us see how the power of Hogwarts holds against the magic that is my body!" Magic given to me through the abyss itself!

Voldemort reached his hand out, feeling a repelling force that was the first of the wards put up. Feeling a warm glow start to gather in his palm, Voldemort pushed that feeling away, making room for only the cool isolated feeling he was sued to. Sparks of green lights began to fly from where his hand was making contact with the invisible barrier.

And he pushed forward.

Dark blue sparks started sparking off next, a sign that his magic was corrupting the light protective barriers. He was already working his way past two and onto three and he hadn't even needed to use his wand at all! His body truly was magic itself. Youthful in appearance, but filled with knowledge and experience.

Four layers through now as shown by the purple sparks flying out and starting to arc upward like a firework show. Five layers in, the sparks were turning a rustic red, either from their natural source or his corrupting of it all. Six deep now and the red had turned to a bright, dazzling gold that was blinding to look at and even Voldemort found that he had to squint his eyes to see.

Seven layers in now. Seven, the most powerful magical number, the number of years taken at Hogwarts, and the number of horcruxs that he had wanted to make. The light and sparks were a blinding white and blue mixture and with a final push, shattered.

Starting from where his hand was and traveling up to cover a done-like shape around the castle and grounds beyond. Hogwarts was vulnerable.

"Prepare to advance," Voldemort ordered. But first, in memory of those two fallen Aurors, "Morsmorde!"

A glowing green skull appeared in the darkened sky. The image of a snake slithering out of its mouth followed suit. And if Voldemort listened carefully, he could hear the screaming already.

"Shall we attack the ship?" Bellatrix eagerly asked.

"Focus on the main populace for now," Voldemort said. "I have assurance that Potter will come to me."

From the deck of the Sea Horse Guts was put on instant alert when it looked like an invisible dome had suddenly shattered over them. Schierke, Farnese, and Harry all rushed up on deck too to see what had just happened.

"Schierke, you have any idea what did that?" Guts asked, his hand on Dragonslayer's hilt.

"I… the only explanation I can think of is that someone destroyed whatever wards they have set up."

Casca came rushing over and Serpico drifted down as well. "I've alerted the crewmen to be on high alert," the blonde informed. "Roderick will have them take their battle positions."

Puck was staring off into the sky, his eyes fixed on a new development. "What the heck is that?"

Indeed, it was a glowing green skull with a snake coming out of the mouth.

"I'll tell you what it isn't, good news." Guts eyed the shape with a narrow eye. Whatever it was suppose to symbolize, he could guess it had to do with the infamous Voldemort. And he would probably be right.

"Listen," Casca said, pointing off to where the tall stands of that pitch was located on shore. "They're screaming."

"He's making his move then," Harry said. He both his staff and sword at the ready.

Isidro was looking between all of them. "So, it's actually going down then?" he drew his Salamander Dagger, the orange glow provided some sense of serenity to the unease they were surely all feeling at this moment.

Casca's face held a grim look to it. "It would appear… so…" the way she was trailing off, Guts worried she was having some sort of flashback to that day.

"Hey, Casca! What are you…? Oh." He spotted it as well.

Flying in the sky was a large winged figure that nearly blotted out the image of the glowing green skull. It was quickly followed by another one of a similar make as one of them let out a loud shrieking roar that could probably be heard for miles around. Dragons.

"We can take those things on, right?" Isidro looked to Guts' sword. "That was made to kill dragons; it's even in the name."

Guts watched as one dragon broke off and went straight for the castle itself, perching itself atop one of the towers and letting out a large burst of fire as a show of dominance. The second one was flying much lower, closer to the tree line of the forest. It too let out a mighty bellow, spraying the tops of the trees with its fire. Trees with tops that brushed along the underbelly when it flew.

"If I get close enough, I can," Guts replied, a crazy idea coming to his mind.

"Are you being serious?" Casca asked her tone of disbelief and concern. "You've done plenty of reckless things before, but this is… this…"

"This is a battle. What's one dragon to a hundred men?"

She wanted to argue, he could tell she wanted to argue. It was only Serpico's voice that stopped her short of opening her mouth. "It's coming this way!"

The low-flying dragon was indeed flying their way. Some of the talons on its hind legs skimmed the surface of the Black Lake. It looks like this Voldemort just planned on using these dragons to create chaos and disorder. This one was flying and attacking without reason, and the other seemed to be trying to make the castle its new territory.

As the dragon got closer, Guts was able to get a better view of it. The scales were thick and colored a whitish-grey hue to it that made it almost look like a type of stone. A few horns and spikes protruded from along the side of its head and the leathery wings had a few holes in the webbing from previous fights that it had. It was rearing its head back with its mouth open wide as a warm glow started to manifest from within.

"Everyone down!" Guts yelled as he felt the heat release from the maw of the beast.

They all jumped out of the way and the blast would have been more fatal if Serpico hadn't acted quick with the use of his cloak and sword. A few swipes of his sword and the deadly flames were partially averted, but some small flames did catch some of the rail and at the base of the center mast where some rope had been coiled.

The dragon roared as it made the pass turn back around and charge them once more. "Hey, it's coming back!" Isidro shouted, the fire from his dagger seems minuscule to dragon flame.

"Harry," Guts turned to the young mage, "can you manipulate that things od or whatever to focus on me alone?"

"I… can try to hide ours and make yours stand out by comparison."

"Do that then," Guts instructed as he began to climb to the crow's nest.

"What the hell is he thinking?" Casca asked as she watched him climb as the dragon got neared.

"Everyone behind me!" Serpico started to take charge. "I can do my best to knock the flames aside!"

Guts swung his legs over the rail and into the crow's nest, seeing the dragon near at a much higher speed than before. He drew Dragonslayer and held the blade back a bit like he was about to spear a fish in a river.

"Godo, your sword is going to live up to its title." If only that old coot could see what he was about to do. The smith would call him a crazy loon and say he was about to die. But he would not pass up the chance to see his biggest failure live up to what it was meant to do all along.

As the dragon got closer, it also started to fly higher until it was no longer skimming the surface of the lake. It was flying up toward the crow's nest mast. Whatever Harry was doing, it was working. The dragon's pale eyes were focused solely on Guts. It reared its head back and Guts could feel a source of intense heat building up and ready to release.

With one foot planted on the rail, Guts jumped. The fire missed his head by inches, but they did manage to sear a bit of his already worn black cloak. He waited until the dragon was within range before thrusting his arm forward and stabbing Dragonslayer along the side of the underbelly.

"Wrrrrarrrrrghhh!" the dragon roared as it beat its wings in a fury, taking off higher into the sky. Guts holding on to Dragonslayer as the blade remained in the side of the winged creature.

"Fuck!" Isidro exclaimed at the sight. "He just stabbed a freckin' dragon!"

"He's getting higher," Schierke nervously watched. "He was probably counting on one hit to finish it." Knowing Guts, Harry knew he probably considered it, but knew this was going to be crazy from the start.

"The people out there," Farnese said as she had to tear her view away from the dragon to the scene that was playing out on the ground.

Tons of figures in dark robes seemed to have invaded, hurling jets of green light at people running and screaming. Then jets of red, purple, and orange light would be shot back by a multitude of other people trying to get the upper hand in the confrontation. For what it was worth, they were putting up a very decent fight but that all changed with the sound of loud, thundering footsteps.

Close to half a dozen giant… giants were lumbering their way onto the grounds. Most were equipped with bone clubs and rock hammers. They wasted no time in smashing up some of the stands that had been erected and kicking the debris up with a few corpses.

Seeing the new threat, many of what must have been Dumbledore's people began hurling a multitude of spells toward the giants, trying to either kill them or subdue them. Giants must have naturally thick skin as the spells seemed to do little more than irritate them. One of the smaller giants did fall after many spells finally pushed it to its limit, but even then, the ones dressed in black robes started throwing green light at the distracted wizards who fought the giants. They were caught between a rock and a hard place for sure.

"Teacher, surely there is a spirit we can contact to help!" Farnese asked of Schierke.

She nodded. "There are many in this area. Our best bet would probably be a spirit of the water to help with the dragon fire and those by the shore."

"Is there anything you would have the rest of us do?" Serpico asked.

"There is something I would have us do," Casca spoke. "Serpico, can your Sylphs bring down giants?"

"If… I was close enough, perhaps. I will need to rely on my speed but even then I may need assistance."

Casca turned to Harry now. "I know how you feel about being here, but-,"

Harry put a hand on her shoulder. "Whatever it is, I trust your plan."

Casca let out a sigh of relief. "Then let's get a lifeboat."

What the bloody hell? What the bloody hell? What the bloody hell?! Draco thought over and over as the third task quickly erupted into absolute chaos.

Honestly, what had he been expecting? His parents were playing host to the Dark Lord for Merlin's sake, he should have known that this was going to happen. Drat! He did know that this was going to happen! All those notes his mother had written to him telling him to stay safe, she was warning him about this!

Still, it had caught him off guard. He hadn't expected it to be this… this… violent? Sudden? Pretty much every other jarring word? What had he been thinking this would be.

But it was okay, he would be fine. Some of these people here tonight, they knew his father, they knew who he was. And they knew his father would be furious if any of them did any harm to the Malfoy scion. He was… safe.

Or so he thought.

He barely had time to duck his head as a jet of green light went soaring over him. it struck an Auror dead on, but the idea that that very well could have been him, that he could be lying there dead right now… his eyes opened to show the last signs of fear… he wouldn't be able to see his mother and tell her that he was staying safe.

He ran. He wasn't really picking a direction, he just ran.

The hedge maze was on fire and the three champions were entered into a duel with who Draco suspected to e Macnair and a large blonde Death Eater who started hurling curses known and unknown to Draco. One such spell shattered the Delacour girls shield with a single hit and he was about to finish her off before Krum hit him with a bone-breaker to the jaw.

Diggory took that opening to hit Macnair with a leg-locker before hitting him with two consecutive stunners. It looked like they had won, if not for the shape of a giant baring their way. Swatting chunks of burning hedge at them which they levitated and launched back toward its face in an attempt to blind it.

Draco ran from that too.

He passed by the charms teacher Professor Flitwick who was teamed up with McGonagall as they both started to unleash a combo of charms and transfiguration spells on another giant. McGonagall turned the club into a paper bat and Flitwick performed three spells in a well executed manner that had the giant's skin turning into a stiff position and creating several large cuts up to the shoulder.

He ran by them, not even bothering to stop to make sure they were alright. They were teachers, they could handle it. Not to mention Flitwick was once a professional duelist.

There! A spot that looked secure. It was the remains of the judges stand that had been erected. A giant had clearly already passed by considering it was split in half like it had been hit with a club. Draco rushed over and hurled himself over the splinter wood to take refuge. His hand came into contact with an tattered fabric. Looking down, he realized it was the sorting hat.

Fat chance of Potter actually showing up to this madness now!

Believing he had found a safe spot, Draco nearly had a heart attack when someone else jumped over the debris, dragging another person along with them. Draco nearly hexed them before he recognized who it was.

"What the hell are you doing here, Longbottom!" Draco demanded of the Gryffindor boy. "And why do you have Loony with you?"

"Same as you," Longbottom told him. "Trying to stay alive."

"Do it somewhere else!" Draco snapped. "This is my spot!"

Lovegood appeared more attentive by still her loony self. "They're called Death Eaters, they follow You-Know-Who, Sonia."

Great, she's gone crazier.

"Shove off, both of you!" Draco yelled. "I don't want to get found!"

In a move of boldness, Longbottom spoke back to him. "Isn't you father with them?"

"Shut your mouth about my father! I didn't know this was going to happen." I did. I did know. "Just get out of here already."

"Sonia says to stop yelling and to play dead," Lovegood started again.

"Play dead?" Draco parroted. "That sounds a real great way to end up dead!"

"Gnnnghhh!" the sound of a giant mumbling shut Drao up instantly. A swing of a mighty club sent some of the cover they had away and the three students were staring at the leg of a lumbering giant that was smiling down at them with many missing teeth and fish bones in his beard.

And it was reaching down for him. reaching down to pluck him up and kill him.

Kill him.

He was… going to die?

He wanted to raise his wand, perform a spell, but the words just weren't leaving his mouth. Was… this really how he was going to die? Him, the proud Malfoy scion? Was going to die.

A breeze blew past his hair and a warm liquid fell on his head.

Was this it? Had he been eaten?

No. No. This liquid, it was… blood.

The giant pulled its hand back, a large cut having appeared from nowhere. That wasn't until Draco saw the blonde man in the green cloak seemingly float to the side with a sword that seemed to be made from a large feather.

With a few slashes in the air, the man pointed his sword at the giant and it was as if the cuts he made suddenly connected with the target. More cuts appeared along the giant's skin as blood started leaking and parts of the armor fell away.

Did he… have a weapon that controlled the wind?

He was so engrossed by this new arrival he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a gloved hand touch his shoulder. Knowing it wasn't Longbottom or Lovegood, he spun around, wand in hand to come face to face with a young woman who he had never seen before.

"What the… who… who the hell are you?!"

"Are any of you hurt?" she asked. Dark eyes darted between the three of them.

Too stunned to answer himself, Longbottom spoke. "No. We're… fine."

We're far from fine, you idiot!

"Hello, Miss. Casca," Lovegood addressed the woman. How did she know her name?

As if it couldn't get any stranger, another voice cut in as well. "Fear not, children! I, the Black Moustache Knight am here to provide aid!" a stocky man in full plated armor armed with a crudgel came huffing over.

Who the bloody hell is this fool now?!

"Please escort them to a safe location," the blonde said to the knight, doing so as he evaded a swipe from the giant and moving behind its leg to cut at the muscle there.

"Of course, follow me, young ones!" the knight exclaimed.

No surprise, Lovegood followed without question. He and Longbottom were not so trusting. "Listen to him," the woman, Casca advised, her tone dead serious. "I'm going to stay and help him."

Draco looked her over, she only had a dull sword at her side. What good was she going to do with that? "Help him?" Draco looked over to see the man was practically hovering in the air as he landed more cuts along the back of the giant's leg. "Help him with what?"

"I – what is that?" her eyes were drawn to the Sorting Hat which Longbottom was holding onto for some reason. But the hat was sagging. Something was poking out the bottom of it. Draco caught sight of a well-polished hilt with a ruby as her hand seemed to reach out to take it.

It was a sword. But not just any sword. Draco read the name engraved along the side of the blade; Godric Gryffindor.

Who the bloody hell is this woman?

The wind whipped through his hair, stinging his lone eye with the chill of the night. Guts was holding onto Dragonslayers hilt for all it was worth as the dragon seemed to have reached the apex of its ascent and was trying desperately to shake him off.

It was twisting its body, but Dragonslayer was embedded deep enough that the only way it was coming out was through Guts' own will. And considering he was hundreds of feet in the air, that wouldn't be happening anytime soon.

Sensing that this might be the case, the dragon suddenly dived down, trying to use the forces against him. But Guts grip remained tight, not willing to budge an inch to the dragon. He was so focused on hanging on, he had little time to bring his legs up as the hind leg tried to scratch him off like he was some kind of flea or other insect.

The talons barely nicked his armor, but his movement was enough to assure the dragon that he could be shaken off if it tried enough. What happened next nearly sent Guts falling. The dragon decided to use its tail like a whip to come around and smack him across his shoulders. It was like a horse using its tail to swat flies.

"Gngh!" Guts grit, feeling the full impact of that hit. Even if the armor wasn't penetrated, he wasn't using it so he felt the pain that came with it.

The tail came around again, smacking him once more, this time closer to the base of his spine. Guts' eye was now following the motion of the tail, waiting to see when it would strike next. He had to time this just right, just before the tail would strike.

For a third time, the tail came around to the side and Guts pulled himself up using Dragonslayer like a bar and propping himself on the dragon's back. "Got you now." He yanked the massive blade free from the side and made ready to start hacking away, but paused in his action.

He was still too high up. if he killed the dragon here, he would fall as well. He had to get this thing grounded before he did anything. Guts chose his new target, the left wing.

His blade easily cut a new mark in the webbing of the wing. As expected, the dragon started to list down and to the left. Seeing the effect he was having, Guts made several more jagged cuts along the wing, the dragon having no choice but to use its right wing as support and try to ground itself.

As they neared the ground, the dragon turned its head back to stare at the pest that had climbed onto its back. It opened its maw and Guts felt a surge of heat building up that contrasted with the cool breeze of flying in the night sky.

A torrent of flame was about to be unleashed on him. Guts quickly aimed his prosthetic arm toward the open maw and pulled the cord.

Baboom!"

A powerful cannon shot fired straight into the open maw of the dragon, filling its mouth and nostrils with smoke and debris, the dragon began spiraling down closer to the ground. "Rwwrrryyy!" the dragon cried out as its legs touched solid ground.

No sooner had that happened than Guts grabbed his sword once more, worked his way up to the head, jumped from the neck and brought his sword around in a full arc. Warmblood shot out at him as the head of the dragon fell to the side, its body giving one last spasm before falling as well.

Dragonslayer had lived up to its name.

Wiping some of the blood from his eye, Guts noticed that some had actually stopped to witness the sight. Some of which included a group of three kids who stood stock still and white as a sheet. The one in the middle held a weird metal box and it made a flash of light when he pressed something.

"Get the hell out of here, dumb kids." His voice heaved of exhaustion and it was enough to send the group off to a safer location.

"My, what a tremendous feat you have accomplished."

Guts turned to glare at the source of the voice. "So, you the leader of these freaks?"

The man with dark hair and red eyes smiled coyly with a dangerous glint to his stare. "I would not normally answer such a question that does not end with 'my Lord,' but given your accomplishment, I will forgive it." He smiled. "You have the privilege of being addressed by Lord Voldemort."

Guts spat at the corpse of the dragon. "I hear you're a real pain in the ass."

Voldemort's smile never faded. "Such a crass attitude. No need to figure out who you are with a sword that size, you can only be the Black Swordsman."

Guts' eye narrowed. "So you're an apostle then. Haven't seen one of you in a while. Haven't killed one of you in a while either."

"The one called Zodd spoke highly of you. He warned me to be careful should I ever encounter you. But looking at you now," Voldemort's red eyes scanned Guts over. "I don't see what he was referring to. Did killing that dragon take all you had?"

Guts started toward him. "You sound willing to find out." His eye never left Voldemort's.

"Do you expect your sword to be mightier than my magic?" Voldemort asked as he drew a long, bone-white wand.

Guts leveled Dragonslayer as Voldemort raised his wand. The battle between magic and steel was about to begin.

A/N: This and the next two chapters have been the ones I've been waiting to get to the longest. Thank you for reading.


	57. Chapter 57

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Guts would give credit where credit was due, the wizard known as Voldemort was pretty fast. Maybe not in terms of actual speed; at least, not that he knew yet, but rather with his wand and his spell-work. It had been Voldemort to make the first move of their fight, his red eyes shining with a dangerous amusement as he said some words that, to Guts, sounded like "Abra Kedabra."

He was probably wrong on what the words actually were, but they sure as hell sounded like that. Whatever words Voldemort truly did say, a jet of green light, a shade similar to Harry's eyes, flew forth from the end of his wand straight toward Guts.

Guts momentarily stopped in his own advance to bring the fight to a close-range distance, digging his boots into the grassy ground, Guts kicked off to the left to avoid being hit by the unknown green spell. And he was glad that he did. As the green jet of light soared past his head, a cold, bone-chilling feeling ran down Guts' spine as he eyed the soaring spell. He had grown used to the feeling of death since a very early age, ever since his birth, the feeling of having his life being nearly extinguished was one he was no stranger to. This feeling, however… just looking at it made him feel like somebody was walking on his grave like he was already dead and in the ground.

Whatever the hell the spell was, Guts made sure that he would not let it even graze the surface of his skin.

After evading the spell, Guts regained his proper footing and kicked off in a full sprint, his sword poised in front of him, looking to impale the dark wizard straight through. The Dragonslayer was still coated in the warm, thick blood of the first dragon and some drops began to fly off the surface with how fast Guts was running. As he neared, he noticed a bit of a surprised look flash across Voldemort's face.

"You move quite well for one wearing full armor," Voldemort remarked. "Hauling that sword around must be such a burden." Instead of retreating or making an attempt to dodge, Voldemort fired off another spell.

To Guts' relief, it wasn't the same green light he had fired off to begin. Instead, a part of the ground near Guts exploded outward sending bits of grass, dirt, and rock up to strike Guts. He could feel some of the debris land on his head from the sheer force of the explosion in question, a bit of it almost striking his singular eye.

Damn bastard is trying to blind me, Guts realized what the dark wizard was up to. And his assessment turned out to be true. Voldemort sent another explosion his way, striking where he thought Guts was going to be next and coming very close to actually hitting his intended target. More dirt and clutter fell down on Guts who felt the soft feeling of dirt weigh down his hair and touch his scalp. As Guts jumped out of the way of another explosion charm aimed at him, Voldemort stood exactly where he had been this whole time. Guts could see an amused sadistic grin on the man's relatively handsome face.

This guy is just as same as him! He has a pretty boy disguise and is completely fucked on the inside. Guts looked at the massive amount of dragon blood that still coated the massive blade that was Dragonslayer. By now, dirt and grass had gotten mixed in there as well. He would make sure to give the blade a good cleaning, starting now.

Guts halted in his advance but still held Dragonslayer like he was about to swing it and cleave the dark wizard in half. Voldemort noticed his behavior and change of tactic as well. "That sword of yours is massive, but even you do not have the range to hit me from here."

"You sure about that?" Guts swung Dragonslayer for all it was worth, pivoting his upper body along with it while keeping his legs firmly planted where he was standing. He was not expecting to hit Voldemort with Dragonslayer from here at his distance, but his efforts at dodging had gotten him close enough to use Voldemort's own tactic against him.

All the blood and mixture of dirt and grass that had been coating the blade was suddenly flung off that it flew outward in the same crescent arc Guts had made. Guts knew it worked instantly when Voldemort had no idea how to react to such an impromptu form of attack and the dragon blood landed in his eyes.

"Gnh!" Voldemort winced as he faltered for a bit, rubbing the material from his eyes to clear his vision once more. "You little-!" as soon as Voldemort had cleared his vision, he was met with the sight of Guts towering over him with Dragonslayer held high above his head, ready to do to him what he had done to the dragon previous.

With surprising speed for a man caught off guard, Voldemort fired off another explosion spell at the space between him and Guts, using the resulting force to launch himself back and away from Dragonslayer which ended up taking a very sizable chunk from the ground as well.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes dangerously at Guts, flicking away a bit of dirt that was stuck to the side of his face. "Not a very noble tactic to try and blind an opponent like that."

"Yeah, coming from someone who has a title like 'Dark Lord,'" Guts lifted Dragonslayer again. "This is a battle; nobility doesn't guarantee shit when your opponent is some psycho who thinks he's above everyone else."

To that, Voldemort's demeanor began to change again. He began to chuckle, and that turned to a full-blown laugh. "Hahaha! Oh, what a day this is! Has the old fool actually gone and conscripted a man with no honor to fight and defend his precious school? I heard that Dumbledore was slipping, but I had no idea he was broken morally! My first encounter with him must have done more damage to his ego than I imagined."

"Don't go priding yourself so much," Guts started forward slowly this time. "Old men like him always go a bit out of it at a certain point."

"So very true," Voldemort seemed to agree. "But senile or no, no one will be forgetting this day! Look around at the scene we have created."

Guts didn't want to take his eye off of Voldemort, and luckily, he didn't have to in order to see what the dark wizard was referring to. Despite the raging fire over by the stands, the gang of giants running around, and the other dragon circling overhead above the castle, a select few were either too scared to move or were actually enraptured to see the duel he was having with Voldemort.

He picked up the pace of his advancement. "Changing the subject isn't in your favor," Guts informed. "They probably want to see you meet your match."

"Oh, no doubt about that," Voldemort smiled unapologetically. "I have caused a great deal of suffering to a great many of loved ones over the years, they would love to see me dead." His amused expression hardened to a more serious one. "But it is not with you who I will face off with. You are a mere ant to be crushed beneath my boot; Potter is who I seek. The prophecy concerning us both will, at last, be settled."

"Cut it with that prophecy shit," Guts snarled. "You'd have to be some kind of quack to believe an ounce of that. You know, if your name really is Voldemort, you would be crazy enough to believe it. Forget about Harry, your fight is here."

The mention of prophecy was enough to make Guts even more eager to put this guy down, but that was only a contributing factor. From what he knew, this Voldemort guy had some grudge with Harry that he was looking to settle. The way his name was mentioned by Sirius, Dumbledore, and Lupin, it was apparent that this guy was dangerous. As skilled as Harry had become with magic from his studies with Flora and Schierke, he had very little experience fighting other magic users. He had defeated that Daiba guy back in their escape from Vritannis but aside from that, there were no other mages they had come across who meant them harm. And from what Guts had just gauged of the man, Voldemort was a snake in every sense of the word. And he was just as slippery as one.

"My fight is here, you say?" Voldemort spoke with an aura of superiority. "You are terribly misinformed. Nothing good has ever come to those who stand in the way of Lord Voldemort, just look at what happened to Potter's filthy, mudblood mother." Voldemort's eyes flickered to over to the crowd of students that was watching them. "You said before that nobility has no place while in battle. Let me test that." He pointed his wand at one of the younger students.

Guts knew instantly what he was about to do before he even said the word. "Avada…"

He was moving to intercept the green light as it soared toward the student. Judging by the terrified, statuesque student, there was no way to block this by any spell they knew. With Dragonslayer held out at arm's length, the jet of light struck his blade, dissolving into a green mist upon contact.

It looked like physical barriers would work just fine against that spell. Dragonslayer was wide enough to be used as a shield if need be and it looked like it would be coming in handy if Voldemort decided to pull another one of those spells on him so suddenly. With the student safe, Guts snarled at the crowd.

"The hell is wrong with you all?! Get out of here already!" his voice carried a great weight to it, and while some did flee the scene, others were either too scared to move or had no idea where to even go.

He quickly turned around expecting to see Voldemort ready to fire off another one of his curses. Instead, he saw the back of Voldemort's as the Dark Lord began walking away in search of his true objective, Harry.

From a mercenary perspective, this was a clear an insult as any. Guts reached into his satchel to pull out one of the small explosives Godo had made and Isidro was fond of. He sparked the fuse by moving it across his metal hand and waited until the fuse was nearly expired before he threw it at the retreating form of Voldemort.

Kaboom!

It went off with a flash of light and a puff of smoke.

Voldemort halted in his retreat, reaching a hand up to the back of his dark head where some of his hair had been fried. He pulled his fingers away with the tiniest bit of blood on the end of his index. He put his hand back over his wound and tiny red threads of magic began to seal up the wound and his hair grew back in place. When he turned around, his handsome features were rooted in a deep scowl.

Guts glowered back pointing Dragonslayer right at him.

"So be it," Voldemort said with a sneer. The fight resumed.

While the battle waged away on land, things were much different on the deck of the Sea Horse. Not to say they weren't hectic with the crew on high alert from the sounds going on, but Farnese doubted that anyone who was on the shore would think this a crazy place to be. No, instead they would probably think that it was quite the calming change. She was worried for Casca who went out with a team comprised of Harry, Serpico, Isidro, and the still-disguised Sir Azan.

It wasn't that she doubted any of them or their abilities – well, maybe Sir Azan as he had not been dealing with supernatural forces for as long as they had; but Farnese was concerned all the same. She had a pretty good grasp on the state of Casca's well-being and while it wasn't anything seriously life-threatening, her body was still building itself back up. She would likely be familiar with the moves she knew, but unable to physically execute them to perfection.

Strange, in her tenure with the Holy Iron Chain Knights, she never found herself valuing the lives of her subordinates as much as she did her companions. Most of the knights were ill-equipped sons of nobles who had never actually swung a sword before joining. On the rare occasion that one died, she hardly spared a thought on it since it was none too surprising when it happened. Now, the danger was very much present and a woman she had looked after for months was out there risking her life while leading others who she had come to call friends.

But she was not the only one to stay behind on the boat while the battle carried on. "Helmsman, take us closer to shore!" Roderick ordered as he walked the deck. "Quartermaster, get all hands to report to their stations and see to it our starboard cannons are loaded and ready to fire!" he carried himself with an added flare of his usual confidence. Right now, he was truly in his element. It was surprising to see how fast he had transformed into the easy-going friend of her brother to the experienced and capable Sailing Prince of Lith.

She saw her brother scramble up on deck. Magnifico's blonde curls were a mess and his expensive evening robes were hastily thrown on. "Wha-! What is going on out there?" he sputtered as he observed the scene happening out on shore. "Roderick, why are we going closer to land?!"

"We have to get in range," Roderick responded as he assisted a crewman in loading a cannon. "Can't let the Chief and the rest have all the fun now, can we?"

"Fun?" Magnifico parroted. "That is hardly the word I would use. Besides, you've seen how he can fight; this should be nothing to them. They have magic as well. That scar headed boy-,"

"-He has a name," Schierke cut him off sounding more than a bit miffed. With Farnese, she constructed a circular runic shape on the deck of the boat near the center mast. She had borrowed some salt from the reserves in order to do so.

The reason being that Farnese was still getting used to the basic summoning of spirits in magic and having Schierke on the boat and on the lake could prove very useful with getting in contact with a water-based spirit. With the multiple fires roaring near that one pitch, and that second dragon still on the loose, Farnese suspected that water would be her ally instead of the fire that had captivated her as a child.

Both of her teachers had told her that this place was brimming with magical energy and therefore getting in contact with a powerful spirit should be no problem at all. "Alright, Farnese, the circle is complete. Step inside so we may begin."

"Target those giants and fire!" Roderick gave the command.

Multiple cannons fired off at once. Boom!Boom! Boom! Boom!

The air stung with the lingering smell of smoke and fire and Farnese had to cover her ears from the sheer noise of the shots. She was used to Guts using his cannon-arm, but multiple shots and of much greater force proved to be her limit.

Even so, the cannons proved to be halfway decent when it came to dealing damage. The crew had instinctively targeted what they perceived to be the biggest threat, one of the giants. Not expecting an attack from behind, the giant staggered on its leg, as one had been blown off at the knee from a cannonball. After two more cannons had fired upon the wounded giant, it fell with a thud that could be heard from the boat.

"Apologies for that, ladies," Roderick let slip his Sailing Prince persona for a brief second or two. "This won't be a disturbance to you, will it?"

"Not unless our bodies are physically disrupted," Schierke told the captain. "As long as you keep the ship steady, you can fire off as many cannons as you wish. Farnese and I will be entering our luminous bodies to get in contact with one of the spirits of the lake."

"I'm going to pretend to understand what you just said," Roderick nodded. "I'll keep the ship and your persons safe, count on that." He gave a nod of his head to Farnese who gave one in turn. "I'll have all hands on deck helping out as well." Roderick grabbed Magnifico by the collar of his clothes. "That includes you."

"M-me?" Magnifico stuttered. "Roderick, I've no experience in fighting!"

"You don't have to in order to load a cannon." Roderick used his foot to stop a cannonball from rolling across the deck. He picked it up and handed it off to the elder Vandimion.

"B-But I've never loaded a cannon either!" Magnifico whined again.

"Gret time to start, my friend!" Roderick ushered him along. "My first mate will show you all you need to know."

As the two of them sauntered off, Ivalera commented. "At least now that guy can help pull his weight." It was clear she didn't have a high opinion of Farnese's elder brother.

"Don't worry about him right now," Schierke said as she took hold of Farnese's hands once they were both inside the salt circle. "Remember, let the feeling of your physical body go away."

"And leave what is only inside," Farnese recalled what had been taught to her.

The continued sound of firing cannons and the yells and thudding of the crew's boots made for a difficult concentration to say the least, but Farnese could feel the calming presence of Schierke helping to ease her mind into a state of higher understanding as was required of most all magic. Her head began to feel lighter and she was thankful that she was kneeling otherwise she might have fallen. The sound of cannons being fired invaded her senses once more, this time sounding distinctively more muffled. But the smell… the smell of smoke and fire that had held her rapt attention as a young girl took hold of her.

Before, Farnese would have associated the smell of fire and smoke to the burning of heretics and suspected witches. Now, she was one of the very same she and the rest of her men had hunted. The fire to her now was more than just a tool for destruction; it was like a breath of fresh life.

When her eyes opened, she saw her body kneeling on the deck of the ship below her. Looking at her hand, Farnese saw that it seemed almost transparent and surrounded in a dim flame of a sort. Schierke looked the same. This wasn't the first time Farnese had been in her astral form, but the feeling was all still very new to her.

"Come," Schierke said as she took a hold of Farnese and together they floated over the side of the ship and down toward the Black Lake below.

Seeing the water coming so close, Farnese almost instinctively took a deep breath but stopped short when she remembered her actual body was safe up on deck. She did not feel a thing as she and Schierke just passed through the water like it wasn't even there. The water was near pitch black, only being illuminated by the fire reflected on the surface and the spark of a cannon being fired off. It was eerie, to say the least, and Farnese could now see why it was named the Black Lake.

"Teacher, how far down are we going to go?" It would seem childish to say she did not like the dark; even more so considering Schierke was younger than her by a couple years.

"Maybe to the bottom," Schierke answered, still keeping Farnese's hand in her own. "It is like Harry and I said, this entire place is like one big magical melting pot. Between the life in the forest with their own magic, so too exists life down in this lake with their own set of spirits."

"You mean there are merrows living here?" Farnese knew the stories of the friendly half-fish half-human creatures that sung lovely songs to guide sailors to safety.

"More like mere people," Schierke clarified.

"What is the difference?"

"Merrows are considered good and friendly and can even take human legs if out of the water for a time. Merpeople are considered to be more aggressive. Instead of using song to help sailors, they use it to drown them."

"Oh." She should warn Roderick and the rest once they returned to heed no mind to any song they heard in the dead of night.

Their astral bodies glided without pause through a grove of tall standing seaweed. More than once, Farnese thought she saw a small, horned shape dart between the stalks. She kept reminding herself that whatever it was she saw, that it could not hurt her. Right now, she was more a spirit than anything and they were of the physical world.

After clearing the seaweed, they came before a chasm. If Farnese thought that where they were now was a dark abyss, it was nothing like staring down into that trench. But staring down into it, Farnese could feel a pulling of sorts just behind her navel and it made her stomach feel like it was becoming light. Something was down there, something very strong in magical nature. They both descended down.

"Teacher, what are we looking at?" Farnese asked as she eyed the stone structures around them. It looked to be an underwater village.

"A merpeople settlement," Schierke confirmed her suspicion. "It's here where we'll also find the spirit we can contact for aid."

With a name like Lord Voldemort and with the boasted title of Dark Lord, Guts never thought for a second that the man was going to fight fair. Guts himself had used some pretty underhand tactics whilst killing various other apostles in his trek across Midland and neighboring states. He had used civilians as bait, hid under piles of corpses to get the jump on an enemy, and left a scene of devastation in his wake afterward, never turning to clean the damage he had caused. But the one thing he never did was use others to fight before making the kill himself. If Guts wanted to kill someone, he would do it and let his companions help where needed but trust that they could handle their own battles. As such, it was the main reason he was feeling so pissed off toward this Dark Lord.

Not long after Guts had drawn first blood on the apostle wizard, he noticed a drastic change in style with his opponent. First off, Voldemort seemed to be taking this fight more serious than before.

The Dark Lord unleashed a flurry of various spells, hexes, and curses. Fire shot from the end of his wand, singing the already tattered and worn black cloak on Guts back. It was meant to act as a distraction as Voldemort fired off three of the same green jets as he had done previously. Seeing the incoming projectiles, Guts tucked and rolled out of the way, able to use action to smother the flames licking at his cloak.

Seeing his spells miss yet again, Voldemort turned his wand to fire a spell at two of the nearby giants to gain their attention. Whatever he hit them with must have made them highly susceptible to his control as they instantly stopped trying to squish their original target and instead came running over to where Guts was.

And that was the second thing about Voldemort's change. Along with his taking things more seriously, he was in more of a hurry to just finish the fight altogether to go and find Harry. In order to do that, he was bringing in back-up.

Guts snarled in defiance as he stared up at the two leering giants with their large bone clubs. Seeing them made him remember Grunbeld, the Great Flame Dragon General of the Neo Band of the Hawk. That man had been a giant alright, but even he would find himself dwarfed by these two small mountains. That fight had also been when Guts had received the Berserker Armor from Flora's storage at the roots of her tree.

Even now, he could feel the pull the armor was having on his mental energy as it begged to be released. 'Let me out now. We will rip them limb from limb! Tear out their throats and drink their blood! Show this pathetic weakling how your blade feels!'

And he wanted to do just that, too. He was a fighter, always had been. That fight against Lupin previous had somewhat quelled that restless urge he felt, but not nearly close enough. A battle was in full effect all around him, it was a place to feel alive being so close to death. He would fight, he would show them. But he would not give in to the power of the armor. At least, not without the presence of Schierke or Harry in their astral form to help keep him sane.

"Hooblraagghh!" one of the giants yelled as it lifted its massive club, bringing it down with deadly force to where Guts was.

He was easily able to step inside the swing as the club created a small crater in the ground where it smashed. Being closer to the leg, Guts was prepared to drive Dragonsalyer through but had to change his stance to a defensive one as the second giant aimed a kick at him. Dragonslayer acted as a makeshift shield as the mighty blade absorbed the brunt of the kick. It protected Guts well enough, but the sheer force alone was enough to launch him back with the heels of his boots digging into the ground to try and stable himself from falling down.

There was little time to get full bearings of his situation as the two giants were upon him once again. Growling in frustration, Guts swung Dragonslayer to meet one of the bone clubs with full force.

The giant was clearly surprised when his sword didn't just snap in half or break from their exchange. It was even more stunned when it saw that it was its own weapon that was starting to develop cracks and fractures from where it came in contact with Dragonslayer. After another exchange of blows, Dragonslayer had reduced the bone club to nothing but a broken hilt and shattered pieces.

Now, the giant was wide open. Guts raised Dragonslayer horizontally above his head and plunged the massive blade through the knee of the creature. "Yeooooarrgghh!" it howled in pain and Guts could feel the blood from the would pour down on his head, weighing down his already dirt-stained hair.

"You shouldn't be screaming just yet," Guts said as he all of a sudden twisted the blade as it was still embedded in the giant's knee. It required a great amount of effort on his part, but Guts could feel the resistance from the internal muscles of the giant beginning to lessen and tear.

Shrriiiiiiip!

Tendons and muscle were ripped apart as Guts twisted the blade around. The howls of pain and tearing of flesh and tendon reached a climax as Guts pulled up and then down on the hilt of Dragonslayer before yanking it free completely. More blood shot out as Guts severed one of its legs. With no way to keep itself upright and balanced, the giant began to fall. When it hit the ground, it was like a shockwave had just passed through.

The giant was still trying to rise, but Guts was already climbing up on top of its downed body. With Dragonslayer, he made deeps cuts all along and up the side of the giant's torso as he made his way up to its head. Seeing his approach, the giant let loose one last mighty roar of defiance.

"Yaaaooogghhhh!"

Guts drove Dragonslayer straight through its open mouth, the tip of the blade protruded from the back of its skull. He panted a bit as he pulls his blade free and seeing the other giant ready to avenge his fallen brethren with a swing of his own club. Ready to meet the strike like he had down previous, Guts swung.

"Crucio!"

A feeling of intense pain struck his back like a sudden burst of lightning and Guts had to react quickly to use Dragonslayer not as a sword but as a shield. The giant's club struck and Guts was lifted off the body of the fallen giant and along the already marred grass.

Attempting to push himself to his feet, the feeling of pain never once faded. He looked over to see Voldemort pressing a finger to a tattoo he had on his left forearm. It was the same design as the one in the sky above. Three other figures were now at his side, two looked like they could be brothers and the third was a dark-haired woman with a sadistic gleam in her eyes as she held her wand level at Guts.

It looks like he knew who struck him with that spell.

Screw the giant. Right now, they were his biggest threat. Guts began toward the new arrivals, still maintaining his grip on Dragonslayer, never once did one of his fingers slip from its hilt. As he got closer the pain intensified; he could taste the familiar feeling of blood in his mouth, but he still pressed forward. The pain was agonizing, but he didn't let loose any sort of scream; he was far too angry for that. The pain was bad, but he had felt pain similar to this before. He had to power through it like he always did. Blood began leaking from his good eye. Just… struggle forward.

'Let me… let me kill them now…'

"My Lord," the woman said in a worried tone, "he isn't stopping." Guts still moved his feet, his vision going white. He was trying to balance his mental strength between continuing to move forward and keeping the Beast at bay.

"Look at him, Bellatrix," Voldemort commanded of his subordinate. "He is slowing. Just keep him like that." He raised his own wand. "I will finish this." Guts tried to move Dragonslayer to his front to shield him from the spell he knew was coming. "Avada-!"

"Expelliarmus!" a jet of red light shot out, hitting Bellatrix's wand and sending it flying from her grasp. It wasn't a huge action, but it was enough to divert Voldemort's attention to the newcomer who entered the fray.

The pain that had been clouding Guts' vision left and he was able to see just who it was who came to his side. Voldemort actually laughed. It was a cold, mirthless laugh that lacked any humanity. "Ha! Oh, what a treat! Have you learned nothing from our previous encounter, Dumbledore?"

The headmaster was striding forward with a pace that was surprising for a man his age. His blue eyes burned with passion. "As a teacher, it is my profession to learn. I thought I taught you that, Tom."

Guts saw Voldemort snarl at the mention of a name so common. "You truly are an old goat, Dumbledore! You know of the power I boast and you still insist on provoking me. Old age really has taken a hold of you. But it will never do the same to me." He turned to his followers. "Finish them off."

Upon his command, the three additional mages he had summoned began to shake like a transformation was underway. Their skin became like black smoke, wisps radiated off with each and every movement that they made. Their eyes glowed a multitude of colors like a rainbow of sorts. They looked like grisly accursed spirits, the kind that used to haunt him every single night before Harry and Schierke had applied the seal to his brand to keep them at bay. They took off hovering straight for Dumbledore, who began firing off a multitude of spells to keep them at bay.

"Guuughhhrhh!" the second giant rushed at Guts, his club colliding with Dragonslayer, forcing Guts to almost buckle at his knees as he still fought off the lingering pain he had felt just moments prior. But Dragonsalyer held firm and the club was the one to start cracking and fracturing.

This giant yanked his club away and used his other fist to go and punch Guts instead. Seeing the fist incoming, Guts jumped to the side and cut down as the wrist went past. Blood began to spray out like a fountain as Guts had cut vital veins running along the wrist. The giant clamped a hand over the wound to try and put pressure on the bleeding and in a fit of rage, lifted one of its feet up to go and squash Guts.

As the foot came crashing down, Guts thrust Dragonslayer straight up and through the massive foot. More blood began to drench him. "Yeeeegghhh!" Guts yelled as he pushed up with all his might and too the giants footing right out from under him.

From where near a large group of spectators had gathered, Dolores Umbridge could hardly believe what she was seeing. That man, that… brute – had actually succeeded in not only toppling two giants but killed them as well after slaying a dragon. No one had killed a dragon with a sword since the times of King Arthur. And not only that, he survived a full-on cruciatus curse from Bellatrix Lestrange without so much as a scream of pain. That and he was going toe-to-toe with the darkest wizard in a century and was doing it alongside Dumbledore of all people. It was something legends were made out of.

It was… it was… infuriating! How was he able to accomplish such feats? The Minister was in too much of a shock to ever register what was going on. The both of them were being escorted by Amelia Bones and a team of Aurors to get them to safety within the castle. The second dragon was circling the battlefield, looking for its prey so they could enter without difficulty.

They would enter, but she would not. Not yet, at least.

She was not happy that You-Know-Who was attacking; she or the Minister could be killed at any moment in any of the cross-fire going around. Rather, this whole attack was… convenient for her. With the dragon, the giants, would dementors really be so out of the question?

They were still stationed where she had left them, out by the village and waiting to be summoned. Taking another look at the Black Swordsman, he was still fighting, but he seemed to be getting tired. It was all too perfect to be aligned in such a way.

"Madam Umbridge, where are you going?!" Amelia Bones cried as she saw her break away from the team of escort Aurors.

"The children are in danger!" she yelled as she ran as fast as her little legs would allow. "I have a civic responsibility to see them rescued!" while that was true, her real responsibility was and always would be to the Minister. She ran, but not into battle, and certainly not to help anyone but herself.

Harry experienced a massive surge of power travel from the pit of his stomach and through his arms before being released as a single mighty spell via the staff that had once been held by Merlin previously. The spell struck one of the masked figures square in the chest, lifting him off his feet and sending him flying backward at the force of Harry's spell. It wasn't the first masked individual he had dealt with considering there seemed to be no shortage of them at the moment. Dumbledore had been right when he suspected that Voldemort would attack on this day. Harry had not seen any sight of the aged wizard anywhere among the crowd, but he imagined he was at least trying to help the students get to safety. Currently, that was what he, Isidro and Puck were trying to do.

"Hell yeah, man!" Isidro yelled as he watched the wizard hit with his spell fly through the air. "How far did that take him?"

"Far enough," Harry answered, not really concerned with that. "We'll see what help we can be over here before making our way back to Casca."

The three of them had branched off once they landed on shore hoping to cover more ground that way. Harry could handle any magical task that awaited him and even Isidro could be useful with that Salamander dagger of his. Casca did have him a bit worried though. The best she had for a weapon right now was a basic sword borrowed from the storage on the Sea Horse. She had Serpico and even Sir Azan as well, and he trusted the blonde to keep her safe but he still felt concern for the woman who was still recovering from all that had happened previously.

"Over there!" Puck came flying back to them. They had decided to use Puck's small and fast nature to their advantage to fly around the battlefield and pinpoint where the most help was needed. "A few kids are dueling with some of those masked people. It doesn't look too good."

"Lead the way, Puck," Harry and Isidro took off after the blue elf, ducking their heads as some jets of green light came soaring their way. Harry was unfamiliar with the spell being cast, but whenever one would pass by, he got the same sensation in his stomach like he did right before the Eclipse. He made sure not to let it touch him in the slightest. Some more spell-fire was sent their way and Harry only momentarily broke stride to send a few spells back in return, not bothering to see if they hit or not.

"Here they are!" Puck pointed to a group of older and younger students who were putting up shielding charms which were on the brink of shattering from the magical bombardment coming from the masked individuals.

Concentrating on any water spirits that might be nearby, Harry began to draw from the moisture in the air. It wasn't much with all the fires burning, but it was enough for him to harden into a single pointed shape to be used as a projectile. The air cooled down as he formed a sharp, pointed icicle and launched it straight at the back of one of the masked wizards.

Not expecting an attack to come from behind or even one that was a solid object, the masked wizard fell to his knees, grasping at his throat where the ice spike was sticking out now stained with red at the end. Some of the younger wizards gasped at seeing someone killed so suddenly. But their reaction was far from the anger coming off of the second one. He shot a green light straight for Isidro who had been ready to charge and stab him with his dagger.

Knowing that a shield wouldn't be enough to stop the spell, Harry quickly dug into his satchel to pull out a golem talisman and tossed it. It grew in size until it was Isidro's height, standing in front of the boy and taking the green light head-on. A sizable chunk was blasted off of its body forcing it to stumble back. Isidro took this opportunity to rush from behind his stone savior and try for a sneak attack on the wizard.

"Got you now, basta- oof!"

Isidro brought a hand up to his nose where the wizard had gone and kneed him in the face once he got close enough. Blood was falling between his fingers but he still kept a tight grip on the hilt of his Salamander Dagger. Seeing a weakened opponent, the wizard raised his wand to perform that deadly curse.

Crrack!

"Agh!" the masked wizard shouted as his wand hand fell limp at his side. He had been hit by a bone-breaker hex.

"Sirius?" Harry saw the man running to join them. The man must have been part of the crowd for the task or maybe even visiting Lupin but he wasn't about to question why he was here.

Despite the situation, Sirius cracked a smile. "You may not have known me for long, but do you really think I'm the type of person to sit on my hands when the action starts happening?" he certainly didn't. "Now, how about we-?"

"Aarrrgghh!" the masked wizard screamed as flames were spreading from his robes, licking at his flesh beneath.

Isidro stood, dagger in hand as he watched the man become engulfed in flames. "Yea! Dab's wha ou get!" his nose was clearly broken making his speech sound slurred.

Turning his attention away from the burning man, Harry asked Sirius, "Is there any place where the students can evacuate?"

"Most seem to be trying to get to the castle," Sirius explained. He looked to the sky where the dragon was back to circling the perimeter. "But it'll take a lot to bring that dragon down."

"Maybe not," Harry thought of how Guts killed his first dragon earlier. He tried for a connection with the swordsman. Guts, where are you?

'Fighting a couple… of freaks that look like ghosts. They're pseudo-apostles. Voldemort… he's here too, looking for you. Dumbledore… he's struggling.'

Can you handle it? Harry hated to even have to ask that. Guts had gone against far worse and came back. But the way his mental voice sounded, it sounded like he was close to losing himself to the armor.

'For now. I can probably get a good hit on one of his lackeys. Wouldn't hurt if you wanted to go into your astral form and get over here.'

So, that was it then. Guts would end it as quickly as possible once he gained partial control over the Berserker Armor. Alright. I'll meet up with Casca and Serpico so they can protect my body once I join you.

Sensing an end to the conversation, Harry turned to the still frightened students. "You all must be pretty confused about what's going on right now, but if you stand around here, you'll be found out eventually. There are a few other people with us now, you'll have a better chance than you will here."

One of the younger girls pulled on the sleeve of another. "Sis, I… I think that that's… it's him."

"I'm not going to drag any of you along," Harry added, not wanting to let these people become star struck or something. "You can either stay here too scared to move and die, or take the chance that you might actually live."

"Yea, baut ee said," Isidro said with his still broken nose.

Puck fluttered over to him. "Let me see what I can do about that, buddy."

Meanwhile, Sirius was whispering over to Harry. "Not too much of a motivational speech, but I guess it will do." It was really something he imagined Guts saying if he were here instead of battling Voldemort and a few pseudo-apostles. Or, Guts wouldn't say anything at all and just leave them there.

With Harry taking lead, Sirius and Isidro followed after with the few students as well. He and Sirius were responsible for firing off spells to keep them moving though the chaos unfolding around them. Jets of green would be sent their way and Harry would either have a golem take the blow or quickly erect an earthen barrier to act as a makeshift shield. Isidro would lite the fuse on some of his explosives before throwing them at any wizard wearing a mask.

And much to Harry's surprise, the students they had recruited did participate by firing off their own spells. They didn't produce anything noteworthy like that green jet or perform any summoning, but they did send out a few stunners and one of the older ones got a hit in with a bone-breaker or two. They seemed focused on protecting the younger of their group which seemed fair as the best spell they could conjure up was just a disarming charm. It wasn't useless, but it didn't do any damage either.

Harry went for a thought transference again as Sirius covered him with a shield charm. Casca, Serpico, where are you guys?

'We're by the pitch, right near the stands,' Serpico conveyed their location. 'We're here with a small bunch of students.'

Same here. How bad is it?

'A giant seems to have taken interest in us. Casca seems to have found a new sword of some kind, but I recommend some assistance. Her style is… off.'

He thought that might be the case. Of all the things for them to run into, it had to be a giant. Giants were probably dumb, but for a recovering Casca whose body was still adapting to getting stronger and a regular man like Sir Azan who possessed no magical items, it would be a challenge.

We'll be right over.

"We have to get to the pitch," Harry told Sirius after he already started off in that direction.

"What's down at the pitch?" Sirius asked as he chased after followed by Isidro and the gang of students as well.

Harry might have shouted back a reply, or he could have thought that he did. Really, he was too caught up in the moment to comprehend. Rushing over to where Casca was as screams and shouts rang out all around them; it was almost like how he felt during the Eclipse. Just a confused and scared boy who had no real idea what he was getting into. He had been stupid and weak back then to assume he could actually save or stop it from happening and he recalled the silent promise he had made to himself in the troll cave. He wouldn't let some horrible fate play out this time.

"Hooooorrrrrghhhh!" the yell of a giant assaulted Harry's ears as he nearly tripped over a fallen body as he came upon the pitch.

The stands were nearly destroyed and smashed to pieces. The hedge maze that had been growing was up in flames and burning to the ground causing a manner of magical animals that were inside to come fleeing out. Two large, armored bugs scampered away from the consuming flames, and what looked to be a sphinx leaped over a hedge to escape as well. Where the entrance to the maze would have been there was a split stand. This giant in question seemed bigger than the rest, possibly the leader or a very powerful war figure. Multiple cuts adorned its legs and back, but they were caused by no regular sword.

Serpico was lightly evading any and all swats that the giant tried to squish him with. With a twirl and slash of his arm, a series of wind-based cuts landed across the giant causing more blood to fall from its new wounds. He was trying to draw the giant away from the pocket of three students that were frozen before the sight before them.

One he recognized right away as being Luna Lovegood, the girl they had met before near the woods. The two others were boys, one with red and gold trimmings and the other with silver and green. The latter had platinum blonde hair and appeared more frightened than any of them. The other boy had his wand out and seemed to be trying to erect a shield charm around them to protect them from any harm that would come their way.

"Have at thee!" Sir Azan slammed his cudgel onto the toe of the giant, actually managing to leave a sizable mark.

That only seemed to agitate the already frustrated giant and with a well-timed kick, sent the knight rolling along the ground. His arm bent at a very painful angle and he made no sign of getting up soon.

As the three students looked on in horror, Harry saw a change in Casca as that happened. She was fast, no denying that. But she began to slash away at the giant's legs with a newfound sense of fury that he had not seen out of her previous. Knowing what she did about the existence of supernatural creatures beyond just human threats, she seemed to be taking out all her unbridled fury with her attacks.

But they were sloppy. They lacked the usual swift finesse that Casca usually held in her style of swordplay. Yet however messy they were, they seemed to be having as great an effect as Serpico with his wind cuts. That sword she had, Harry had seen that in the headmaster's office before, but, how did she get it?

"Dear Merlin," Sirius said as he observed the scene. "I know you lot mean business, but actually fighting a bull giant… that's something to behold."

"Not yet it isn't," Harry said as he began to channel power to the nearby earth spirits. From the ground near the giant's feet, two sets of clamps molded around them, holding them in place before sinking back down into the ground and pulling the giant down with it.

The giant continued to thrash around violently and an onslaught of spells unleashed upon the creature. Sirius, the students following them, Luna and the dark-haired boy, and a few people who must have been professors all joined in the bombardment of this giant. Harry and Sirius were even surprised to see that Snape guy hurling his own spells at the monster to help wear it down.

"Take this, you giant bastard!" Isidro yelled properly with thanks from Puck and his healing dust. He tossed two more of his explosives at the back of its head as Serpico and Casca continued to slash away at its sinking body.

When the giant was at last buried up to its chest, its head was in full range. And the finishing blow came from not one spell, but a sword strike straight through one of its eyes. The jaw went limp before it could let out another roar of defiance. Casca had buried the sword up to the hilt in its skull.

The feat was impressive, but Harry saw her struggling to free the blade. She was having to yank harder than she normally would, even going as far as to put one of her feet on its head to give her more force to pull. She struggled to pull it free, but succeeded nonetheless.

"That was frecking awesome!" Isidro yelled as he rushed over to where they were.

"You all alright?" Harry asked both Casca and Serpico as they met up.

Casca seemed more winded than she ought to be. "Yeah… just peachy."

"I'm certainly relieved," Serpico said. "That foe was proving rather difficult. So much blood, I was trying to keep it as clean as possible."

The one blonde boy was darting his grey eyes between all of them now like he was unable to comprehend what was going on. "You… you…" he was pointing to Casca. "Sword…" his eyes found Harry. "What the… Potter?!"

Luna gave him a relieved smile. "I'm glad you're alright, Harry. Sonia was worried you might have been hurt."

"Well… nice to see you stayed safe, Luna," Harry said to the girl who he really didn't really know what to think of besides her own person entirely.

The blonde boy just looked even more stunned than before. "Loony knows… Potter?"

"Where's Guts?" Casca asked after catching her breath.

"He's dealing with Voldemort," Harry said to which some of the nearby wizards flinched putting him on high alert, making him think they were hit with some kind of spell. "He sounded close to losing control, I'm going to have to go and help him gain control of the armor. I'll need you all to keep my body safe while I do that."

"Your body?" Sirius asked.

Harry nodded. "This type of magic, you don't t know about it, but my body will be completely vulnerable when I do it, I need it to be protected."

"I…" Sirius looked like he was unsure what to say before he gained a cocksure grin. "Like you even need to ask that of someone like me."

Serpico gave a nod. "No harm will befall you."

One of the professors that had joined the fight against the giant approached as well. Harry recognized her as the strict-looking McGonagall. "Well, whatever it is you plan on doing, Mr. Potter, I recommend that you do it with pride." She spoke like she was addressing a long-lost student. She turned to a very short man. "Filius, I trust I do not need to ask for your assistance in this?"

The short man danced his fingers across his wand. "Not at all, Minerva."

She gave him a grateful nod. "And you, Severus?"

The greasy-haired man sulked over to stand at their side. "I am not one to put blind faith into a foolhardy plan, but… considering a few of my own Slytherin's are present, I will stand for their sake. Let us just hope Potter knows what he is doing. After all, they are attacking because of him."

After killing those two giants, Guts thought that he would finally be able to get his crack at Voldemort or his three lackeys. He was disappointed and pissed off to find yet another giant had found its way over to him. He must have been radiating an aura that begged for a fight because these giants just kept coming over to him. By this point, Guts knew how to take them down easily enough. The only matter was actually doing it when he wasn't being peppered by pain curses that he struggled through and dodging those green lights.

The three pseudo-apostles were not making it any easier as they proved to be the main source of the attacks. Looking at them, they really were like accursed spirits. They floated across the air, shooting spells and curses down at him and the headmaster, who was quite nimble for a man his age.

Dumbledore shot forth a variety of spells that managed to knock the three out of the air for a time being. Guts rushed to try and finish them off only to change course when Voldemort stepped in to protect them by firing off a mix of those explosive spells and the green curses that he seemed to enjoy so much. By the time Guts had evaded, the pseudo-apostles were already back up and taking to hovering around once more.

It was so fucking annoying!

On his own, he could have easily killed them by now; but take into account that interference after interference kept happening, it made for a much more difficult task. With every swing of his sword, Guts could feel the inner darkness of Gaiseric's old armor start to creep into his mind more and more.

He was barely able to keep his sanity and block the giant's club. And Dumbledore was starting to get worn out as well. While no spell flung by the pseudo-apostles had yet to hit him, he was growing tired from shooting off his own spells to repel them or ground them. Guts didn't know why the man didn't just hit them with a green light of his own, but his thoughts drifted from that as Voldemort stepped in while Dumbledore was distracted.

Voldemort uttered a spell and a torrent of jagged, dark energy shot from his wand, blackening the grass as it soared over to Dumbledore. The headmaster saw it incoming and raised a shield to protect himself against it. The moment the curse hit the shield, it broke.

"Hnngh!" Dumbledore dropped his wand as he clutched at his hand which was turning withered and black from where it struck him on his wand hand.

As Dumbledore writhed in pain, Voldemort laughed that cold laugh of his. "Oh, Dumbledore, you old goat! I thought you were done amusing me, but here you are, withering in the dirt like a pathetic worm. That curse I struck you with is similar to the one I put as protection for a family ring. A fitting end for one who used to mettle so much into my previous affairs." His lackey's cackled at their master's triumph.

Guts ducked around and slashed the back of the giant's heels, knowing that it will fall over soon. He could feel the helm of the armor starting to creep up and over his face, ready to send him into a blind rampage at the price of his humanity. It could be to him losing his senses, but he almost heard a voice whisper in his ear like someone had just hopped on his back.

'Guts…'

It sounded like… Harry.

"Depulso!" Voldemort yelled a spell. It struck the giant and it began to topple down towards Guts. He raised Dragonslayer up to impale the body, but it still fell on top of him all the same.

Voldemort observed the scene. Just the tip of the blade was visible from where the giant had fallen flat on top of him. "Is that it? I was told that you fight like a hound out of hell. How disappointed am I to find only a neutered mutt." He turned to his followers. "Come, let us find and dispose of Potter now so that we may-,"

Ssssrrrriiippp!

Voldemort stopped, turning to see the tip of Dragonslayer moving like a fin in the water. Blood began shooting out of cuts that were appearing too fast for his eyes to keep track of. The tip of the blade kept popping in and out; carving the corpse of the giant like it was a pumpkin before Halloween. Something was coming out.

The torso exploded outward as Guts emerged from the corpse of the giant. Dark, heavy blood covered the ebony Berserker Armor as well as his cloak. The wolf helm was in place, but his lone eye was visible as was the lower half of his face. He could feel the presence of Harry's astral body on his back helping to ease the burden of the armor.

"Hound out of hell?" Guts repeated his voice like a snarl. "You asked for it."

The three pseudo-apostles hovered over in a defensive line in front of their master, not willing to let any harm befall him. They could all tell something was drastically different about him now. Three sets of wands raised and simultaneously shot forth three jets of green lights. The spells never found their mark.

Leaping from the corpse of the dead giant, Guts stabbed Dragonslayer into the ground, propelled himself upward and flipped out of the way of the projectiles. He took off in a mad dash straight for the apostle and his disciples. More spells were shot his way and he was able to use Dragonslayer to block all of them. His now enhanced speed and strength made him a near impossible target to hit.

Slamming his feet to the ground, Guts pivoted at the hip, ready to cleave the one deranged woman in half. Fear and surprise were lined into her smoke and phantom-like face. However, the two others moved with speed previously unseen before and made a move to block his swing by getting in front of the woman and spreading their arms apart. A magical shield enveloping around them.

Guts still took the swing anyway, not caring if they had erected a shield or not. Dragonslayer had proven to work against their magic before, no point in stopping now. The massive blade easily bypassed straight through the magical shield and carved right through the two wizards. The end of Dragonslayer even managed to cut a sizable chunk from the side of the woman as well.

"Aaaannnggh!" the woman shrieked as he wound seemed to smoke from the cut he had inflicted. The two wizards fell alongside her in two halves each. Their pseudo-apostle forms seemed to become undone as they reverted back to their human forms.

"H-heal…" the woman tried to close her wound. "Heallllll…" she was beaten but did not seem to process that she could no longer fight.

Guts made ready to finish her off just the same when a cry of fury erupted from Voldemort. The dark wizard shot the same black curse at Guts as he had Dumbledore previous. He was easily able to roll out of the way of the incoming curse and kicked off to finish the fight he had started with Voldemort instead.

The dark wizard started shooting off a variety of spells his way. Voldemort seemed to be really feeling the pressure now that two of his pseudo-apostles had been killed and the third was reverted back to her regular human state. Not to mention the onlookers who kept a safe distance back. In order to keep up his untouchable appearance, Voldemort could not afford to be bested here and now in what was supposed to be his moment of glory.

"Death Eaters, to me!" Voldemort shouted for half a dozen masked wizards to come rushing to his aid.

As a unit, they sent a volley of bombardment spells toward Guts. Some of the explosions managed to strike his heels, but the armor worked in making him feel none of the pain and quickly pinned his bones back in place to ensure he continued fighting. Kicking off from the ground once again, Guts tossed Dragonslayer down taking off one of their heads and splitting the body straight down the middle.

Landing, Guts grabbed the hilt once more and swung around in a wide arc, severing arms, legs, and torsos in half and staining the ground red with their blood. And as expected of Voldemort, he chose that moment to strike.

"Levicorpus!"

Guts' feet were pulled from under him as he dangled upside down. He could easily break free, but seeing Voldemort approach gave him an idea he had used against many other previous apostles. Voldemort raised his wand to finish him off while he was trapped and Guts put his surprise into motion.

Babooom!

His cannon shot off forcing Voldemort to change his motion and put a shield around himself instead. Even then, it was a late reaction on his end; some smoke had already stung his eyes.

"Gnh!" Voldemort grunted as his eyes stung him. He wiped them clean and found them widening as he saw the mass that was Dragonslayer flying toward him through the air. "Impedimenta!" Voldemort shouted to slow the movement of the blade.

It worked, but Guts quickly came rushing to grab the blade out of the air and charged Voldemort once again. The blade was almost a blur as it came crashing down to where Voldemort was and it was only quick reflexes that saved him. he used a dispelling charm on himself to fly back and out of Dragonslayer's range and the massive blade created a small crater in the earth.

For the first time since this fight began, Voldemort's face showed true fear at almost being killed so easily. "You… you were not moving like this before!"

"Guess not," Guts brushed it aside. "Can't say the same about you. Your style was just as piss poor before."

The handsome features of Voldemort's face were becoming distorted, making him look every ounce the monster he was inside. "You dare?"

"Yeah, I fucking dare," Guts challenged. "All you've done is fling your little lights around. Don't have an apostle form to change into?"

"My body is magic," Voldemort said with a snarl. "If you desire to see my power, then I will oblige!" he pointed his wand at the ground and a mass of golden flames burst forth from his wand. The heat generated from it was enough to make Guts certain that the exposed skin of his lower face would need some ointment afterward.

"Fire?" Guts asked as the flames began to hiss and bend like the waves of an ocean.

He heard the voice of Harry speak to him via the connection of his astral body and the armor. 'That's no ordinary fire.'

The flames had completely rearranged themselves to form a serpent made of fire. From the center of its coils, Voldemort stood with a maniacal glint in his eye. "How is fiendfyre to your liking?"

The ground combusted as the serpent slithered its way with open maw toward Guts. He leaned back, putting all his weight on one leg before kicking off, sending him spinning through the air like a throwing knife. Dragonslayer worked on parting the flames of the wide open maw and causing smoke to rise from where it touched the magically enchanted flames.

Sensing damage being dealt, the flames began to rearrange, taking the form of a second snake from the remains of the first. The open maw barred straight down toward Guts who pivoted with his heels and used the motion of his torso twisting to move like a cyclone, cutting the inside of the flame mouth and dispelling the flames in a way that Serpico would have implemented.

From the center of the coils, Voldemort continued to pour more flames from his wand once he saw two already get cut away by Guts.

"Is Puck with you at your body?" Guts asked.

'Yeah.'

"Good." Even if he wouldn't feel it now, he would later.

Guts charged straight toward Voldemort, Dragonslayer ready to impale him straight through. Seeing the incoming attack, Voldemort rearranged the flames to draw back toward him and act like a barrier. The flames had to be at least a few meters high by the point he coiled them around for protection.

It did not matter.

The flames hissed and dissolved to smoke as Dragonslayer cut right through them as Guts passed through the wall of fire. His blade lined straight up to Voldemort's face.

Fear had never been more apparent in that exact moment. The blade moved closer and closer to his head and Voldemort felt the tip graze the upper part of his right forehead. "No…" blood began to seep forth as time seemed to slow for the Dark Lord. "No…" his flesh was being marred by the blade of a low-born, filthy, miserable, non-important muggle. "No!"

With all he could muster, Voldemort sent out a magic shockwave, dispensing of his fiendfyre and knocking the demon-like Black Swordsman back. The claws of his armor dug into the ground as he glared at the wizard. But he had to do it. It was that or be killed and he would not fall to the hands of some filth!

He had to… he had… he had to retreat. The notion brought a very sickening thought to his mind. But it had to be done. He rushed over to the fallen form of Bellatrix, the wound on her side had yet to heal in the slightest.

"Master…" she croaked out.

He would disapparate them out of here and back to the manor, he had taken out the anti-apparation wards when he started the attack. They would regroup, reevaluate and strike back once their forces assembled again. And the door to that Falconia was still open. He would have to speak to the God Hand there. This was not suppose to be how this went!

Before he could disapparate, Voldemort was distracted by a disturbance on the lake. It looked like something was rising from the depths only for him to notice that it was just the water transfigurating into the shape of a merman with a trident. The water merman pointed his trident toward the multitude of raging fires and water shot out from the weapon, dousing the flames and some of his own forces as well. It was as if the lake itself had suddenly come to life.

This was beyond even the work of someone like McGonagall or any other master of transfiguration. This was… pure nature magic. Blood poured from his wound and he grimaced. He shot one last look of pure hate to the Black Swordsman before disapparating with Bellatrix in his arms.

"The hell did he go?" Guts scanned for any trace of where the wizard might possibly pop back up.

'He must have gone,' Harry reasoned. 'Look at the rest of his followers.' Indeed, they all seemed to be disappearing as well. 'But we might have bigger problems to deal with now.'

The lone dragon seemed to have been entranced by the fiendfyre Voldemort had created and was now headed in their direction. Guts hefted Dragonslayer once again. "Fine. I'll see what I can do." With the still enhanced strength of the armor, Guts tossed the sword through the air as easily as a child would a stick.

Before the dragon could open its mouth to breathe its fire, it was thrown off course as the sword cut its left wing clean off. The dragon twisted and turned in the air as it attempted to straighten itself out before it crashed into the earth, creating yet another huge crater.

Guts rushed over to the downed dragon, retrieving his blade and raising it high above his head as the dragon made one last attempt to shoot its flames. As soon as it opened its mouth, Guts brought Dragonslayer right down and severing the top potion of its head right at the jaw. The thrashing body of the dragon went limp straight away.

"Go back to your body," Guts instructed Harry once he felt himself able to bring himself out of the Berserker trance. "I'll be waiting here." He felt Harry's presence leave as the helm of the armor slid back down, ending his rampage.

As soon as it did, Guts dropped to his knees breathing heavily. Sweat and blood coated his brow and he was seeing spots with his one good eye. It was like the effort of all his previous actions were catching up to him all at once. He was tired, multiple bones would need fixing and he just felt like passing out right then and there.

He couldn't feel the heat the way he used to, he knew that as evidenced by his hand shaking like he had plunged it into a frozen lake but he felt colder now than he had previously. Speaking of lakes, Schierke and Farnese had came through with that spirit just now that was disappearing back into the depths of the lake. He would have to congratulate them on it later, once he was better and not so damn cold.

His teeth started to chatter and his shaking didn't ease up at all either. Once Harry came back, Puck would be with him. As annoying as the bug could be, he was still good for his healing dust. Guts could feel himself hypervenalating as well. He could see his breath when he exhaled.

What?

He knew that he was cold, but that did not mean the air was cool. With all the fires and carnage that had been going on previous, the air should be warmer than ever. It should be warm like the blood of all those he had killed, both here and his time as the lone Black Swordsman. Why was he thinking of that?

The countless lives of innocents he had let die along the way for him to achieve his path of revenge, their blood should be making him feel warm, not cold.

Why was he remembering that right now?

Then there were the children he had killed back at the Misty Valley. Their little hands had accepted Rosine's offer and become her playthings. Now they were dead and their blood added to the pool as well.

Stop, he didn't need to think of that right now. He needed to focus on warm things and thoughts.

Like the fire that had killed Flora, leaving Schierke without her teacher. He had been out of his mind Berserk to do anything about that.

But he couldn't.

And then there was the time he killed young Adonis, the son of the king's brother, Julius. He had just been coming to see his father when Guts mistook him for a guard and killed him. Ran him right through with his sword. it was because of him Charlotte was now the last of her family.

But that had been a mistake. He would have let the boy live if he had known, wouldn't he?

The feeling of coldness was growing stronger now and with it, came the memory of that night. The night he had been just a boy when all of a sudden…

"Guts!" he could hear the voice of Casca calling his name as she ran toward him, Serpico following close behind. "Guts are you-?" she stopped all of a sudden as did Serpico. Through the haze that was covering his vision, he saw Casca's breath as cold as ice, her hand reaching up to where the brand was. Serpico was equally as still like he was seeing something traumatizing.

Harry came rushing over as well. "Get away from there!" he fired off a few spells at the air around them, but it seemed to have no effect at all. He kept firing off spells, but he too seemed to be falling under the effect of whatever was present.

Guts could recall the incident near perfectly as a young boy, he tried to grab a sword to defend himself, but Donovan was too quick for him. He remembered being pinned down and having a gag shoved in his mouth. Everything that followed after, and even now it was like a pair of cold, clammy hands were clutching the side of his face and tilting his head up like something was trying to kiss him.

He could feel that. He could feel that touch. The touch that haunted him as a child and… the touch that had been done to Casca…

"Rrraggh!" Guts blindly thrust Dragonslayer forward to where he thought that the invisible touch was coming from. Dragonslayer seemed to strike something as he noticed a dark blue substance drip onto his blade. He thought he heard a vague thump as something hit the ground but he was rushing over to Casca and the rest, using Dragonslayer to chop down where he suspected these things to be.

He could fell a cold seep over him and he realized it was from no creature, but the armor he wore. It was coming back, the feeling was coming back, he would lose himself and…

"Expecto Patronum!"

A white mist seemed to take shape in the form of a large bird. Dumbledore had made his way over to them, his hand looking like it belonged to a corpse, but he still remained standing. Guts gave a few more cuts of Dragonslayer, following where the bird was hovering, hoping that he was able to cut whatever down.

He could feel his vision and his strength leave him as the feeling of cold at last subsided. He was… he needed to… to…

…

…

…

"What the hell is happening out there?" Lucius asked himself as he stayed in position within the forest. As part of the reserves, he was off the front line, but even so, he was curious as to how the battle was progressing. So long as Draco remained safe, that was really all that mattered. But he had no desire to enter the battle if it meant he might end up being captured. He was far too valuable to be taken, prisoner.

He could hear shouts and curse being thrown and even the roar of a dragon until finally, it all stopped. It was unnerving to hear especially while in the forest. Who knows what might be lurking in these trees. More than once he thought he heard hooves that might have belonged to a centaur, but no beast ever showed up.

The anticipation was killing away at him so he excused himself to relieve his bladder. He was expecting the hear word from the Dark Lord soon once the castle was taken. The battle should be over soon and then they would get word to move in. Lucius never thought the thing he would hear would be a shout from one of his fellow Death Eaters.

He rushed back to where he had left them only to find another sight instead. It was no centaur, but he honestly would have preferred one to this. A skeletal figure seated atop a mount of similar appearance as well. The eyes from the socket of the skull helm glowed a mix of red and purple and they were staring directly at him.

Lucius felt his hand shaking with his wand as the figure dismounted. He fumbled to get the words out. "Avada-!"

And the skeletal figure was beside him with a sword in hand coated in fresh blood. He was petrified to even move. "You will not die. Unlike your companions, yours is but a flesh wound."

And the pain hit him. looking down, Lucius saw that the fingers of this wand hand, save for the thumb, had been cut off. His wand lay split in two at his feet as well. "Aaahhhh!" he clutched at his finger stumps.

The figure hauled him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and dropped him over the back of his horse. "I am in the debt of you and your companions. If you hadn't destroyed those wards, I would not be able to be here without the use of my Sword of Actuation. And there is a great deal I must tell to the Struggler. But first, you will tell me of your master's plans."

The last thing Harry remembered before he blacked out was the utter feeling of hopelessness and doubt that plagued his mind. He recalled every instance where he had been just a tag along for everyone else, his biggest contribution taking Charlotte hostage only for it to mean nothing up to this point. He thought he heard a woman screaming, but Casca had been quiet as she too suffered the effects of those cloaked creatures.

Harry had never seen anything like that in Midland and Flora had never mentioned them once so it must only be native to this astral layer. None of his spells seemed to have any effect so he assumed that to be the case.

But he could feel warmth in his body now, so he knew that he wasn't dead. His eyes felt heavy, but he managed to open them all the same only to quickly squint at the light coming in through the window. He could feel his back resting on the closest thing to a bed and he tried his luck at sitting up. Harry opened his eyes again.

"Teacher!" Farnese cried out as she came over and knelt by his side.

"Harry! You're awake!" Schierke hurried over as well, nearly choking him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"We were getting worried," Farnese sighed in relief. Looking around, they were not back on the sea Horse. Instead, they were in a great hall of some kind, four large tables having been moved to clear room for everyone else that had been injured during the battle. This could only be Hogwarts.

He quickly asked, "What about Guts, Casca, and Serpico?" they had been right there too.

"Look to your left," the voice of Casca cut in. Harry managed to do so once Schierke let go of him and he saw Casca kneeling next to the cot Guts was on. Dragonslayer rested on the wall behind him and Serpico stood off to the left as well. "Hold still," she instructed Guts as she helped to tend his wounds.

"The bug already took care of it," Guts tried to rise only for Casca to push him down.

"That's what you say but not how you look. Stay still."

"No need to be fussy," Guts laid back down as Casca continued to clean at his wounds.

"When did you wake up?" Harry asked her, sure that she had blacked out as well.

"About an hour before you," Casca said. "Lupin came around with the healer to offer what he called chocolate. It must be some magic food, but it helped. The two of them are busy tending to everyone else." Harry looked and saw just how many other people were here and there was a lot. Their cots were a bit isolated from everyone else, but people could still look over and see them.

From all the stares being directed over every couple of seconds, Harry really wished he had that invisible cloak that Dumbledore had brought for him. Wait. "What happened to Dumbledore?"

"Did I hear you ask about Dumbledore, Mr. Potter?" walking over was McGonagall. "That is what you asked, did you not?"

Harry nodded. "I did."

She closed her eyes before answering. "Madam Pomfrey has Professor Snape personally tending to him. He was hit with a very dark curse that, knowing You-Know-Who, probably has no cure. But, he is still alive. As is your one companion, the one who has that black mustache." Had sir azan made it alive? "His arm is shattered and many ribs are broken, but Poppy believes he has a chance to pull through." She looked at him with concern. "Here, have some chocolate. It will help the lingering effects of being around a Dementor."

"Is that what that invisible thing was?" Guts demanded as he sat up to Casca's disdain.

"I could see it," Harry recalled the hooded creatures that had shown up from nowhere.

"Well, we could certainly feel them," Serpico made his way over to stand by Farnese. "If they are only visible to mages, it would make sense as to why we could not." Serpico looked around. "Where did Isidro wander off to?"

McGonagall huffed. "That young hooligan? I saw him walking around somewhere. I can only pray he stays away from the Weasley twins." The way she said that sounded like she dreaded the thought. "I can locate him if you-,"

"-Excuse me, Professor," a new voice spoke nervously from behind the teacher.

"Mr. Longbottom, Miss. Lovegood, what is it?" Harry recognized Luna, and the boy he vaguely recalled from the battle as well as being next to her. "I'll be with you both in a moment, these patients are in need of some space."

The boy looked very flustered while Luna smiled dreamily. "R-right, sorry about that, Professor, it's just…" he mustered the courage to look at Harry and the rest. "I just wanted to say thanks for… well, uh, everything. And the sister of my friend's friend wanted me to say she thought it was really brave to fight a giant like you all did."

McGonagall ushered the boy along. "Yes, yes, I'm sure that you are very grateful as everyone should be, but if you wish to repay that favor, please give some space."

She ushered the two along with Luna managing to say, "Sonia is glad that you're all alright."

"Brats," Guts sat up some more.

"You can try to be a bit appreciative," Casca said to him.

"You see the way they're looking over here?" Guts asked as he too eyed the sea of foreign faces also receiving medical attention. Some were gathered with family and friends as they shared in each other's sentiment, others just rested or tried to, and the rest chatted and glanced over to where they were isolated in the hall. Their attention was primarily focused on Harry and Guts as they must have exchanged tales of what they saw happen during the battle. They seemed to look at Harry like he was Merlin and Guts like he was on a level beyond human. Harry doubted that some of these people would just keep waiting and it was only a matter of time before more came over to speak with them.

And there was someone else coming up, someone they knew. "Sirius?" Harry said as the man approached.

"One and only," he smiled, but it seemed a cover for something. "You all doing alright?" Harry nodded and Sirius exhaled in relief. "Good." He looked to Guts. "This might be sudden, but can you stand?"

"He's supposed to be resting," Casca said. "Why?"

"Well, I was just outside, assessing the damage from last night and… someone is here for you lot."

"Roderick?" Farnese asked.

Sirius shook his head. "No, but he seems to be waiting for you. I believe he may also be referred to as a 'bonehead.'"

Guts forced himself to his feet, drawing quite a few eyes as he did so. "Show me."

As they walked through the hall, eyes followed them with every step that they took and hushed conversations took place. "Did you see him? The one who fought You-Know-Who?" "I heard he killed a dragon." "Is that Harry Potter?" "What is that staff?" "Does that lady have the Sword of Gryffindor?" "Do those blondes go to Beuxbaton?" "There's a metamorphagus too?" "Did you see his scar?" "One of the Creevy brothers has a picture from last night."

Isidro spotted them walking and stopped his chatting up of a girl around his age to follow after them, not looking too happy about closed the doors to the hall behind him as led them out the main doors of the castle. They began the walk down to the lake and Harry was able to see the full extent of the damage done. The pitch was nearly destroyed by the fire and the bodies of the giants and dragons still remained. The ground looked like it had been pelted with cannonballs. But the castle sustained little damage.

And sure enough, waiting by the shore of the lake was the familiar sight of Skull Knight. A man with platinum blonde hair lat across the back of the saddle. Harry saw that the man was missing all the fingers on his right hand save for the thumb.

"Struggler, Wizard, we meet again."

Harry saw Casca staring at the being that had assisted them with a mix of awe and shock. "So, this is Skull Knight?" she whispered to Harry's ear. Skull Knight appeared to have heard her as well.

"I see the Fighter has returned to her sanity as well. Your quest has been accomplished then."

"Surprised to see you here," Guts stepped forward. "Usually you show up to bail us out of a tight spot." He looked back to the battlefield. "You're a bit late."

"Wards prevented me from entering without the use of my sword. Once they were down, I went to find one who could inform me of his master's plans and ties to God Hand." Skull Knight glanced back at the man. "He talked easily enough."

"How convenient, we've been meaning to ask you more than a few questions ourselves," Guts said. And Harry knew exactly what some of those would be; they were the same as he was curious about as well.

Skull Knight stared at him with his glowing eyes. "Very well. It is human nature to do so. No doubt you will inquire about the God Hand and what I know of their plan. Before you ask, I shall tell you. I will tell you what I know for certain."

A/N: I hope that I was able to cover every character in the fight this chapter and I'm really looking forward to the next one and will try to have it out as soon as possible. Thank you for reading.


	58. Divine Right of Kings

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

The sun was shining brightly overhead. It was a clear sign that the long, wet season of spring was, at long last, coming to an end and making room for the promised season of summer. Spring had been a painfully long season this time around and while it was preferable to the cold and harsh winter, few crops grew even with the immense rain and trees were late to start blooming once again.

Summer was looking to be the promised time, a gentler time. Crops would grow and flourish in the rich fields and bring forth a multitude of surplus supplies to last all throughout the fall season, the time of great harvest, and then through winter once again. And then it would repeat all over again. The same seasons, the same routine, same migration routes, same plan as always.

It was indeed like a cycle in that regard; moving in a state of repeat. The seasons were in a cycle and so too was the life of the families who lived to see those seasons through. The families who worked the fields, who sold the crops, who domesticated the beasts, who built new homes, and all of lived and died in that same wheel of motion that spun for all families throughout the land. From the poorest beggar to the highest of rank; they all fell to that circle.

From the east, a cold wind blew. It could be interpreted as a sign that the lingering spring and cold winter were not through just yet in their conquest to stay in relevance for a few more weeks, but the breeze only served as a complement to the hot sun in the sky above. It was refreshing, no more, no less and utterly pointless to believe that it heralded some premonition of darker tidings to come. Truly absurd indeed.

Dark times were always ahead of them. They were always ahead of them, and they were behind them as well. Just the same as they were present in this very moment in time. Much like the changing wheel of seasons and people, the same could just as easily be applied to actions done to and committed by the very people of those cycles. The actions could always vary, there was no end to any offense be it small like a couple of children flinging pebbles at one another, or something as drastic as the rape of all the women in a village. They all happened. Some were much worse than others, but they still happened all the same. People lived and died, but the deeds would continue to be done.

That was human nature, perhaps. With all the mistakes made over time, people would never learn that they were not breaking the wheel at all, just conforming more and more to its already immense power. And how to fight the wheel if there was a way? Swords? Oh, they would be preferred any day of the week, but an idea is an idea for a reason; so it cannot be killed. Even if the idea is evil by a normal sense of the word, it still exists in the hearts and minds of humans alike.

It seemed like such a dull and meaningless topic to even bring up, but that was philosophy and it always had an attraction to those of a keen mind and thirst for knowledge. And there was a respect to be had for any who took to believing in or even crafting their own theories on the behavior of people in this world, not that it held the same appeal to all. Some were lions, others were sheep, but not all lions believed the same.

That was the thing about philosophy; it could take a topic as mundane as the weather and start making all sorts of comparisons about its nature and to how the world works. It could be amusing to see just how creative it could become if one had enough time to properly think it over, but it just took away from the moment. Perhaps one such theory or phrase existed that said to live for the present and just enjoy the moment while it lasted. Since dark and troubled times were always to exist, a moment of true peace and tranquility was to be valued. Even if peace just made one complacent and dulled their skills, humans had to relax at one point or another.

A change of topic was needed and needed fast. It was too nice a day to just think about thinking about things. Yes, something far less dull was needed, especially when it was just the two of them.

"Must you always be so dramatic when going on one of your speeches?" he held the reins of his horse loosely. "I am not some peasant that can be so easily swayed by talk of things beyond my understanding."

"You seemed quite enraptured by what I was just saying. Your mind is a muscle as well; you would stand to benefit from listening to that voice inside your head every now and again, you know."

"That was because I was falling asleep," he countered the first observation made. "And as for that voice inside my head, I have the real thing talking to me in person. One voice is enough for my liking."

A dry chuckle was given. "Your sons seem to find my voice quite soothing. I would imagine they prefer a much softer tone when being told stories. It helps put them to rest."

"And you have destroyed yourself in your own argument."

"How so?"

"You just admitted that your voice puts children to sleep." It was hard not to hide a triumphant grin. "And here I thought you were supposed to be smart."

He was met with that devilish smirk. "I could say the very same about you."

"And how do you figure that?" he rose to the challenge.

"Why are your sons coming to me for stories instead of you, their father?"

"I would say the same as I had previously."

"And I would do the same as well." His brother rode up beside him. "In theory, we could then keep this debate going for infinity. Wouldn't you agree, Gaiseric?"

He halted his horse so the two of them may ride alongside each other. "It would hardly be a debate at all, Gunderic. It would as soon turn into a one-sided conversation once I grew bored of listening to your voice."

"Silence can be as powerful a tactic as any," Gunderic pondered the possibility. "Then it would all depend on my ability to amuse myself with my own voice." He brushed a strand of his dark-brown hair behind his ear. "I would feel like I was talking to a dead man otherwise. And if I may ask-?"

"You would do so anyway," Gaiseric said, knowing that it would be said one way or the other.

"Why do you insist on riding with that on? Do you expect to be attacked in isolation such as this?" it was just the two of them taking the time to ride in the open plains of the land. With all the wars and conquests that Gaiseric had fought and won, he hardly had the time to just be with his brother outside of war meetings and council sessions. So under the ruse of needing valued advice, he had gotten his brother to go out riding with him. If it wasn't for their rise in status, it might have just been like when they were kids. Gunderic had figured this out, of course, and was now inquiring about the helm that he was currently wearing.

"Do you not like it? I believe it was you who had the smith make it for me." The helm covered his entire head leaving enough space for his eyes to be fully displayed. The design of a snarling lioness was put on the forehead and the back allowed for the black pelt of a skinned wolf to hang. But the whole design closely resembled a skull.

"I never said that I did not like it," Gunderic defended. "I merely find its use impractical at the moment." He glanced down to the side of the saddle, eyeing the shield in place. It was fashioned from the same metal as his helm and held the design of a woman's face. "I would think that you are going off to wage another campaign."

"At least I am suited for riding. You look rather uncomfortable in that attire."

Gunderic gave a mock look of displeasure. "If I had known that your true intention was to just seek isolation, I would have changed." Unlike the armor that Gaiseric was wearing, Gunderic was dressed in much more lavish attire. He carried no shield or sword, just a dagger with a studded hilt, a gift from their mother. His robes were a purple color, a rare shade, but it complemented well with his appearance. And the high collar of said robe no doubt put his mind at ease about his neck. Gunderic was self-conscious about his neck believing that it was too long.

He had many little peeves and quirks like that. Gaiseric watched as his brother once again brushed a strand of dark-brown hair behind his ear. One of his biggest peeves was the feeling of hair being in his ear. Gunderic absolutely hated that feeling and was constantly brushing stay locks back; everything had to be in an order for him. He had tried cutting it short, but his hair seemed to grow at an unnatural rate, always going back to how it was. And his most obvious oddity was made very visible as he brushed his hair back behind his ear. Gunderic had been born with six fingers on each hand.

As far as anyone knew, there were no stories about anyone being born with six fingers on their hands. It was an oddity, a mystery in the making, but one that Gaiseric had never cared about. He was not without his own oddity as well. While Gunderic had dark-brown hair, Gaiseric's hair was as black as night, the same as their mother's, and that wasn't the only trait he had inherited. The both of them had inherited her eyes as well, an almost glowing purple that could be mistaken for gems. Their mother's eyes were said to be the reason why their father… chose her to bear his children.

He instantly pushed that thought away and out of his mind. It was a dark time in the past, a dark time that had past. Thinking about it now would only give him grey hairs and he was only thirty-four years of age. A cold breeze blew past once more causing Gunderic to brush his hair back once again.

"You know, you fiddle with your appearance more than any young maid I know." It was actually amusing to watch him get so worked up over it.

To that, Gunderic raised a brow. "Oh? And how many young maids have you known? You are the emperor of this continent and many women would be pleased to share your bed, but I thought better of you. Will your wife react with heartbreak? That would be a shame. Licinia is the most sensible woman I know."

"She would perhaps lay with another man out of spite. My sons are fond of you and you are a bachelor, I could think of no greater disservice to be done to me." He continued on with the play. While a great many women had offered to lay with him due to his status as emperor, he had refused them. What they saw was a title, a way to advance their own wellbeing. Licinia saw him as something different.

The two of them shared a good-natured laugh and Gaiseric was relieved to hear it. The two of them were so busy most of these days that the only time they really saw much of the other was in meetings. It seemed like so long since he heard his brother laugh – since the two of them got to laugh at their own childish banter. It was… refreshing.

"Shall we return to the capital then, my Liege?" Gunderic asked a legitimate question, adding the title to show that the moment had ended. Gaiseric was sure that was how his mind worked; quick to process and change when he was sure a subject was done.

"Yes, I do believe that would be best." Gaiseric allowed a brief image of his Emperor Voice to emerge. His voice was deep enough already, but it carried much more authority depending on the context. He used this voice on occasion to ensure his own sons would not turn out to be brats.

His sons were privileged, being born after he had already conquered many neighboring city states and had been crowned king or emperor; they were interchangeable at this point. They still wore a mix of basic tribal furs and a mix of jewels that befit their status as his heirs, but they had always known that particular style of life. They did not know all of his and Gunderic's family history and he thought that may be the best and Gunderic agreed.

They set back on their trek back to the capital, the wind picked up a bit more and the chill with it. And from somewhere off in the faint distance, Gaiseric spotted something in the air. His eyes were keen and finely tuned for spotting anything out of the ordinary; it was a skill that could mean either life or death on the field of battle. He halted his horse and Gunderic did the same.

Gunderic looked over to him, obviously seeing it as well. "What do you suppose-?"

"-I do not know." His authoritative voice was much more dominate now. "But that is what we will soon find out. Hyeh!" he spurred his steed to a sprint. His horse made not a sound as it ran and Gaiseric did not expect him to. He had raised this horse since it was but a calf, caring for and tending for it as custom of his birth culture. If he was to one day ride into battle, he would need to forge an unbreakable bond with the animal that would accompany him into the fray.

The wind blew in his purple eyes as he raced to where he had seen the shape flying in the air. It had happened directly over a few trees and shrubs that sprouted up from the relatively empty field of tall grass and small hills. Whatever it was, it seemed to have fallen out of the sky at this point. As he neared, Gaiseric thought he heard a shriek of some kind come from around the trees. "Gneeah!" it was followed by a faint sound of impact.

Cautiously, he drew his sword, a sturdy blade with a hilt that was decorated in a thorn design. He rounded the shrubbery to find a most unusual sight to behold.

It was a young woman upon the ground, rubbing her head of somewhat messy auburn curls. She was dressed in dark purple robes of similar design to Gunderic but lacked the high collar, but she had a pointed hat lying next to her instead as well as a wooden staff. Falling from a branch of the tree, two pieces of broken wood came down. Her grey-green eyes locked on to the wood which Gaiseric realized to be pieces to a broom.

She began to panic. "Oh no no no no no no no! Why?! Oh this is going to take forever to get fixed!" she had yet to turn and see their presence, but they knew exactly what she was by her broken item alone. She was a witch.

"Lovely day for a flight," Gaiseric spoke in a deep tone but not a loud one.

The witch scratched her head. "I'll say. It would be even better if it wasn't for… for…" she slowly turned around, realizing she was not alone. She was met with the end of Gaiseric's sword being pointed directly in her face. "Eh… ehhe…"

"You are a long way from the woods, witch," Gaiseric addressed in full kingly persona. "Have an accident on your broom." He didn't say that as a question.

"I, um… yes," she admitted in an embarrassed and frightened state.

"Yes, 'your Majesty,'" Gunderic corrected the witch.

She looked confused. "Well, I'm flattered, but I'm not royalty, good sir."

Gunderic showed a bit of steel from his knife. "You are speaking to a king, mind your manners."

"Oh!" she appeared more nervous than before, hurriedly taking off her hat and giving the closest thing to a bow. "I'm terribly sorry, I meant no offense, I assure you."

She sounded genuine. Genially lost and confused. "You are a long way from the woods, witch," Gaiseric still kept his sword trained on the unknown woman. "Where is your coven?"

"I do not come from any woods of this continent, King, uh… apologies," she rubbed the back of her head. "I do not quite know what to call you by."

"You may call him your Majesty or Supreme Emperor," Gunderic warned the witch. It was clear he was of little patience with what he considered to be insults and slights. Gaiseric had earned all the titles given to him through the right of conquest. That and Gunderic's own mind.

"Either will suffice," Gaiseric told her. "But if you are looking for a name, you may call me King Gaiseric."

"My King!" Gunderic said with worry. "You do not need to comply with the needs of this witch. Besides," he rode a bit closer so only Gaiseric may hear, "you never know what a witch can do with a person's name."

"Your concern is well warranted but unneeded," Gaiseric told him. "Look, she is without her staff."

While they had this exchange, the witch took the time to properly compose herself. "Well, you have my apologies then, King Gaiseric. As I said, I do not come from any woods of this land so I am unfamiliar with your customs. And I shall give you my name in return; I am called Flora."

"Then you come from that island to the north-west," Gunderic deduced. "Our ships have crossed there as well, you should have heard of your rightful king there."

The witch, Flora, shook her head. "I do come from an island, but it is more west than north."

Gaiseric looked over to Gunderic to see if he knew of such an island from any of the documents of the lands they brought into the empire. Gunderic gave an almost invisible shake of his head.

"Do you lie to a king, witch?" Gaiseric asked, his blade inched a bit closer.

"No, King Gaiseric, I do not lie."

"Then what is the name of this island and your purpose for leaving?" Gunderic questioned. She was clearly out of her element and coming up with a lie on the fly would prove difficult.

"It is called Elfhelm, an island inhabited by all creatures of magic. And I suspected many would not know of it. The island is near inaccessible to anyone who is not a native." she was quick to answer, no trace of a stammer or pause was present in her tone.

"And how far out to sea is it?"

"A few weeks by boat, but much faster if by broom, King Gaiseric." Flora spared a glance at her now broken broom and sighed. "It is much safer as well."

So she knew of the danger of the sea. All manner of beasts dwelled beneath the surface and he and Gunderic had lost many a good ship as they were sent off to try and explore beyond the northern island. Most sea beasts were passive with their ships, more curious than anything, but one beast stood out more than others. This creature would go out of its way to attack anything and everything in the sea. Very few survivors came back from the failed exploration, but those who did all gave the same description of the beast. How it was like a giant black dome with no eyes and a wide maw with teeth the size of pillars and tentacles as long as any warship. The more it consumed, the larger it became. They just called it the Sea God.

"You claim flying to be safer?" Gunderic scrutinized her answer. "Yet your broom lies in pieces and leaves you exposed to a passing storm. And you could starve or pass out from exhaustion."

"I worried about that too, but I had material on hand to help with that." Gaiseric eyed the satchel hanging from her side. Curiosity got the better of him. "Hey!" his sword snagged the strap of the satchel and he pulled it free from her side. He tossed it over to Gunderic who caught it and began to go through the items she had.

The first he pulled free was a vial of amber liquid that seemed to be half empty. Next came another half-empty vial of a light blue liquid. She had a variety of herbal leaves and a mortar and pestle for grounding them up as well. There was an acorn of some kind, probably used for potions as well. Lastly, there were a few small stone carvings of some sort that closely resembled rounded men.

"Careful with those!" Flora cautioned as she saw Gunderic examine them between his fingers. "Don't drop them."

His brother eyed her with distrust. "What would happen if I did?"

"Those are golem talisman," Flora tried to explain. "Drop them and they'll turn into little mud men."

Gunderic eyed the few talismans he had, studying the symbols carved into them before putting them back into the satchel. "And what of these vials?" he asked. "Some are half empty."

"I drank some of those on my broom," she answered. "As you pointed out, traveling on broom can be dangerous if I fall asleep or go hungry." Gunderic put the contents back into the satchel. "May I have my bag back now?"

"That depends entirely on your next answer," Gaiseric told the lost witch. "Why have you come here?"

To this question, Flora seemed to relax a deal like she was confident in her answer. "If you are the king of this land, I consider myself lucky. I bring tidings from the Flowerstorm King of Elfhelm and was sent to warn of an approaching tragedy."

"And what tragedy is this?" Gaiseric asked. "Tragedy occurs in all forms constantly. Why would elves living on a distant island bother to concern themselves with the likes of the mainland?"

"The Flowerstorm King had a premonition about it," Flora continued. "This will mark the first of a series of events. Even if our island is spared, a time will come when the same disaster will spread throughout the world. And that is why I have come; to try and prevent a disaster should it unfold."

From his side, Gunderic scoffed. "Leave it to witches and elves to instantly resort to the theory of premonition. It is not to be taken lightly." It wasn't that he sounded doubtful, just irked beyond reason. And Gaiseric did not blame him for it one bit. If people believed in something hard enough, they would will it to be true.

"I'm sorry, but I don't believe you've introduced yourself," Flora, at last, asked of his brother.

He straightened on his horse. "High Advisor Gunderic. Not that it is important in this situation."

"He is correct," Gaiseric drew her attention back to him. "I am king and your fate lies in my hands at the end of my sword. I have the final say in this matter." normally he could convey that message without the use of his sword, but this witch was clearly lacking in tact to their culture and history.

Her eyes found his behind his skull-shaped helm. "I understand that, King Gaiseric. If you choose to end my life here, I will at least know that you have knowledge of a coming darkness. And if not," she gave a more formal bow, "then I will assist in any way I can to prevent such an event from happening."

The manner of which she spoke, it was different from mere moments ago. It was as if that lost and clueless nature had been replaced by a much more mature woman. This one was filled with certainty and confidence and conviction as well. She sounded as if she truly believed she could be of use. He doubted it to some extent. Witches were known for two things; trickery and usefulness. Whenever stories were told, it was one or the other. Either witches wanted to steal and sacrifice children to eat, or they were great healers and visionaries, helping those who were in need. His and Gunderic's own mother had been believed to be a witch because of her unique eyes and no man could every say a thing to taint her name. Gaiseric would have broken their jaw if they dared.

"You speak with conviction in your words, Flora of Elfhelm," he addressed her.

"Gaiseric…" Gunderic said like he knew what he was about to say. Before he could speak more, Gaiseric raised his hand for him to stop. While Gunderic was his brother, he was still king and he had made his decision. Dark times always lay in the future; it was just part of the cycle, that inescapable wheel.

"If you indeed speak the truth, witch, I will listen to what you have to say." Gaiseric put his sword back in its sheath. "You will accompany us back to the capital."

She gave a bow of her head. "Thank you, King Gaiseric. I promise that I will not deliberately waste your time."

"Only unintentionally waste it," Gunderic said to himself.

"But be warned, Flora of Elfhelm," Gaiseric fixed her with his full stare, "should I find any lie or trickery in your words, you will meet the fate of other witches who have proven troublesome." And he would take her head off himself. He looked to his brother. "She rides with you."

Gunderic did not appear pleased in the slightest to have to share a horse with her, but he followed the order the same as always and offered Flora a hand up once she had collected her stuff. "Sit side-saddle," Gunderic instructed her.

"I'm just sitting the same way you are," Flora copied his manner of sitting once she was up.

"It will be more appropriate if you sit side-saddle," Gunderic sighed. "Do you want the people of our city thinking you some sort of harlot?"

"Are you concerned for my reputation or your own?" Flora asked.

"At least you are a tad perceptive," Gunderic said in a monotone.

As they rode, the hills began to lessen and the trees and vegetation started to appear in much greater abundance. The main road which had been laid out was also visible, a clear sign that they were nearing civilization once again. All the while, Gaiseric would spare glances over at Gunderic and Flora who seemed to contrast heavily with his usual pessimistic attitude with a bright and bubbly one. Gaiseric was like his brother in that regard of pessimism but always thought himself more optimistic in some cases.

"The air here is so much different from the island," Flora said as they rode. "It feels so much heavier."

"You do not have to talk, we will question you when we get back," Gunderic said, clearly annoyed that the witch was so calm despite essentially being their prisoner.

"I know, but you have not made a move to quiet me," Flora pointed out. "The archmage I studied under said I was a lovely conversationalist."

"He must not have many to talk to then," Gunderic remarked.

The remark clearly stung, but it did remind her that she was to be respectful when in the presence of the king and his brother. "Sorry if you do not enjoy the company, High Advisor. I was merely trying to make – huh?"

Gaiseric craned his head to see what had caught her attention and saw that she had taken notice of the scars on Gunderic's additional fingers. He caught her staring too and adjusted the rings he had on to cover them up. He followed by brushing a strand of hair back behind his ear. Gaiseric knew exactly what those scars were from.

It had happened back when they were both children. Mother had just passed after failing to deliver their father's third child. He was not in a right state of mind and his words to both of his sons had been harsh. To someone like Gunderic who had enough insecurities already, he had taken a knife later that night and attempted to cut his own fingers off but was unable to handle the pain.

Seeing him like that in so much pain after their father went to go and drink, Gaiseric had taken the same knife and cut himself below his lip to show Gunderic that scars were no big deal. If he were to take off his helm and rub his chin, his hand would pass over his scar and the bit of stubble that covered it. Scars were no big deal. He would certainly know. His back was covered with them. Father had been insistent on having a son who could withstand any pain and gain him more status than just chief warlord of their providence and kingdom. It was the same reason their father sought out their mother to have his children believing her traits would grant him the divine right of kings.

Godigisel, their father, said that it was something bestowed by God and it was the right to rule all. His city-state had not been the biggest nor the strongest, but its strategic location made it right in resources. He took that as a sign of God from the start and sought children who could bring him more and believed that the divine right of kings was tied to their very bloodline.

Maybe it was real; Godigsel had believed hard enough and Gaiseric had all but united the continent under his own banner. But Godigsel had passed before the two brothers set out to unite the land. And they would unite it in their own vision, not his.

Flora seemed to pick up on the fact that she was close to treading on dangerous ground and she did not pry. Instead, she actually didn't say anything else at all. It was good to know that she had enough sense to know when a sensitive topic was at hand. Gunderic rarely, if ever, shouted or raised his voice when he was feeling angry. He did his best to retain his calm and collected persona at all times. Gaiseric had only heard a truly unsettling voice come out of his brother after their mother had passed. They had been but only adolescent, but as he reached out to try and reassure him, Gunderic had said but one word as he clutched the fur above his heart, "don't."

The way in which he said it was much too low and deep for how his voice usually was. It was like he had approached an angry god, one who was beyond reproach. It was the only time that Gunderic had ever truly scared him. Even after every campaign he fought, all the men he had killed, that voice had been the only thing to send a shiver down his spine.

The witch kept silent, her eyes closed to make it appear that she was meditating. Gaiseric could tell Gunderic was relieved that she had stopped talking. He did not intend to make this seem like some sort of punishment for his brother and he would have to assure him of such once they got back to the capital. Licinia was native to the city and if it hat been to her inside position, his army would have to siege the city instead of just riding through as they did. Damage was minimal, but the architecture was a true marvel. With Gunderic's mind, they were planning an expansion in the works.

The capital was located in the middle land of the continent, a rich land and strategic should and new conflict to emerge. The Northlands tended to be too cold and dry of resources, the west held a more arid climate for growing grapes for wine and had access to the sea, but it also rained too much during spring and too much water often caused floods. To the south laid a peninsula and string of islands within the Uterine Sea. There, the weather was warm and tropical and said to home to the most beautiful women in the land and it was where their mother had come from. Conquering them had been easy, they had no united army and submitted with little resistance. Besides, blades were not what one had to beware of to the south, only what was in the wine. Farther o the east it became more mountainous and the people of the region proved hearty and strong-willed. Fighting there had been a nightmare due to the terrain, but mountains often held hidden paths around. Beyond that, there was a vast swampland that o one dared to inhabit. And south of that, there lay an arid jungle marking the entrance to the land of Kush where the hottest weather was and the richest land of resources.

Each and every land held their own systems and beliefs and with it, more leaders of city-states. War was always breaking out until he rode onto the scene. Divine right of kings or not, he had did what many others had tried, he did bring about unity. Some might say God had something to do with it, but God had not been on that battlefield. God did not swing his sword. People could believe what they wanted, he believed in what he knew for certain, the world was a battlefield.

The quiet mood was ruined as Flora suddenly opened her eyes in a state of shock. "There's something up ahead!"

Both stopped their horses as they eyed the witch carefully. "What do you say?" Gaiseric demanded of her.

"Up ahead! I felt an additional source of od."

"Od?" Gunderic parroted. "What are you talking about?"

"It's a life-force," Flora answered. "I was meditating and discovered it up ahead." She pointed in the direction the od was supposedly coming from. Gaiseric scrutinized the surrounding area. They were not in the forest so there were no trees for anyone or anything to hide behind. The hills were not as numerous as they had been, but they were still present in far fewer quantities. One such hill seemed to stand out from the rest.

It had the grassy-green color to it, but it also seemed to be mixed with a grey rock color that just seemed off. A thick tree branch lay just to the side as well and Gaiseric doubted that anyone just left it there. And... the hill seemed to rise and fall very slowly. Almost like it was snoring.

He drew his sword. "The two of you stay back." He rode off to investigate.

"He isn't planning on fighting and killing it is he?" Flora asked with concern.

"Most likely," Gunderic watched, certain of the outcome.

"He could get hurt," Flora said quietly.

"You don't know my brother."

As Gaiseric neared, the "hill" started to rumble and move. What was once a bump near the side of the road was a now a fully-grown ogre. Its legs were hairy and the color of fresh moss. The body and torso were the grey color Gaiseric had first spotted than gave it away. The head was long and slanted upward with two curved tusks protruding from the side of the triangular maw. It picked up the club beside it as it heard his approach.

He thought that ogre's usually kept to the watery swamps and wetlands, but this one appears to have wandered a bit far from its home. But seeing as it had, it could cause trouble for any travelers taking to this route. As such, it could not be allowed to remain.

The ogre snarled at him as he rode closer and lifted its club, ready to swing down at him. Instead of bothering to evade the attack, he met it with his own sword, driving the end straight into the wood as it came close to him. With his blade stuck, Gaiseric then twisted with the hilt, splintering the club and nearly cracking it in half.

Seeing that the club would be of no use, the ogre tried to just pull it back and take Gaiseric's sword along with it, but Gaiseric moved faster than the ogre. Pulling his blade free, he circled around behind the ogre, making clean cuts to the back of its hairy knees and ankles. Blood began staining the thick fur a dark red color. It gave a howl of pain as it began to tremble. Before long, it was forced to take to its knees as it found itself unable to fully stand.

Beginning to panic, the ogre began to wildly swing at him like a cat would a bird that was just out of reach. Gaiseric noted the clear weakness in the beast and decided to quickly end things. There was no need to draw out a fight with a near-mindless beast such as this. His feet moved from the side to up upon the top of the saddle giving the impression he was about to jump off at any moment. And that was exactly what he planned to do.

With all the hacking and cutting he had done, the ogre was at a perfect height as to where he could deal a fatal wound to it. With one hand still holding the reigns, Gaiseric directed his trusty steed to head straight for the wounded ogre. Once he was close enough, he lept from the saddle, his sword thrusting out and penetrating the meaty flesh near the collarbone. Blood shot out as he drove his sword in deeper into the flesh and began moving the blade upward once he got a firm stance with his footing.

His blade moved with unwavering skill all the way up to the maw of the ogre. It began to topple over. Gaiseric yanked his blade free and stabbed it down where the heart would be and then waited for his horse to return like always. He never expected to see a stone object come flying through the air, growing in size until it was human height and land on the ogre's arm, preventing it from rising any higher to swipe at him. It was still alive.

From Gunderic's horse, Flora was shouting. "Hill ogre's have two hearts!"

So... that explained it. With the stone man still holding the arm down, it bought Gaiseric enough time to quickly plunge his sword into the other side of the ogre's chest, halting any further movement from it. And for good measure, he stabbed it through the head, careful to avoid the tusks on the sides of the maw. Now, he was sure it was finished.

As his horse loyally returned to him, Gaiseric spared a look at the stone golem. It just passively stood there like a statue now that its purpose had been fulfilled. As had his. He rode back to join Gunderic and Flora. He noted that Gunderic had a hand on his dagger, but showed no sign of drawing it.

"You let her use what she had in her bag?" Gaiseric asked of him.

"She did so of her own accord," Gunderic answered. "She was too fast to stop."

"Well..." Gaiseric looked at the witch in question, "perhaps that was for the best."

She visibly perked up at hearing the closest thing to a compliment so far. "Well... of course, King Gaiseric. As a witch of Elfhelm, I took a solemn oath to always give assistance where needed. But, if I may ask, was it necessary to kill it?"

"I was able to kill it easily, others would have had a greater difficulty." Besides, it helped to quell the thirst of battle that he held. All men possessed it so it was best to find a way to deal with it so their judgment could be clear. "I did what I had to. Do you mean to tell me there are no dangers like this in your land?"

"All sorts of magical creatures inhabit Elfhelm, King Gaiseric," Flora told him. "Some can get a bit rowdy when excited, but none go out of their way to attack humans."

"You are welcome to send a few creatures back there then," Gunderic let go of the dagger hilt. "They cause enough problems as is."

Flora noticed his change of grip. "Um, High Advisor, you don't strike me as being a violent man, but would you have cut me if my intentions had not been pure?"

"I killed once before and would have done what was necessary. If it meant taking your life, yes."

That bit came as a bit of a surprise to Gaiseric. He always made sure Gunderic handled terms of surrender and kept to planning as opposed to field work. He asked, "When?"

Gunderic did not answer right away. He was either reliving it or he just preferred not to. He fixed his stay strand of hair. "...You weren't there."

Gaiseric would leave it at that for now. There was no point in discussing some dead man and he would not make an issue of it in front of the witch, Flora. "Very well. With our path clear, we return to the capital."

The rest of the journey passed by without further incident. Gaiseric still kept a keen eye out and Gunderic remained silent, not bothering to make any further conversation with their unexpected guest. Flora often looked between the two of them, trying to make heads or tails of them properly, but she kept silent as well but wore a soft smile. She was ultimately the one to break the silence when the capital, at last, came into view.

"You live here?" her voice sounded almost like a child.

Gaiseric nodded. "Indeed."

A multitude of roads all led directly to the pristine-looking city. Most of the earthen and country roads changed to being a laid cobblestone detail that had been expertly placed. Stone homes and shops lined the winding and ordered streets and the more important buildings like pavilions and arenas were crafted from a spotless white stone marble. And beyond all of them at the heart of it all was the main palace.

It almost seemed to stretch from one end of the city to the other with how expansive it was. The height was also a contributing factor as it towered above all the other buildings to give it an appearance of a man-made mountain. That was their destination.

As they rode down the road, people stopped to stare at their emperor, calling his name and tossing flowers in his wake. They cheered for Gunderic as well and Gaiseric noted the mild look of embarrassment on his brother. Gunderic was often shut up in his own solar and rarely left the palace, but the people still knew of his work.

"You two seem to be quite beloved," Flora noticed all the praise coming their way.

"It isn't as if they're about to start hurling stones at us," Gunderic told her. "They wouldn't dare do that." The memory of how fast he had disposed of that ogre was still fresh in their minds. "Although, I imagine the reaction would be even greater if he were to remove his helm."

"Now is not the place," Gaiseric responded as they neared the central building. It wasn't that he was shy or embarrassed in any way of his appearance, many seemed to find his features quite comely. He just always felt more at ease when he wore his helm. Being emperor, he never knew when his life would be put into danger and the element of intimidation always helped to some capacity. Besides, being on the field of battle was more reassuring than the realm of politics. In war, he knew exactly who his enemy was.

His helm also helped to keep some of the more fanatic ladies away. Maybe they would look toward Gunderic instead; his brother was an eligible bachelor.

The gates of the palace opened to them as soon as the watchman caught sight of the unique and unmistakable sight of Gaiseric's helm. A couple of servants and stable hands rushed toward them once Gaiseric dismounted. To Gunderic's credit, he did offer Flora a hand to assist her off the horse, not that he looked pleased to do so, just maintaining his professional nature.

"See to it our horses are fed and watered properly," Gaiseric instructed as he passed the reigns over to the head of the stable.

"Yes, Emperor!" the servants bowed and led the horses off to the stable.

"Gunderic, see to it that our visitor is given a proper room." His brother subtly raised a brow at the request. "One with a heavy door." Gunderic nodded.

"Come along then, I will escort you the way," Gunderic began walking off with Flora. She would not be kept in a cell, rather, a room used for political prisoners during times of war. While Flora boasted no political power so the speak, she was an envoy for an island far out to sea. And, Gaiseric would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't a little grateful for her usage of the golem previously. He still could have handled it, but it did prove her intentions were harmless.

For now, at least.

He then proceeded into the palace himself. All the while, guards stood at attention and various other servants bowed as he passed by. He would give a slight nod of his head to those he passed as a sign that he recognized them, but he was in search of the one who actually knew him. As it turned out, they found him.

"You're back early."

His wife approached. She wore a light pair of sandals with a few golden cuffs on her arms and wrists. She wore her brown hair down and tied it off midway to her back. Her shoulders were bare as the dress she had on complimented the approaching warm weather. The dress also matched her eyes perfectly as well, a deep blue color that looked like the sea.

"I did not want a usurper to take the throne, Licinia. The battlefield is one thing, this place can be a den of vipers." He finally removed his helm in her presence.

"Is that the only reason?" she asked like she knew there was more. "I watched from one of the balconies and I could swear I saw Gunderic riding with a young woman. Has my brother-in-law finally found a woman who can match his wit?"

"You are free to ask him that yourself, he'll find it hilarious." Gaiseric had a pretty good idea of what Gunderic thought of the witch. "Where are the boys?"

"Off hiding," Licinia answered. "Playing soldier no doubt."

"Hm." Gaiseric pondered.

"They're still boys," she reminded him. "Let them enjoy themselves."

"I didn't say that they were not. But they will not be boys forever. One day they will have to pick up from where I leave off." He at least hoped that he would be able to prepare them for that day.

She gave a dry chuckle as she felt the small amount of stubble on his face. "Why do you have to talk about such a topic? You may wear that unique helm but that does not mean that you are a dead man walking."

He allowed a small movement of his upper lip. "Not for a long time, at least."

"That's better. The boys were looking for you though. No doubt they wanted to ask you to show them a few of your techniques."

Gaiseric nodded. He could better prepare them for when they had to pick up the mantle. "Fine. Where were they last seen?"

She pondered the question. "I'm not quite sure. You'll just have to find them yourself. It feels like it has been too long since you properly entertained them."

He almost chuckled at that. But she was right, it had been far too long since he had spent proper time with either of his sons. As important as it was for them to know how to survive and to be a leader, they must also know how to be father's themselves. From some of the talk among servants, his eldest seemed to have a little infatuation with the daughter of a local noble, a girl named Eudocia. There would be a time to fully question Flora, but now was not that time for that.

A few hours had passed before Gaiseric felt it appropriate to go and pay a visit to the witch in question. He summoned Gunderic as well considering his brother usually went on record to keep detailed notes and texts concerning any business involving council meetings and general information about the various cultures they had within the empire. He was even set on writing his own text as a set of guidelines for after they both had passed.

"Not that I doubt your judgment, but one of us should be enough to suffice," Gunderic voiced his opinion as Gaiseric unlocked the door to Flora's current residence.

"She knows the both of us," Gaiseric told him. "She might feel more at ease."

"Might being the word that should be emphasized," Gunderic mentioned as the door opened.

The room was basic, it had a bed for one and some small furniture for decoration and mild comfort, but it was far from anything as impressive as some of the royal rooms within. But it seemed more than enough for Flora. She sat on the edge of the bed lightly kicking her feet back and forth along the floor like she was a child who was tasked with entertaining herself while her parents were busy.

"Ahem," Gunderic cleared his throat to get the witch's attention.

She stopped her movements and hopped off of the bed. "High Advisor Gunderic, I wasn't expecting to see you so soon. And..." her eyes studied Gaiseric's face before settling in on his eyes. "Oh! Emperor Gaiseric." She gave a quick bow as a sign of politeness. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite recognize you without your helm on."

"It is not necessary for this," Gaiseric said as he stepped further into the room. "I do not believe you to be a danger, but that does mean that I am wrong. A mistake made by a king can cost the lives of a kingdom. I would like it if you could dispell of my doubts."

"Well, I would certainly like to clear that up as well," Flora agreed with little hesitation. "What is it you would like to know?"

"Gunderic, her bag." Gaiseric held out his hand as his brother handed him the confiscated item. "We went through what you had on hand. The potions you claimed were to help you on your journey, but what of this acorn? Even for a witch, it seems a strange object to carry around."

"Ah, that," Flora nodded. "It's an acorn from one of the spirit-trees on the island. I did not know how long I was going to be here, so I took to plant it here, so I would have a tree to live in once it grew."

"Then you'd be without a home for quite some time with how long it would take to grow," Gunderic reasoned.

Flora shook her head. "Before I left, the archmage told me that time moves differently here than it does on the island. Since this acorn came from a spirit-tree, I would expect it to grow much faster than average." She noticed their blank reactions. "It all has to do with how connected it is to the astral layers."

"You are not making a believer out of me," Gaiseric warned her. "You speak of nonsense."

"It isn't nonsense, I promise you, King Gaiseric. It... how can I explain it?" she seemed to think it all over. "Alright, imagine a tree, a large tree, as big as one can get. It has branches that go in all directions, spreading everywhere. Depending on which branch you take, time and locations will vary, it will be like taking a shortcut to get to a destination. Where we are now, think of it like the base or middle of the tree, the top is the most magical part and it drips down to where we are after a rain. At the top, it is the Ideal World, a mix of mundane and magical both."

Gunderic chose to speak out at that. "You mean to say that creatures like ogres and trolls do not belong here? That they are just unwanted products of someplace else?"

"Not unwanted," Flora corrected. "Just, they are able to exist because people believe in them."

"And strong enough belief will result in reality," Gunderic added not looking pleased with having said it. No doubt he was reminded of that belief of their father.

"That's right," Flora nodded. "Did you know I was going to say that?"

"I cannot read minds," Gunderic shook his head. "I just remembered an old saying is all. It boasted a ridiculous claim that no matter who or what, a person was destined to fulfill a purpose."

"Hm." Flora rubbed her chin. "That sounds an awful lot like causality, the belief that things are all planned out and will happen one way or the other."

"And it is ridiculous," Gunderic repeated. "It speaks of some god with control over all lives."

"You do not believe in god?"

"We would not be here if not for a higher power," Gunderic repeated. "If that is a god or not remains to be seen."

"Enough, both of you!" Gaiseric lightly raised his voice. "We are not here to discuss the existence of a god or higher power."

Flora had the decency to look embarrassed that she had gotten sidetracked. "Sorry once again, King Gaiseric. But, it does allow me to mention the bottom layer, beneath the roots of the tree. That is known as the Abyss. No one knows what lies at the center and all who have tried to astral project have wound up worse than dead."

"And you believe the danger you spoke of comes from this Abyss?" Gaiseric asked. He still wasn't sure if he believed her or not, and this whole astral layer business was not making it easier to understand. Gunderic was writing down what was being said, perhaps he was having greater luck figuring out what she was saying.

"I... do not know for certain, King Gaiseric," Flora confessed. "It lies in an entirely different astral layer is impossible. Unless the world tree does actually exist, physical travel is impossible."

"You speak many creative words," Gaiseric told her, still not sure what to believe. He sensed no deceit from her but he was still not going to take her explanation at full face value.

"I agree," Gunderic nodded. "You tell this to us to rid of us of ignorance, yet you raise more questions than you answer. And you have no solid idea on what disaster is heading our way. Surely you can see the fault in that. Can you offer anything as to how we may prevent such a disaster?" he was testing her again, waiting to see any benefits that could come from having a witch.

"King Gaiseric is a warrior by heart, is he not?" Flora asked.

"You ask a question you know the answer to," Gaiseric said with a hint of annoyance. "Why?"

"Well, it's just, I was told that there were dwarves living in this land before I left."

"Dwarves?" Gunderic repeated. "They live off in their mines looking for gold and care nothing about human affairs. Mischevious little creatures as well. If they seal away treasure, there is no getting to it."

To that Flora smiled. "Maybe if you mention the Flowerstorm King's name they might just be inclined to be more friendly."

"And you would be able to persuade the dwarves?" Gaiseric asked. If they had a weapon of dwarven make, it could change the tide of any battle. Dwarves were not the best smiths for nothing.

"If I knew where their home is, perhaps," Flora admitted. "But anything they make, it will always come with a price."

"How much?" Gaiseric asked knowing the current situation with the treasury.

"Price does not always have to be gold." Her tone carried a weight of warning to it like even she did not know what it would cost.

Gaiseric ran a thumb across his chin, almost missing the feeling of cool metal in place of his actual flesh. "If you speak the truth about this, then you carry a great deal of weight with your presence." He could feel his brother's stare on him. "You will remain here for the time being. If you have anything more you wish to tell us, inform the guard outside and have him fetch one of us."

"Er, right, understood," Flora said. "I'm not a prisoner here, am I?"

"You are not in the stockades," Gaiseric told her. "Make of that what you will." He closed the door behind them as the two of them left.

A brief moment of silence passed between them. "What do you make of her?" Gaiseric asked.

"I can believe what she said about the dwarves," Gunderic concluded. "If they can be swayed into making a weapon it could complement the new suit of armor I have the smiths working on for you. If there are actual layers to this world and ours happens to be caught in the middle, I am unsure of."

"Only unsure?" Gaiseric asked. "I thought you would flat out deny such claims and label them as lies."

"Every lie has a hint of truth in it," Gunderic told him. "I can go and look up some scrolls from the archives, see if any culture makes mention to a 'world tree' or astral layers." It was hard to figure out if he sounded doubtful or cautious at what he might find.

Gaiseric nodded. "Good. But before that," he pointed to around the corner where a pair of shadows could be seen. "Come out you two."

Slowly, two boys walked around the corner. His two sons, Huneric and Gento. Both had taken to wearing the furs of his custom but also wore some jewelry as well that befitted their status. Both had dark hair like him but Huneric wore his longer as three braids behind his head while Gento kept it shorter with only a single braid on the side. Instead of their father's purple eyes, both had inherited the blue of their mother, something Gaiseric was grateful for. It was a small stab at his own father's crazed belief.

"How much did you two hear?" Gaiseric demanded of his sons but did so without anger in his tone.

"Not much, father," Huneric answered first. "We only came by to try and find you."

Gento nodded. "Yes. And Huneric was hoping of running into Eudocia."

"Shut up," Huneric told his younger sibling. "No, I wasn't." He said so with flushed cheeks.

Gaiseric might have found it funnier under different circumstances. "Regardless of that, you two shouldn't be sneaking around if you want to speak with me. Take pride in who you are otherwise you still have much to learn before you lead one day."

"Yes, father." "Sorry, father." They both nodded their heads.

"Now, what is on your minds?" Gaiseric asked them.

Gento spoke first this time. "Is that one woman really a witch?"

So they had heard some. Luckily, Gunderic answered this. "If she is or isn't is not of importance. She is suspicious and will remain here until such a time as your father deems necessary. Besides, the story of how we came across her is far more interesting." Gaiseric saw that this brother held their rapt attention. "I believe it involves your father slaying an ogre. Why not tell them about that?"

Gaiseric saw what he was doing; he was taking their interest in what they would find interesting. "There was an ogre blocking our way so I disposed of it by stabbing it through the heart."

Both his sons and Gunderic looked at him with blank expressions. "How incredibly vague," Gunderic said with monotone.

"You tell them then," Gaiseric suggested.

"If I must," he said with a smile. "Come, young ones, and let me weave you a tale."

It was a bit impractical to have three rooms refurbished to all connect to each other, but with all the papers, documents, and various other scrolls that Gunderic kept in neat order in his solar, he wanted to be as close as possible to his own quarters so as to be closer to his work. The third room was for his own personal use and where he tinkered designed what he believed what help benefit the people of the empire.

There were just so many people now, it was getting near impossible to keep track of just how many there actually were. They didn't have a unified language yet as the people from the Kush land all still spoke in that smooth tongue of theirs. It was beautiful to listen to but so difficult to actually speak. He knew enough words, enough to hold a basic conversation with someone from the east, but it would be rough at best.

Currently, he was looking over the design plans of the city. The architects truly knew what they were doing when they had constructed all of this. Even among the chaos that plagued the various city-states when it was being built. They still had some of those builders on hand, an expansion was possible. The main problem would be the funds, they had been dwindling as of late.

It was troubling and something he could not take his mind off of. He knew that there was always the option to levy heavier taxes, but it would come with a massive backlash. Many of the conquered lands still held resentment in some way shape or form and making the decision to raise taxes would go over quite poorly.

He knew exactly where some of that money had gone. It went to ensuring that the fighting arenas still stayed open on behalf of pleasing the rats that were the members of nobility from elsewhere in the empire. Violence in itself was already a gross conduct, but it was made even more repulsive when it was slaves who were the ones fighting.

Many, if not all, previous city-states had slaves. The Uterine Sea Isles were big on the trade as was the far east. His and Gaiseric's own mother had been a slave to their father, a practice that later resulted in her death. If a god truly did exist, Gunderic was thankful to it that Gaiseric had enough sense to put that portion of the practice to a close.

But he would have thought that he would have just declared it all illegal as Gunderic had suggested to him countless times; sometimes during meetings, sometimes when they were in private. He knew Gaiseric hated the practice as much as he did and the reason he gave for it was solid, "I am a fighter, but I do not go looking to start a fight."

He was probably right. Banning the practice would only lead to more conflict or even a civil war. Gaiseric even encouraged the slave men to take wives and start families with the promise that if they won the match, they would be freed. Of course, the loser would die a pathetic death for hundreds to see. Gaiseric was right, and he hated that.

Even now with the shutters of his window closed, Gunderic could hear the sounds of the crowd as the combatants made their way to face off in battle. The sound was faint and muffled, but it served as a cold reminder that the shadow of the past was right behind him, never truly going away. The thought of it, he just kept picturing his mother's face and the pain she felt up until her death. Somewhere down in that fighting pit, a man had that exact same look on his face.

Gaiseric knew exactly how he felt about it and he had to know that things weren't the same as they had been before between the two of them. Gunderic was a lot more skeptical about some of Gaiseric's choices and he would often send him strange looks whenever his brother made a decision that did not seem reasonable. Gunderic had no doubt that Gaiseric tried to rekindle that bond when he had asked him to go riding that day they met Flora.

Flora... It had been close to two months since they had first met the witch. It was adequate time for the both of them to know she truly did not mean any harm. She was granted permission to leave her granted room, but under escort and only allowed to see him or Gaiseric.

He halted his sketch for the expansion as he massaged his temples, not caring right now if some hair touched his ears. Based on what Licinia told him as she walked past the other day, he could stand to have his hair cover the side of his head. A grey hair. Licinia pointed out he had a single grey hair by his temple. Grey was a sign of old age and stress, and he knew plenty of that. He was only a year younger than his brother and he was already feeling the stress of helping to run an empire. He felt a pang of pain from his chest as he thought about it.

Gaiseric felt his brother's still youthful appearance was in part to his excellent physical prowess. Father had made sure he had been trained from the ripe age of four, as soon as he knew how to properly hold a dagger. The edge of staying in shape elevated Gaiseric to maintain a well-kept form. Licinia could be a factor as well, Gaiseric was truly happy when he was around her and her somewhat aloof personality. Then there was the prospect of the new armor Gunderic had designed for him.

Seeing as how his brother had adopted the skull theme as his own, Gunderic had modeled the new armor after a human skeleton. The helm looked just like a skull and the outer chest plate closely resembled ribs as well. He even went and had some armor made for the horse as well. One did not earn a title like King of Galloping Death without a reason.

But as creative as it was, it also put another heavy hit to the funds.

He knew Gaiseric was king, but he really should be spending more time on this. Gunderic was happy to be the backbone, but that spine needed a skull. And the noise from that arena... come the next expansion he would tear it down and use it to pave a new road.

If Gaiseric would allow it.

A knock came from his door. "Who is it?"

"The one called Flora wishes to speak with you," the guard said.

Gunderic sighed. With Gaiseric gone to settle a dispute near the Vanhal River, he would be the only one she was allowed to see. "Very well. Send her in."

The usual smiling face of the young woman entered and Gunderic closed the scroll he had been reading. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"Nothing in particular," Flora openly admitted. "I just thought that we could both use the company with your brother off for the moment. Where was it he went?"

"The Vanhal River," Gunderic answered. "It's to the west and the largest river on the continent. A group of bandits has taken to raiding the local villages near the shores. And Gaiseric is not about to let a good fight get away."

"Your brother seems like quite the interesting man."

Gunderic flicked a strand of his hair. "Have you come to gossip about my brother to me? Gossip is a fickle hobby, you know?"

"No gossip," she said. "Just an observation I made."

"He is still just a man," Gunderic reminded her. "And a king as well."

"You're both interesting," Flora then added.

"How do you figure?" he made sure his rings covered the scars on his fingers.

"Back on the island, many believe people from the mainland to be savages that are thirsty for blood. I thought that of your brother when I first saw him, but knowing that he has a family and children of his own, I could understand if he has to protect them. And you... you seem gentler but have the same goal as he does."

"How observant," Gunderic said in response. In the few months Flora had spent with them, she had been getting a better understanding of how people behaved and acted here. She still had an upbeat and optimistic personality that Gunderic found annoying, but he would tolerate her as he needed.

"Were you mapping out the city?"

"For an expansion. It's as if planning this city is in collaboration with time. I've experienced the sensation of feeling as if you've seen something before, but this is entirely different. It is almost as if the design was planted in my head, waiting to be tilled. I can see and know what's behind every corner."

She nodded. "What's in that room?" she spotted the contraption made of wood he had been working on in the third room.

"I don't know if your magic can comprehend real advancement," Gunderic snarked as he moved to step in front of it, but Flor was too fast and caught a glimpse of it.

"Really? Because it looks like some way to make books or scrolls." So, she was learning.

"You wouldn't be incorrect," Gunderic told her. "Apart from the problems of any government, exchange of ideas is a vital role. All the text we have has to be copied by hand in order for a copy to be made."

"And you found a way to make it happen faster with that?" Flora asked sounding more than impressed. "You really do have a great mind. If I didn't know any better I would say you would pick up magic quickly."

"I believe in having a rational mind, not relying on magic to solve problems. I had hoped Gento might pick up for me where I leave off." Maybe he could bring the change that was needed. Gunderic made a face as he heard the crowd cheer.

Flora was very observant. "Those fighters out there, you disapprove of their practice?"

"I don't disapprove of fighting to live. I disapprove of fighting to live a life where life is meaningless. If a choice is not present, what is the point of their struggle?"

He might have revealed too much. "Were you ever...?" she was stepping on dangerous water asking that and she seemed to know it.

"We might as well have been. Gaiseric hates the concept as much as I but it is useless to sway him."

"Perhaps I could help?" she suggested.

He actually gave a dry laugh. "It would take a miracle to change the world."

The dispute had been solved with ease, not that Gaiseric had any doubt about that. There had been no reason to even bring additional troops as he had handled the conflict by himself. But it would inspire the men, give them the idea that they would be protected as well warn them what would happen if they ever disobey or show signs of treason.

He was expecting a welcome return once he arrived back and he did from his wife and sons, but Gunderic had only briefly stopped by before he too had to leave. Apparently, a small settlement had been discovered in the southwest region and was reaching out to become a part of the empire. He knew Gunderic could handle it so he let him go without question.

In the meantime, Gaiseric took to showing his sons how to ride better. They were not born from a low standing and did not have the same bond he did with his horse. It would be far more difficult for them.

"Ease on the reigns, Huneric," he instructed his eldest.

"L-like this?" Huneric asked as he loosened his grip. That one girl he fancied was watching from a balcony and he did not want to make a fool of himself.

"Gento, your's is too loose."

"Is this better, father?" his second asked.

"Now you are doing what your brother did. Try it again. This time do not be so passive, you will lead your horse and it will carry you."

They were rookie mistakes and showed the clear contrast to how his upbringing was compared to theirs. They might never be as good as him, the skill naturally deteriorating over time. And that did worry him. Without a strong leader, others would see only weakness and wars would last much longer, maybe close to a century at a later date.

"Not being too hard on them are you?" Licinia asked as she joined them on the grounds.

"Perhaps not hard enough." He meant it as a joke but it would help them strive to do better. "You have news?"

"Gunderic has just returned. He requested to meet with the one called Flora right away."

It must be serious then. "Is he in his solar?" she nodded. "Very well. I'll be back shortly."

When he got there, Gunderic was seated, running a hand through his hair. Flora was leaning over the desk closely examining something. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked as he looked to see what it was. It was a bauble of some kind, red in color and decorated with assorted facial features. It was weird. "Where did you get this?"

"Down in the southeast," Gunderic said. "When I arrived I was warmly received and the village soothsayer gave me a token of gratitude. She called it a crimson behelit. She said it was for one who was anointed by God."

"Then she is a fool. This looks like a trinket she would pawn off to a beggar to be rid of it. Don't concern yourself with this, brother."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Flora spoke and for once lacked her upbeat attitude. "This... behelit has a source of od to it."

"The life-force?" Gaiseric asked.

"The very same," Flora confirmed. Looking at it again, Gaiseric felt like one of the eyes could open up at any second to stare back at him. He reached for his sword.

"Don't!" Gunderic shouted as he snatched it away. "Don't break it!" his eyes were wide and he kept it close to his heart like he was starving and it was a loaf of bread.

"Why not?" Gaiseric asked, not liking that sudden change he saw flash across his brother's face.

"I... I don't think that... it just..." this was unlike him. he was stuttering and fumbling for his words like he was unsure of what he wanted to say. It worried him. Gunderic seemed to become aware of the change as well and after taking a calming breath, threw the behelit out of the window. Even after the throw, his hand remained stuck in place like he couldn't believe he had just done that.

"Brother?" he did not respond.

"Gunderic?" Flora called him by name.

It wasn't until Gaiseric reached out a hand to brush a strand of hair behind his ear did he react. "Ahem! My apologies. I... I do not know what came over me."

"You have been working hard. You've been gone for a short time as well. best get some rest and that is an order," Gaiseric advised his advisor.

Gunderic nodded. "Rest. Yes. If you two wouldn't mind..." they nodded and let him be.

The instant the door closed, Gaiseric turned to Flora. "That behelit, what was that?"

"I... do not know to be honest. There are all sorts of magical fetishes, but I've never heard of a behelit."

Gaiseric rubbed at his chin. "We let him rest, for now, there will be time later to ask him more about it."

Even though he suggested that idea, it didn't help him get any sleep either. Licinia had been in the mood and even with the idea of bringing another heir after they had finished was not enough to banish the memory of how Gunderic had reacted. It hadn't scared him, but it still made him uneasy. Licinia seemed to sense his distress as she rolled over on the bed.

"Do you want to go again?" she asked.

"I am sleeping with my eyes open, go back to sleep."

"Do you fear for your life that you would do so?" she asked. "Besides, you have me sleeping here to protect you from an assassin's blade."

"I have no doubt about that," Gaiseric told her. "Strong women attract strong men. But, it was just something on my mind is all." He wanted so bad to just let it be for now, worry about it until tomorrow, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do that.

"Is it anything I can-?"

"Ssssshh!" Gaiseric said as he listened.

"...ahhh. Aahhh. Gggneee. Ahhh!" screaming coming from near Gunderic's room.

He quickly jumped from the bed, grabbed a pelt to wear and rushed down the hall. From behind the door in Gunderic's room, the screaming was getting louder. The door was locked so he put all his weight into his shoulder and knocked it down.

Gunderic was seated at his desk, some papers strewn about him and his head resting on the desk. His eyes were closed like he had fallen asleep at his desk and was in the middle of some terrible nightmare. He continued to yell in his sleep.

"Aaahhh! Nnnuuggh! Haaaa! Ggnnneghh!"

Gaiseric rushed to his side, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him awake. "Gunderic! Gunderic, wake up!"

Purple eyes shot open and Gunderic fell from his chair and Gaiseric's hold. His eyes were wide with terror as they looked around trying to determine what was real or not. A strand of saliva drooled from the corner of his mouth as tears started to leak from his eyes. One hand went up to clutch his heart like he was worried it might burst from his chest.

"Gunderic!" Gaiseric was at his side. "Do not worry, it was just a dream! Gunderic, I'm here."

His breathing came out ragged like a man who almost drowned. "Gai...seric?"

"Yes, that's right."

"I... I had... a horrible nightmare. The city, the people, they all..." he didn't finish as he brought a hand up to his head. "It was because of me..."

"Calm yourself," Gaiseric told him. "It was just a dream, nothing else. Let me help you up." With one hand, he lifted his brother back up and into his seat. He noticed the papers Gunderic had on his desk. "You were working late again. I told you to get some sleep." His brother was going to kill himself from stress.

"I... had an idea for the expansion," Gunderic explained. "I didn't want to lose it so I wanted to get it down as soon as possible."

"I'll call a servant to fetch you some water." Gunderic didn't drink wine to begin with and it would only detriment him right now.

"No." Gunderic raised a hand. "That won't be necessary. I feel... I feel it's past."

Gaiseric eyed him. "Do you want me to stay?"

"No," he refused again. "No, I should be fine. I... strange. I don't even remember what it was about."

Gaiseric had no idea if he was just saying that or if he meant it. "...If you insist. But do put work aside. The expansion can wait... what is that?"

"What?"

"You drew something on this paper here," Gaiseric pointed to it. It looked like two diamonds stacked on top of each other with a line running through the both of them. Unless Gunderic was planning on changing his seal, he could have gone with a better choice.

"I... must have just scribbled that." He crumpled up the paper and tossed it. "Nothing to be concerned over."

The following night, it happened again. The sounds of Gunderic's screams did not wake him, but the sound of wood being tossed and broken. This night, he did not go alone. He had told Flora of all that had happened and the two agreed to stay up and see if any other disturbances came from Gunderic's solar. It did.

With the door still knocked off, the two entered with ease. Gunderic was not at his desk as he had been previously. Instead, he was in the tinkering room, the same room where he kept that device he planned to make quick copies with. The door was open to them, allowing them to see the damage that had been done. The device had been physically torn apart and while Gunderic was of a height with Gaiseric, he lacked the muscle his brother did. The papers he had designed it on were torn and tossed about in a mess, completely unlike the Gunderic that needed an order for everything.

They found him slumped against the corner of the room, face in his hands and his hair a mess.

"Gunderic!" Gaiseric yelled ready to rush over to him, but Flora held up her hands.

"Wait! He could have done this in his sleep. You might startle him. Please, allow me." she closed her eyes and began to chant a language he did not understand. Gunderic began to stir from his position.

His eyes took in the sight. "No."

"Gunderic," Flora spoke.

"No. No, no, no, no, no, no." He started shaking his head. "It was meant to bring people closer."

"Brother," Gaiseric approached. "Do not blame yourself for this."

Gunderic didn't meet his gaze. "And who should I blame? God? How often is it that people blame God for what they cannot explain? It adds to the belief. Did God create man, or did man create God through belief?"

"You are speaking nonsense."

"And yet you consort with a witch," Gunderic took in Flora's presence as she watched with concern. "I will have to start all over again."

When it happened a third time, Flora was granted permission to mix up a sleeping drought for Gunderic. He had not destroyed any of his other projects, but he still screamed like a man being murdered until someone came to wake him. But Gunderic did not drink the potion she prepared for him. Some of those nightmares, they involved magic, great destruction, walls of flame, the sea rising up to devour the land, great twisters, and landslides too.

It was all... too much for him to handle. And the creatures as well. Dragons, trolls, ogres, they were all out there and posed dangers to them as well. Why, why did the world have to function like that? They were caught in the middle of a land of mundane and magic. Why? Why couldn't it just be separate? It was unfair, but it was life. People were used to it and they functioned. But they were not ready for a world to be like this. It could be chaotic and people needed a path. He needed a path.

He knew exactly what they talked about when they discussed him. He knew his being here was only putting stress on his sister-in-law and nephews. They... they did not deserve any of this stress. The boys most of all. It was the more he find them and give them the one work he still had that was not tarnished.

"Huneric, Gento," he called as he saw them one day.

"Uncle Gunderic," Huneric greeted. "What is it?"

"I'm not interrupting you two, am I?" the shook their heads. "Good. I had something that I cannot hold onto for any longer and was wondering if one of you boys would like to hold onto it for me."

"I'll take it!" Gento quickly responded.

"I love to see the enthusiasm, here."

"A book?" Gento asked as he examined it.

"One I wrote myself. You can consider it a doctrine of a sort. Everything supernatural or dangerous, I made note of it here."

Huneric looked at the cover. "It looks like a hawk on a cross."

"Something that helped me in a dream recently," Gunderic provided.

"Are they getting better?" Huneric asked. "Mother is worried about you."

"Your mother is a sweet woman," Gunderic honestly told him. "I... wanted one of you to have this though. It will bring me peace of mind." He had overheard the talk of the palace. He was to be removed to a place to better clear his thoughts. A site he had helped construct, the Tower of Conviction.

"Is there anything else we can do to help you?" Gento asked.

"You've been taught how to ride, yes?" Gunderic asked. They nodded. "A very important skill to have. To better prepare, you should practice riding outside the capital. Huneric, you can even take that girl you fancy out as well. I'm sure she would like to get out once and a while."

Huneric looked embarrassed. "You too with the teasing?"

Maybe, just maybe they would turn out better. Better than Gaiseric, and certainly better than him. They did not deserve a cruel fate like that. "Just a suggestion is all. But please, do hold onto that text. It is my lifes' work."

And he was glad that he passed it off to Gento. They came for him later that day. He went without a fight being escorted to the tower he had helped to create. It would be safer for him there, or so they said. In reality, it was safer for no one, especially him. Gunderic would not face torture by conventional means, but rather from his own.

Every night when he closed his eyes from then on, he would see it. Death, destruction, blood and gore. It was all around him, dragging him down deeper, deeper, deeper... It would not stop. And then there was the tree he saw above it all. From the tops of those branches, there were people looking down at them. They were savage, lawless, but without freedom. It was all the same. Chaos wherever his eyes looked. The people, they needed a king to lead them. It didn't have to be Gaiseric, but they needed something, someone. The chaos that was above, that had to be reigned in, the people weren't ready for it all. He had to put a stop to it. But how?

How?

How...

Divine right of kings.

Yes. That could... it could be the only way. not for his father's sake or for his own, but for those who lived in fear. Those who felt what it was like to be in a constant struggle. This world just wasn't ready. Not with him and Gaiseric, maybe not even with Huneric and Gento, but there would be a time when it would come into practice and the world would not have to be the way it is. He knew he would not live to see that day. Not as Gunderic.

It had been close to a week since Gunderic was moved to the Tower of Conviction. Gaiseric took no joy in making the decision and he had ignored the question asked by his sons as to where their uncle went. All he had said was that Gunderic had gone to clear his head. Right now, his brother was too unstable to be kept back at the palace. Gunderic helped hold things together, but he could not even do that for himself.

"Wait out here," Gaiseric told Flora as he dismounted his horse. "I just wish to speak with him for a moment."

The guards all snapped to attention as he passed being led to where his brother was being kept in the tower. It was used as a prison, but the top room was designed for luxury for those of importance. He noticed that the guards standing outside the door looked oddly uncomfortable. Did they have to listen to Gunderic suffer at night? "Open the door." They did as instructed.

The sight that greeted him sent him into a fit of rage. He pinned one guard against the wall with his elbow pressing into his throat. "What has been done to him?! I said he was not to be touched!"

"We... did not... touch him... He... the spoon we gave for his meal... he... his eyes..."

"...He speaks the truth, Gaiseric." Gunderic's voice sounded so weak. "I didn't want to see them anymore. I wanted to hide from it, from causality. But I can't. Neither can our family. Divine right of kings... I thought it stupid, idiotic, foolish. The power to rule bestowed by God. I'm glad father isn't alive to have it. You know it was me who killed him, right? Mother showed me how. Being from the Uterine Sea, wine and poison taste the same. Do you hate me for that?"

"...He was mad. If you hadn't, I would've."

"...I see. Why have you come here, Gaiseric?"

"...It does not matter now." Whatever it was that had been plaguing his brother's mind had festered beyond repair. The man who lay on the floor was his brother only by name. All the laughs and okes they had shared, there was no reversing the damage he had done to himself. Unless... "Flora is with me. I can ask her to-,"

"-I am well suited here, Gaiseric. Thank you."

He moved like his feet were filled with lead back out and to his horse. "What happened?" Flora asked as he put on the new skull helm Gunderic had designed.

"We go and meet the dwarves. They should have finished with it by now." He needed something to get his mind off of what he had seen. It was a quick ride to the mountain than to the capital. He never thought those would have been the last words he would have shared with his brother.

Back at the tower, Gunderic's hands scraped across the floor. Even though he had taken his own eyes, he could still feel his way around. He still had his ears so he could still hear. He could hear the breeze from outside, the scurrying of a rat across the floor and the sound of the rat trying to gnaw at something.

Whatever it was, the rat gave up on it and scurried back to its home as if afraid. Gunderic reached his hand out and found what it had been chewing on. It was small and shaped like an egg. Across its surface, there was a multitude of ridges and bumps like he was touching someone's face.

It couldn't be.

He had disposed of it back at the capital. How did it come back to him? His six fingers closed around it.

"G"

. "U"

.."N"

..."D"

..."E"

..."R"

..."IC"

"Who... who said that?" it was not one of the guards.

It felt like his body was falling through the floor. He was going down, down, down... down...

Down... down... falling... he was falling. It was a weightless fall. He felt like he would never land. He could spend an eternity like this, just falling and never miss a thing. He was in a cyclone almost, he could hear the swell of turbulence around him followed by a powerful beat.

BaThump!BaThump!BaThump!BaThump!

It was deafening. He would be blind and deaf. A cripple trapped in an endless void of turbulence and... not chaos. This was... this was order. His hand moved up to his own heart to feel each beat. It matched perfectly with what he could hear.

He could be... he could be more than he was now. He could live to see his bloodline help make this world what it was meant to be. And he knew the only way that would happen. The capital, Licinia, all of them... "I... I don't want..."

But he could, he very much could. All he had to do was say the words.

"...God?"

BATHUMP!

"I... sacri... I don't want... I sacrifi... I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I sacrifice."

Those were the last words spoken by Gunderic.

"What is happening?" Gaiseric asked as he halted his horse. They had just arrived at the dwarven lair when the sky began to darken. Storm clouds began to roll in from out of nowhere, directly over where the capital would be. And it was like a funnel touched down on the earth, reaching up to the sun above which was blocked out by the moon. A full solar eclipse was in progress.

"Agh!" Flora cried as she nearly fell from the horse.

"What is it?" Gaiseric caught her wrist.

"This od... this feeling of od is... ugh!"

"Can you stop it?" Gaiseric handed her her staff and satchel. "The storm of the century is happening right now. You must-!"

The whole earth seemed to shake as even from this distance, the unmistakable sound of a city falling apart reached their ears. The dark funnel arced with purple lightning and it began to dissipate. But standing in place of it, or maybe it was right in front of them was a tall figured covered in shadow. A high collar popped up to the oversized head like the brain had exploded outward. And it raised its arms to the sky where the moon eclipsed the sun. Hands with six fingers each.

"The First Great Eclipse has passed."

When the arms began to move down, the moon also began moving as well. And it was like the shadow melted upward to join with the darkened sky while it was still there. Causality had won its first battle. After that day, the God Hand was born.

"You know the rest of the story, Struggler, Wizard." 

Skull Knight stared at them with his glowing red and purple eyes. Harry, like everyone else, just stared back at him as they processed all that had been told to them just now. Skull Knight had answered Schierke's question of how he knew Flora and by extension how she was able to live so long by means of the Sprit-Tree. Since it came from the island, it affected her differently in Midland than it would others.

Harry had wanted to know more about Gaiseric as a person and Skull Knight had not skipped on that, at least. Guts had wanted to know how exactly he had came back if he died as Gaiseric.

"Gaiseric did die," Skull Knight confirmed. "What you see before you now is but a fragment of the past that should have passed. Flora used my spilled blood to bind my soul to this suit at Gaiseric's request. After the Eclipse, apostles began appearing throughout the land. Gaiseric's goal was similar to yours.

"I have a question," Casca said next. "A few night's ago, there was a boy, one I thought that I lost. He looked human as well. And he spoke the name Gaiseric."

"I have never met the boy you speak of," Skull Knight told her. "I only ever saw it when you first sired it and that night at the beech."

"He certainly seemed to know you," Casca said with a trace of stubbornness.

"If he is somehow connected to the God Hand, he might have seen what they plan to do," Skull Knight suggested.

"What they plan to do to you?" Farnese asked.

"No," he denied. "Their plans to fully merge these two worlds together. They care not for Gaiseric, only what came after."

"Huneric and Gento," Serpico supplied. "Both would be dead as well."

"Indeed," Skull Knight confirmed. "They survived the Eclipse by chance of riding horses outside the capital with the girl Huneric liked and one day married. When they were grown, they returned and built a monument above the old capital. Huneric eventually built a new capital and Gento went to spread the words Gunderic had written in what became the Holy See doctrine."

"Why?" Harry asked. "Why would Gunderic try to cut the world off from magic only to bring it all back with the World Tree and Griffith. It doesn't make any sense."

"Think," Skull Knight told him. "What would the people do if creatures long thought to be myth started showing up and they had but one haven in Falconia?"

"They," Schierke began, "they would trust what Griffith would say and follow him."

"It would line up with his dream of having a kingdom," Harry continued. "But how does this divine right of kings fit into it?"

"It is the God given right to rule," Skull Knight said. "Not just one world, but this as well. A sacrifice of the last of Gaiseric's descendants would make it possible. Gunderic believed it in his final moments and a strong enough belief may yet become reality."

"Who?" Guts asked. "Who is it?"

"Think, who is it who can grand him a kingdom of his own and be disposed of after to merge the worlds together by sacrifice." And it hit Harry like a ton of bricks. He knew exactly who it was.

Charlotte looked over the material for the dress. She had finally set a date for her and Griffith to be wed. It would be on her twentieth birthday, it would represent her coming into womanhood. It was all so exciting she could hardly contain the excitement she was feling.

Granted, it was a few months away, but it felt shorter than that. Did brides always feel that? She had no friends who were married so she couldn't ask them. She could always speak with Sir Laban about her mother's own wedding day. He was still a rising knight at the time,but he was always willing to help her out. She wondered, was Griffith feeling the same as well?

A/N: Chapters 8, 16, 18, 26, 36, 44, 45, 47, 49, and 54. Those were the main chapters with hints to the past and Charlotte's relation to Gaiseric. This is just a theory of mine that came about when reading and Charlotte mentioned how her family was somehow related to Gaiseric and since I didn't see anyone else mention it, I put it here. A lot of this chapter in regards to the past is not canon and we may never know SK's origin, but this is just fiction on my end. A lot of the names were from the family of the real Gaiseric as a fun fact. This chapter also signifies the story moving into the last arc so that'll be exciting. Thank you for reading.


	59. Chapter 59

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

"Charlotte?" Guts repeated the name Harry just said. "That's Gaiseric's last descendant?" Harry nodded in turn. It had been in front of him the whole time; he even mentioned to Flora way back when that the Midland royal family was allegedly descended from King Gaiseric when she asked him what he knew of the past. But that's all they had been up until now, just rumors; speculation at making a claim to the past for relevance. By all accounts, in comparison to how Gaiseric once was, a strong, powerful, and fierce leader; Charlotte was a cinnamon roll.

Harry mentally cursed himself as well. He had been ordered to stay with her the day of the Eclipse as the others went to chase after Griffith. If only he hadn't been that dumb little kid and actually stayed like he should have. Skull Knight would have gotten Guts and Casca out all the same and they might have been able to move Charlotte to a remote location where she would be safe. He wanted nothing more at the moment to travel back in time and stop himself from acting so rashly, it might have saved them all a ton of trouble down the line.

"And you don't know when this sacrifice is going to take place?" Casca asked, her interest diverted from the topic of the child that appeared during the full moon.

Skull Knight gazed at her with his glowing sockets. "It would be after they have wedded. Marrying her would give the imposter full legitimacy over the realm and he would hold that title after her passing."

Isidro and Puck appeared a bit confused now. "Wait, if this Griffith guy is making a sacrifice, wouldn't that also include that city he's in like what that first guy did?"

"It would be impractical of him to do so," Skull Knight said. "It has always been his dream to rule a kingdom of his own. What would he stand to benefit from sacrificing the city that would serve as his new capital? It would be far easier to sacrifice one who has the blood of Gaiseric when it would be just as effective."

"And what would happen if he does end up merging the worlds?" Harry asked. "Magic exists here even if it is in secret. And what about the whole rest of the world filled with everyone who isn't a witch or wizard?" Harry had spent ten years of his life with the Durlsey's and he knew that the outside world was far more advanced than the technology in Midland.

"I have been scouting the land here as well," Skull Knight told him. "There are more people living in just one country than there are those currently alive back in the middle land. It can only be speculated what will happen to those who reside here. With the sacrifice, it is likely great global devastation will rip and tear the land apart as it is pulled to be merged with a lower realm resulting in most of the population being lost. Those who survive will be ill equipped to handle the current predicament happening in the middle land. Mages might be able to survive longer, but if the God Hand perceive them to be a threat, they will send apostles to deal with them the same as they did with Flora. For any survivors, they would have no choice but to flock to Falconia, the one safe haven from the chaos. After seeing what the Hawk of Light can do for them, they would eventually conform to his beliefs and further fuel his power through belief."

Casca wore a contemplative expression. "So… he never intended to leave us alone then." Her thoughts went back again to when they had encountered that boy and the message he had left for them.

"Of course not," Guts agreed. "That Voldemort guy attacking was proof enough of that, he's an apostle himself. We're still branded, it may be covered, but we were still his sacrifices."

"Perhaps," Skull Knight said in his usual cryptic manner.

"Meaning?" Guts questioned him.

"While you were made sacrifices to God Hand Femto, you still live and he is one of the five God Hand. His dream is within reach and he knows that using that child as leverage might spare him and his city of your fury. Even if you were meant to die that day, you still lived and he still became a God Hand. Your lives only mean something to him if you so choose to return. He knows you will stay alive whatever may happen if he merges the worlds."

Sirius was actually the one to speak next. "Wait, hold on! I know I'm new to this whole thing, but you clearly have the power to travel between these worlds, you were responsible for Harry ending up there, to begin with. But why can't you just do something about this then? If you're this King Gaiseric, you can just go back and kill the God Hand yourself? From what I've seen in Harry's memories, you seem more than capable."

"I am King Gaiseric no more," Skull Knight said sounding a bit somber about it. "Gaiseric lived and died a thousand years ago, bleeding out in the armor the Struggler now wears. What sits before you now is a relic, a memory, the fighting spirit that was possessed. A skeleton." His glowing eyes seemed to pass over them all. "This is a battle for the future, not the past. I may possess a fighting spirit, but there is nothing to live for as flesh and blood do."

A sort of silence followed after his words. For as long as Harry had known the Skull Knight, or guessed about him, he always seemed an invincible sort of figure that could overcome just about anything. It was how he sort of viewed Guts when he had first met him, like an unstoppable force of sorts. But that armor proved that Guts did have a breaking point despite that it was designed to push him beyond the human limit. But even Skull Knight had been human as King Gaiseric. It was almost like he wanted to know that they would participate in what was to come.

"There is also the fact that the God Hand took measures to ensure that I would not be able to interfere directly. The city is surrounded by stones of some sort that appeared following the defeat of the Kushan Emperor. They repel all manner of supernatural creature, myself included. If I were to use my sword, the God Hand's presence would redirect my blade as he did during that battle."

"Then…" Farnese began, "what is it you would have us do? That is what you were implying, wasn't it?"

Skull Knight regarded her. "You never had to do anything except to choose. It was through choice that carried you all this far. You did not have to fight the battle at this castle. You did not have to join in on this journey; you did not have to study magic. None of you have to do anything at all about this except to struggle. Your lives will be a struggle if you do or do not. The only option is what you will struggle for."

His words were very unlike what Harry had heard spoken about this so-called prophecy between him and Voldemort. He had no idea what it said and he really didn't want to. Whatever it was, Voldemort believed in it and that was his choice, he gave it meaning by believing in it. But between choice and destiny, Harry knew which one he would stand behind. And maybe… it was not so different with Charlotte either. She too was an unwilling pawn in a grand plan that only had relevance because there was belief behind it by someone else. It got him to thinking if he had never ended up in Midland and had attended Hogwarts as he was supposed to do. What would his life be like then? He would probably be a regular student with a huge destiny placed above his head because of the choices of someone else when he would have just tried to live life the way he wanted.

And just from the few small interactions he had with the girl, she was similar to that capacity. Harry doubted he would be as ignorant to everything that was going on as she was sure to be, or maybe he would have been, he wasn't sure. But he was sure that he wouldn't want to be a pawn in someone else's grand plan. So it might have been a spur of the moment feeling of sympathy, but he didn't want someone like Charlotte to share in a fate like that.

"You said life would be a struggle either way," Harry said to Skull Knight, "but agreeing to this, there won't be any going back from it. This will be the endgame, won't it?"

"This would be seen as a direct opposition, more than just allying with witches or slaying apostles," Skull Knight confirmed. "That fight would determine much, including the future moving forward. It would also serve as a means for you to finally confront the one who sacrificed your lives, the one responsible for the Fifth Eclipse. There is time, but it is fleeting. Either way, a choice is presented to you all."

Casca's face seemed to hold a range of emotions from conflicted, to concerned, to… anger even. "And… you said you have no idea when this would take place, only after they were married."

"That is correct. I know that my influence there is minimal, but even so, I have secured that she be watched over and kept from any further conflict from one who holds great respect for what Gaiseric once stood for. One who I met after being bound to this armor and bested in a fight. He will not betray the God Hand or reveal when this wedding will occur, however."

Schierke seemed to have gotten an idea. "Wait. Luna. She has a connection to that other girl living in Falconia, she'd probably know."

"Luna Lovegood?" Sirius asked to make sure he heard that right.

Schierke nodded. "The very same. She was kind enough to us before when we first met her and she seemed eager to help as well. If nothing else, she'd be able to find out when this would happen."

Skull Knight seemed to give a nod of his helmed head. "Find out if you will. In the meantime, I will continue to scout this world. The areas with the strongest connection to magic will likely experience the greatest center of disaster if the layers are merged."

"Hold on a second, Bonehead," Guts said as he reached into his satchel to pull out the behelit he had with him for most of the journey. "You eat these things. Take it."

"Beechi?" Puck asked as Guts attempted to pawn off the egg-shaped trinket.

"You would willingly give this to me, Struggler?" Skull Knight asked as he eyed the bauble in Guts' hand.

"Yeah. Now take it already. You'd be doing us all a favor. You'd even get a snack yourself." He held it out further.

"Very well. I will take it from you. But not at this moment."

His answer obviously shocked Casca. "B-but that thing-,"

"-That is how I was easily able to find you all in the past. The previous behelits I consumed feel a pull when close to another one and was how I was able to hunt down apostles myself. If something changes, I will be able to find your group if it is in your possession. I will return soon and then I will relieve you of it."

His answer didn't seem to please either Guts or Casca, but Puck seemed happy enough for the both of them. "Yay! I get to keep Beechi! His favorite food is cheese."

Sirius spoke up again. "Wait. What about him?" he pointed to the unconscious man lying across the back of Skull Knight's saddle.

"Him?" with one hand, Skull Knight picked up the man and set him down. "You can do as you want with him. His wounds are not fatal and will live. I got all I needed to out of him. Turn him into your authorities if you so choose." He started steering his steed into the forest. "We will meet again soon."

True to his cryptic fashion, Skull Knight left near as silently as he always did. Just barely sparing them all a glance as he continued on, his glowing sockets spoke of interest as he stared at them all before he disappeared from sight.

Sirius watched him go as well before his gaze drifted down to the slumped form of the one wizard Skull Knight had left behind. "No surprise to see Lucius Malfoy, I suppose. Amelia Bones will probably have her own set of questions for him no doubt." He raised his wand and levitated the other wizard into the air. "Once I drop this creep off, I can see if I can find Luna for you all. I'm sure she'd be willing to hear you out on what you would ask of her."

Back inside the castle things were still a cluster as everyone was still recovering from the battle that had taken place a few hours previous. Neville sat among a cluster of people, some he recognized, others he did not. It was more than just a bit strange that while many people sat with their heads hung low at the crushing reality of the situation, the two Creevy brothers seemed almost radiant with excitement.

"We were right there!" Colin exclaimed as he and Dennis rolled back some of the films on their camera. "We were right there when he killed that dragon!" they had printed out a moving picture of that swordsman after he had beheaded the first of the two dragons. Cormac, a burly Gryffindor, had doubted their claim at having seen the feat first-hand.

"He must have been using a magic sword, or even something goblin made," Cormac had concluded. "He wouldn't have been able to otherwise."

"I don't think so," Dennis shook his head in denial. "Look at it here. Goblins wouldn't make a sword that's just a slab of iron."

"You have pictures?" Neville recognized the voice of the youngest Greengrass sibling as she scooted closer to where the two brothers were showing off their prized pictures. Neville saw her sister and Tacey standing off to the side which might explain why Cormac didn't outright tell the girl to leave.

"Yeah! Check it out!" Colin more than willingly offered her a look. He didn't seem to care that they were in different houses, just so long as he got the opportunity to show off what he had taken.

"That looks like the man who was at the hospital wing that one day," Astoria recalled as she watched the moving picture.

"Exactly!" Dennis exclaimed. "It could only be him."

"You should have seen where I was then," the young Slytherin girl said. "Harry Potter was one of the ones who helped my sister and I escape."

"You're joking!" both brothers exclaimed at once. "We knew that he was here in the hall, but Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall said no one could see him. You're not making this up are you?"

Astoria pointed over to Neville. "Ask him, he was there too." Neville really wished she hadn't said that as he felt multiple pairs of eyes were drawn over to him all at once.

"Is that true?" both brothers asked simultaneously once more.

"I... well..."

"I was there too," the dreamy voice of Luna Lovegood saved him from all the attention. "A lot was going on, but Harry Potter was there unless someone was taking a polyjuice potion to look like him." Neville wanted to thank her for coming to the rescue just now. But as questions were starting to be thrown Luna's way, Neville felt a hand tap his shoulder.

"Letting Lovegood take the heat? Not a very Gryffindor move." He recognized the voice easily enough to know who it belonged to.

"She made the choice herself, not really much I could do there," Neville told Tracey.

"I hope that wasn't the attitude you had back during that battle," she told him. "I was there too. You seemed to pull your weight when that giant was bearing down on you before that woman killed it with a sword." Neville didn't want to say it, but he was certain that the sword that woman had was the Sword of Gryffindor. It had come from out of the Sorting Hat and there was no other sword that it could be.

"No, I just... did what I had to do for that. Besides, everyone who was there was pulling their weight as well. We just wanted to make it out of that alive."

"We all wanted to survive," Tracey blatantly pointed out to him. "If survival was just your concern, you could have run. Lots of people ran, I know that for certain."

"I... wouldn't have felt right if I did," Neville admitted. Even if he lacked a lot of Gryffindor traits, running while others needed help just didn't sit right with him. Even to someone as timid as him, running to save oneself was just cowardly.

She just nodded at his answer. "You sure don't sound like you're giving yourself enough credit there. Try to change that."

"Huh?" Neville was confused.

"I'm saying that for someone like you, the shy, quiet type, this was a pretty big step for you. If you wanted to or not, you still stayed. It's odd, but you could benefit to be more of a Gryffindor."

"What about thinking like a Slytherin?" Neville asked. It sounded like she was just going back on her words from before.

She just shrugged. "Only when it benefits you."

Neville was about to think up a retort to counter that but an unusual sight caught his eye as it floated past. Literally floated past. It was the unconscious body of Lucius Malfoy, his long, pale blonde hair hung in his face as the one leading him levitated him over to where Professor McGonagall and Madam Bones were standing. It was a tragic sight for someone who used to hold himself in such high esteem from what his gran usually told him during Wizengamont sessions. Neville even managed to catch a sight of Draco Malfoy from across the hall. Malfoy's already defeated looking face seemed to pale even further as he saw his father being brought before the authorities. And Neville was even disturbed to see that many of Malfoy Sr's fingers were completely missing with his sleeve rolled up for all to see the Dark Mark that was plastered there.

"Mr. Black," Madam Bones addressed as he set Malfoy Sr. down on the floor before them. "What is the meaning of this?"

"A mutually exclusive ally seems to have come across a straggler from the battle," Sirius answered back. "Unless he claims he was under the imperius when he comes to, I don't see how he's going to get out of Azkaban this time."

Madam Bones conjured some ropes around Malfoy Sr's. hands and ankles. "Much later than to my liking, but he will be prosecuted. If he will end up in Azkaban or not is up in the air. Dementors were here last night as well. You-Know-Who must have been recruiting faster than we anticipated."

"It would certainly appear that way," Sirius didn't sound all too sure. "I only saw a few dementors last night, not a whole swarm of them. Seems a bit unlike how he usually operates. You will see that he is treated accordingly?"

"Of course," Madam Bones assured him.

He nodded. "Then excuse me for one moment."

"Will you be heading outside, Sirius?" McGonagall asked. "If you are, Professor Dumbledore asked me to send for a few certain individuals." She sent him a knowing look. "He is being treated in his office with Severus and was asking for them."

"Ah, I see," Sirius said as he acknowledged her look. "Well, I'll be sure to pass the message on through word of mouth then. But first..." he walked over to where Neville was with his group. "Excuse me, I don't mean to butt in, but would I be able to borrow Miss. Lovegood for a moment?"

"A moment is a bit too short, don't you think?" Luna asked him. "I can spare more than just one if that will help." Sirius didn't seem to argue that in the slightest as he led her from the hall. The Creevy brothers seemed put out that their new source for something Harry Potter related was leaving, but their attention quickly went back to talking about the pictures they had taken previous and how they might be able to sell it to one of the papers to have published. Starting today, people all over would be wanting to read about who killed two dragons with a sword and was able to stand toe-to-toe with the darkest wizard of the century.

But not everyone was sharing in the mood of having actually survived. To Draco Malfoy, all it brought was worry.

The sight of seeing his father being levitated into the hall in a bloody and defeated state sent him into a silent crisis. He had to run a hand through his usually slicked-back blonde hair as a means to calm himself down. His father was supposed to be safe. He knew better than to actually get involved. Father had opened up their home to all sorts of lesser blood as a means of establishing headquarters for the Dark Lord. And this was what it lead to?

For as long as Draco had known his father, he assumed that he always knew what it was he was doing. That was one of the lessons he was taught as a pure-blood heir, always appear confident even if you're not. It was always a power move to make others think they could have nothing over you even if they did. But now... Draco just didn't see how his father was going to get out of this.

And that scared him. It scared him far worse than anything that he had seen the night before.

It was bad enough that his cool and composed demeanor had slipped and cracked under pressure, but to be saved by a bunch of people who clearly weren't pure-blood in any sense was... it was... he didn't even know. And then there was Potter showing up out of nowhere performing magic Draco had never even seen before like he was Merlin come again. And then there was that woman being able to pull Godric Gryffindor's sword from the Sorting Hat. Gryffindor had no relatives alive that Draco knew of and certainly no one had come to claim the seat on the Wizengamont so what even was that?

Why was he even giving this so much thought? Was it because... he was grateful in some way?

No, that couldn't be it! He was the Malfoy scion, a proud pure-blood who... who... whose life was falling apart around him.

"When are they getting married?" Luna repeated the question that had been asked.

"Yeah, what exactly does your friend say?" Guts asked as soon as they finished explaining the situation to the girl.

"Welllll," Luna trailed, "she wants me to say to ask nicely first for next time, but she says the wedding is all the queen is really talking about. It's going to be on her birthday."

"And when is that?" Casca asked. She sounded disappointed that she did not already know this. For as long as they had been fighting for Midland during the war, an event like the birthday of the princess should have been common knowledge for them.

"Sonia says it isn't for a few more months now, not until the beginning of the end of summer. I guess for us that would be around August second."

"Just a few days after mine then," Harry said as he reflected on far they had come until now. Guts could understand to an extent. It didn't seem like it had been a few years, but it had. Harry wasn't some little kid who was so unsure of himself anymore. He still probably had his doubts if they would succeed, Guts felt that sometimes too, but he at least knew that they stood a good fighting chance.

"There was something I wanted to ask as well," Luna told them, drawing their attention back on her. "How is Gaiseric?"

"How did...?" Guts began, curious as to how she knew they had just spoken with the Skull Knight and heard his story.

"That little boy," Luna clarified seeing the confusion present with all of them. "It was the name he spoke and I didn't know what else to call him by."

Casca looked down like she was trying to think of something, but not quite sure herself of what it was. "He... he's fine for now. But if Griffith isn't dealt with, he might not be."

"There's still time then," Sirius offered. "What exactly are you all thinking of doing?"

What would they do? The obvious was that they had to finally confront this Neo-Griffith after all this time. Thinking about, he felt his muscles tense in response like he was ready for a fight. But, he knew he wasn't. Not yet, at least. Apostles were one thing, the God Hand, they were at another level. He had Dragonslayer and he had the armor, Harry had his staff and magic along with Schierke and Farnese, and Serpico had his cloak and blade, but would that really be enough?

"We..." Casca began, "we... we can't let him win." She made no mention of how. "After all, he took to get to where he is only to do it again... again with somebody who shows him only loyalty and respect... I don't necessarily know Charlotte well enough to like her, but I don't want him to win."

Sirius didn't seem to know how to respond to that so he looked over at Guts hoping he would offer something to clarify. All he said was, "What she said."

"Pardon," Serpico, who had been unusually quiet until now spoke up. "But we're not going to go about this task now, are we? After that fight last night, another battle would not be in our best interest. Even with the elves magic for healing, we will need time to plan this out. Wouldn't you agree?"

"But we have that Skull Knight guy on our side," Isidro pointed out. "He'd have our backs, and besides, I don't think he would want some demon guy marrying his great-great-great-great-great-however-many-times-great-granddaughter."

"I don't believe he does, but Serpico is right, we can't just rely on our force to do this," Farnese agreed with her attendant.

"I agree as well," Schierke spoke. "If we truly intend for this to be the end fight... we are going to have to prepare like crazy. We'll be going against a small army of apostles, human soldiers, and possibly even more wizards if Voldemort is allied with them. We could experience more of those... dementors, were they called?"

"Yeah, dementors." Sirius shuttered a little at the mention. "Nasty buggers were all over Azkaban. They seemed to enjoy torturing me most since I knew I was innocent."

Harry also recalled the chilling feeling that Guts and the others present all experienced the battle prior. The only difference being he could actually see what it was that was attacking them. "Yeah, the fire spell I shot at them barely slowed them down at all; it was like they weren't even affected."

"Not surprising," Sirius said. "Fiendfyre might have worked on them, but the only real spell to counter a dementor is the Patronus charm. Dumbledore used it last night."

"Why didn't you use that, Harry?" Isidro asked, curious as to why he did not.

"I don't know how," Harry admitted sounding slightly ashamed at himself.

"What?!" both Isidro and Puck exclaimed. "Schierke, you studied with him, do you know that spell?"

Schierke fiddled with her staff, not looking either in the eye. "I-,"

"-She doesn't have to answer that!" Ivalera came to her defense. "Neither of you study magic so you have no right to question her about it." She added an indignant hmph for safe measure. Until Farnese asked.

"Teacher, do you know the spell?"

"Well... dementors don't exist in Midland so there was never really a reason to know it." She sounded as embarrassed as she looked.

Sirius had the nerve to lightly chuckle. "I have an idea about that, but for now, I was also asked to tell you all that Dumbledore would like a moment to speak with you all. He's up in his office, just so you know."

Despite what Guts might think of the old man, he still had the resolve to help them out when they needed it, especially with those dementors last night. "Does that mean me as well?" Luna asked.

"No," Sirius told her. "You can go back with the others or even to your common room. You weren't hurt last night, were you?" she shook her head, her radish earrings swayed with her head. "That's what I thought."

With Luna on her way, Sirius led them back the path they had first taken when they had arrived here from their journey. Guts noticed the paintings seemed less talkative than they had previously and some were even missing from their frames completely. He didn't know how fast word of battle spread among paintings, but if they could move, it should be pretty fast. They came to a statue of a gargoyle that stepped aside once Sirius said the name of some kind of weird food that made Guts question what was going through that old man's head.

He would hear the headmaster out on what he had to say, of course, but his thoughts kept going back to what Skull Knight had told them previously. It probably wouldn't be as important as that, but the old man was still owed something for what he had done. When they entered his office, they were met with quite the sight.

While Dumbledore was clearly old, he looked like a withering corpse at this point. He looked to have more wrinkles and lines around his face and eyes. His silvery hair seemed totally white by now. But what was most startling was his hand and forearm. It was completely black and shriveled to the point it looked like it would just crumble and turn into dust. The one man with greasy hair was present as well, rubbing some salve on Dumbledore's arm.

"Thank you for the ointment, Severus, I am truly grateful."

Snape eyed them with caution. "I advised you to not receive visitors at this time," he spoke to the headmaster.

"I am aware of that, as I am aware of how serious my condition is. I thought this visit was needed." Dumbledore made a move to rise but found himself unable to do so. "Forgive me, I am an old man."

"How bad is it, Professor?" Sirius asked for all wondering.

"Quite bad, I must admit," Dumbledore tried to flex his blackened fingers but found himself barely able to get them to twitch. "The curse Voldemort struck me with was a very dark spell indeed. Severus, with his knowledge of dark spells, has managed to contain the curse to my hand and forearm for the time being."

"Well that's good, isn't it?" Puck asked. "I can lend some dust too if it'll help."

"That would be rather pointless," Snape answered the blue elf. "The curse is contained, but it will spread soon. It is more potent than just touching an object with this curse on it, this was full contact."

"Hold on a second Snivelles," Sirius cut in, "are you trying to say that Dumbledore is-?"

"-I have about four weeks before the curse reaches my heart," Dumbledore said in a voice that was neither depressed or solemn. Rather, he sounded, accepting of that fact.

"Four weeks?" Guts asked as he eyed the blackened hand again. Already Guts could feel another of his senses beginning to dull from his last usage of the Berserker Armor. His nose felt oddly stuffed like his nostrils were filled with water. He still appeared fine on the outside, but Dumbledore looked as bad as he felt at the moment.

"That is the diagnostic Severus has given me, yes." Dumbledore nodded.

The potions master began to pack up his supplies. "I have done what I can for it at the moment but I can promise nothing for certain. You may end up another casualty from this mess." His dark eyes wandered over to Harry. "Many things, including your injury, could have possibly been prevented."

He wasn't exactly being subtle about his gaze and Guts, as well as Schierke were about to retort to that but Casca seemed to have beaten them to it. "And what exactly would that be?" she questioned the wizard.

Snape regarded her for a second. "That is unclear. All I know is why the Dark Lord chose to attack and who he sought while doing so. I cannot say that Potter being there might have had a different role to play, but people have died regardless."

Schierke looked close to fuming as well. "So what gives you the right to say-,"

"-But some of my Slytherin's are alive because of his actions," Snape continued as he stared at Harry, or to be more precise, his eyes. "Those are the casualties I would have been most displeased to see." He tore his gaze away and made for the exit. "I'll be taking my leave then, Headmaster." His robes billowed behind him as he left.

"What the hell was that?" Isidro asked after he had left.

"I believe that is the closest we will ever get to Snivelles saying he's grateful," Sirius suggested. "Don't quote me on that though."

"That's grateful?"Casca asked as she glared at where he had left.

"Severus can often be displeasing, but I would not have him working here if I didn't trust him," Dumbledore defended his employee. "By the way, Miss, could you perhaps bring that sword over here for a moment?"

"This?" Casca asked as she held up the blade and set it down at his desk.

Dumbledore examined it through his half-moon glasses. "Ah! It is as I thought. This is the Sword of Godric Gryffindor. May I ask how you came about this?"

"I... pulled it from a hat," Casca sounded embarrassed to give that as an explanation.

"The Sorting Hat," Dumbledore informed. "Curious. Usually, it would only be available to a Gryffindor, but, if it sensed enough courage, it might have been made possible. It is not every day a school relic is called to action."

"But it's her's now, isn't it?" Farnese suddenly asked. "You said it chose her."

"We have others aboard the ship," Casca said.

"No, I believe she has a point," Dumbledore agreed with Farnese. "While the sword is not mine, per say, it does belong to the school and as headmaster, I have no use of it." He slid it back to her. "Perhaps you can make better use of it." Casca reached out and accepted the blade, almost like she was properly getting a feeling for it. She put it in the scabbard at her side. It was almost a perfect fit from what Guts could see. "And, might I ask about your sword as well?"

"What about it?" Guts asked back. "You don't plan on lifting it, do you? You might end up breaking your hand or throwing your back out."

"Nothing of that sort," Dumbledore assured him. "But you did use that sword to kill a dementor."

"That invisible thing, what of it?"

"Dementors, while they do have a weakness, usually only die of starvation. If they have no human host to feed off of, they starve as any other creature would. No one has ever managed to kill one with a sword before. I was just curious as to the effect it might have had on your blade. I can theorize, but even my knowledge is limited on that topic."

Guts thought about it. Dragonslayer seemed to take in what made it stronger, an ability gained from killing so many apostles on his quest for revenge. He made ready to comply and set his sword down on the desk when a knock came at the door, drawing all of their attention that way.

"Who is it?" Dumbledore asked.

"Madam Bones and your deputy," a voice spoke.

"Enter," Dumbledore gave them permission to come inside.

Once the two witches stepped inside, Madam Bones gave a sigh at seeing them all present. "I was hoping that you would be alone, Dumbledore."

"What is the matter?" the headmaster asked.

"They weren't far behind us and we hoped that we could beat them here," Bones added. She looked at all of them again. "I can tell this isn't going to go over well now."

Before Dumbledore could ask what she meant by that, the door opened again without so much as a knock beforehand. Standing there was a man with a lime-green hat that he twirled with his fingers and a short woman dressed in so much pink he wanted to vomit. He knew exactly who she was. She gave a smile so fake that it could curdle cheese.

"Dumbledore, we-," the man with the hat paused at seeing all in attendance. He didn't appear to know what to say until his eyes landed on one person in particular. "Well, it seems we can at an opportune moment to discuss a few things."

"Irvine, if someone wanted you to kill someone, would you do it?" Rosine asked the archer apostle as she sat in the branch of a tree while Irvine fiddled with his bow below.

"Was it the Hawk of Light who would ask such a thing?" Irvine asked back, not sure what brought about this question. He was more focused on what he knew to be a deer in the area. They were outside of Falconia near one of the giant legs of the World Tree. The otherworldly properties of the tree seemed to attract all sorts of natural game.

"No," Rosine admitted. "But they wanted it done on the Hawk's behalf."

"Death is a part of life," Irvine told her as he examined an arrow. "Worms eat the dirt, birds eat the worms, and then cats eat the birds. They die eventually and they feed the worms. It is a circle."

"Gee, you sound boring sometimes, Irvine." Rosine swung her legs about.

"Not all life is full of excitement," Irvine told the girl. "But we are apostles, our lives are but ordinary. Who was it that you were asked to kill?"

"Just some nobody blacksmith boy," Rosine didn't bother to drop a name. "He and a few others were flying out of the city-,"

"-That doesn't sound like something a nobody would do," Irvine interrupted her.

She pouted like a child. "Can I finish?" he made no further comment. "They were flying out and I chased after. When I went to swoop down and impale him, I saw he had a little girl with him. She... looked a lot like me when I was a human."

"And you let them go?" Irvine filled in the rest.

"Are you going to rat me out?" Rosine asked.

"Sssh!" Irvine urged as a deer came into sight near one of the trees. It lightly sniffed at the fruit from a low branch and Irvine lined up his shot. Wheeee! The arrow soared through the air and... hit an apple from the tree. The action was enough to spook the deer as it scampered away.

"You didn't shoot it," Rosine noted as Irvine went to pick up the apple.

"Food was the goal and I found an alternative," Irvine cut it in half and tossed one up to her. "Sometimes, an innocent can be spared. You made your choice, and I have made mine as well."

"You know, Irvine, you really don't seem the apostle type."

"Hm. I suppose. The golden rule is to do as you please. I may still serve the Hawk, but we are allowed to hold our own looks on this world." Irvine's pale gaze drifted to where the giant leg of the World Tree touched the ground outside the city.

"What is it?" Rosine asked, her senses already picking up on a disturbance as well.

"It would appear that we have guests arriving from an astral road of sorts," Irvine said as he packed up his bow and arrows. "Let us go and greet these newcomers."

"Thank you for walking with me, Anna," Charlotte said to her handmaiden as they walked the halls of the upper portion of Falconia's palace.

"It is no trouble, my Queen, but I couldn't help but feel you felt as if you were going to be attacked all of a sudden," the other girl replied. "Surely you don't feel threatened in your own city palace?"

"Oh no," Charlotte assured her servant and friend, "I just... wanted company is all." She hadn't the heart to tell Anna that her suspicion was right. Lately, more than ever, Charlotte felt as if a pair of eyes were following her wherever she went. Thankfully, she felt safe while in her bed at night, but when she would walk around, she found herself looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was there.

She never saw anyone, of course, but that did not quell the suspicion she felt. Most of that feeling was gone while she was around Griffith, but he was so busy most of the time that any chance to be with him was one to be cherished. It was also the meaning of her trip now. She simply wanted to go over seating arrangements for the wedding as Griffith said he cared not if it was a public or private affair, whatever she wanted. There weren't that many nobles left after the war, and Griffith already made the palace available to the common folk so she wasn't opposed to it being a public affair. All those eyes on her as she walked down the aisle would make anyone nervous, but if she had Minister Foss or even Sir Laban walk her down to formally give her away to Griffith, it could be more bearable.

And she felt those eyes on her again.

A quick turn of her head showed half a dozen side corridors that could hide an individual behind any corner. "Charlotte?" Anna asked, concerned.

"Nothing, I just thought... no, it was nothing. Come, let us go find Griffith."

It was a simple desire for her to have, but one take was sidetracked by a rather indignant yell from around one of the corners to their right. "What is he doing here?!"

"Oh, dear, whatever is the matter over there?"

Charlotte recognized the voice. "That sounds like the one medium girl, Sonia."

"Oh bother," Anna rubbed at her temple. "Is she arguing with young Mule Wolflame again? They're worse than an old married couple. But I'm sure you and Lord Griffith will be a perfect couple, my Queen." Anna quickly added that last part for her own sake.

"If it is, I might be able to put a stop to it," Charlotte offered. "Mule is as loyal as they come, he will not argue if I ask him to." They followed in the direction the outraged voice had come from, failing to take notice of the other pair of feet following from behind.

They stood in a hall leading out to one of the balconies overlooking the city and found three individuals present. One was the usually quiet and reserved Sir Irvine, the second was indeed the medium Sonia who looked far more indignant than Charlotte had ever seen her especially since Sonia was usually carefree and relaxed. The third individual was one Charlotte had not seen for quite some time and hoped she wouldn't run into any time soon.

It was that one lord from an island up north, the one who had introduced himself with a name that seemed made-up. Lord... Volmorlo? Voldemort? Was that it? Charlotte had assumed he and his escort were staying in a different part of the city, hence why she had not seen them since that one woman had called her that one name. But unlike last time, he was alone, alone and far from how he had appeared before.

His handsome features seemed worn and bruised. His dark hair was a mess and he now sported a nasty scar above his right eye. But despite his disheveled appearance, Sonia appeared defiant as she stared up at him.

"Irvine, why would you bring him here?" Sonia demanded of the archer captain. "Because of him, my friend almost got crushed by a giant!"

A giant? Charlotte wondered. They only existed outside of the city, what was a lord doing out there, and how did Sonia's friend fit in with that? It made no sense.

"What are you talking about, girl? You've no right to demand information from a better," the lord sneered down at her.

"You do not want to instigate a fight," Irvine stood next to Sonia, his pale eyes peered from the rim of his hat. "You remember what happened the last time your people tried."

"I am not my people," the lord sneered further, only furthering in distorting his features. "I need to speak with him, now if you would move the brat out of the way, there will be no need for conflict."

Charlotte saw his hand reach inside his robe, perhaps to pull out a dagger of some kind. No, no, no, no! Why was this happening? She didn't want to see this, but fear had taken over and she found her legs rooted to the spot. "E-excuse..." her mouth moved to get their attention, but why? What could she do when it was clear this man and the people who followed him did not respect her in the slightest?

And she felt something brush alongside one of her brown locks. Her blue eyes widened as she had to crane her neck up to see a pair of red, cat-like eyes staring down at her. Had he... had he been following all this time?

"Even from a line of warriors, challenging an opponent you know nothing about is foolish. Run, that is what you are good for."

But Charlotte was too stricken with fear to move a muscle as Zodd stalked past to where the three of them were gathered.

His eyes landed on Voldemort. "You have a scar now."

"It is very apparent. And it won't heal."

"You were cut by the blade of the Black Swordsman," Zodd inferred. "I doubt that it will heal. I did warn you not to underestimate him. But now, you almost resemble that boy you are so interested in with that scar."

"That is not your concern," Voldemort hissed out.

"It is not," Zodd agreed. "But you being here is. I would have thought that the beating I gave your followers would have been enough, but if you truly seek to start a fight here," his face was a toothy grin, "then you will need not worry about any prophecy; I will crush you myself."

Both of their eyes locked and neither seemed willing to back an inch until a familiar voice came calling out that filled Charlotte with a breath of relief. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Griffith!" Sonia cheered as Griffith came walking in from an adjacent corridor.

"I brought him back here at his request," Irvine informed. "He wanted urgently to speak with you."

"Well tough luck!" Sonia exclaimed, full of confidence. "Now that Griffith is here, you're gonna get it!"

"Irvine," Griffith addressed the archer, "please take Sonia up to the garden."

Sonia's face instantly fell. "Huh?! B-but, Griffith, he... my friend was in danger because of him!"

"We can discuss that later, Sonia, but for now, please go with Irvine."

"B-but..." Sonia continued to say as Irvine picked her up and carried her to the garden.

"As for you," Griffith looked at the other lord, "follow me, we can discuss the meaning of you being here privately." Voldemort's scowl lessened, but he followed all the same.

All that was left was Zodd and the two ladies watching from the corner of the corridor. Zodd's red gaze found Charlotte's blue one. "You did not run?"

It was probably because of fear, but Charlotte had remained right where she was, vaguely aware of Anna tugging on her arm to try and pull her away. She slowly shook her head. Zodd "hmmed" at her weak answer as he stalked off soon after leaving Charlotte asking herself just what in the world was going on?

A/N: Bit of a short chapter, but the last one was the longest to date and I was a bit burned out. Anyway, I hope this still furthers the story along. Thank you for reading


	60. Chapter 60

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

"I was told that Potter would come to me. You gave me that express assurance that he would come to me and our destiny would be decided." Voldemort found it hard to reign in the intense anger he felt pulsating throughout his body at the moment. He knew that he was dead if he actually decided to act on it. "He had returned to Hogwarts, he was there."

"And you, in turn, sought him out?" the voice of the God Hand in disguise was as smooth as ever. He left no trace that he was at all surprised by this.

Of course, I did. Potter was within my grasp! Is what he wanted to say - wanted to yell in fact, but he didn't. He maintained his composure with a mask of dissatisfaction still in place. "Yes, I did. I was under the impression that Potter had returned to our world, the one he has been away from for far too long. Was that not what you were referring to when you told me to be patient?" he would love to see how the God Hand would try and spin this. But he deserved an answer - he needed an answer. It was his destiny to have done battle with Potter, not that Swordsman.

Voldemort could still picture the man's face, a thing he had never done for any other muggle he had encountered as his time as Dark Lord. He never had any need before to ever consider someone without magical talent a potential threat to him. Yet he bore the scar above his right eye all the same from where that massive blade had made contact with his flesh. It was not so different than the one that Zodd creature had above his left eye; the thought of them being similar already left a sour spot in Voldemort's mind, but the real kicker was the fact that he had in fact been bested in front of a public crowd.

If it had been Potter he had faced, he might have actually taken the loss with a hint of dignity. Potter had bested him when he was but an infant and they were fated to do battle. But to a man like that... Guts had been his name. Whoever his mother was must have been a dumb whore to name him that. He could at least hope that those who witnessed it believed the man to have a magic sword; it would make the situation more bearable if those sheep believed that.

But even so, he now carried a scar of his own from that fight. A scar that refused to heal even with his new powers gifted to him as an apostle. Bellatrix was much the same from the wound she had sustained on her side from the battle. Her husband and brother had both been cleaved in half from that blade and she was just barely clinging to life. Voldemort had left her back at Malfoy Manor and instructed the house elf under a death threat to seal her wound as best he could. Bellatrix had failed him, sure, but she was still his most loyal follower. She would ensure that any who doubted his power would stay loyal.

The God Hand spoke again. "Causality works its power constantly. You were told that Potter would come to you, and he shall. Your mistake has cost you, but you still have your life. There is still time for the one you seek to fall into your clutches. Wouldn't you agree?"

He acts as if he knows everything. And maybe he did. It was another checkmark on the things Voldemort couldn't stand about this being. He too desired to know the full prophecy concerning him and Potter, but that was knowledge for himself. He had the right to know it, no one else. And here he sat across from a God Hand member who seemed to hold an answer for everything, even if it pertained to him as well.

"My life?" Voldemort repeated. "My life and my destiny both lie back in my world." For now, at least. "I have suffered an utter humiliation and most of my forces are in tatters. The giants whose allegiance I won are all but extinct now and I now carry a scar from a muggle of all people." His voice grew low and cold with every word spoken but he never yelled. "Everything I worked for, all the years of perfecting and studying forbidden magic to make a name for myself, that is on the brink of collapse."

"Better a scar on your head than missing a head on your neck," the God Hand spoke. How kind of him to point that out, he would have never guessed that for himself. "The one who gave it to you, he was missing an eye and an arm wasn't he." Voldemort knew it wasn't a question.

"Yes. You're one lackey already warned me about him."

"Then perhaps you should have heeded that advice," the one who called himself Griffith said. "He can be a troublesome one for certain. Many apostles have already fallen victim to his blade from what we heard. You should consider yourself quite fortunate."

"You admire the man?" Voldemort knew it would be the biggest insult if he said yes to that.

"He has a fine skill, but he is a nuisance. One that can perhaps be placated with the right incentive, but it is wise to avoid him."

Placate? Avoid him? Did a God Hand perhaps fear this man? It was unlikely, but it was a thought. "Had I known that he would be-,"

"-I thought you said you were warned of him prior to your attack," he was interrupted.

"I thought it to be an exaggeration," Voldemort nearly hissed out. "Muggles have always been an easy obstacle for magic to overcome." The corpses were always fresh proof of that.

"Such hubris." Such condescension. "Your magic is powerful, no doubt about that, but you faced someone who leaps from the stream of causality like a fish swimming upstream. That life is a struggle."

Voldemort kept silent for now. This all sounded far too... loose for his liking. The sheer sight of seeing the God Hand act like this was no big deal was already close to setting him off the edge. "I do not take solace in that thought," Voldemort finally spoke. "The idea that an ordinary mundane man can stand in the way of what is meant to be my fate is unbelievable."

"You doubt what I'm telling you?" his voice was even, but Voldemort could sense the slight behind those words. He had used that many a time when he was still at Hogwarts shortly before he discovered the Chamber of Secrets.

"I doubt the notion that something as powerful as fate can be overcome by just going against what is meant to be."

I do not like that notion either," the God Hand told him. "But do you distrust the results of the battle? If you had been victorious and the prophecy fulfilled, you would not be here right now." Those blue eyes seemed to turn red for a split second before staying their icy color. "And I trust you have not just come here to inform me of your failure."

Rub it in, go ahead. You all but said causality can't always be relied upon. If that's true, are you really as powerful as you claim? "No, it is not. As I am now, this body is inadequate. I need to be stronger if I am to kill that wretched swordsman before getting to Potter."

"Have you not listened?" he sounded almost bored. "You saw the result of acting too quickly and where it brought you. Do you wish to make the same mistake again?"

"I will wait," Voldemort told him. "I am not a fool that would go back charging when there are still too many unknown factors at play." That swordsman, he hadn't been alone. Potter surely had others following him as well. And if they were half as formidable as the swordsman had been, he needed more power. "The other members, where are they?" Voldemort asked. "I wish to speak to them as well."

Those blue eyes studied him without moving in their sockets. "They have not been reincarnated in this world as I have. Their forms are still that of their true selves. But with the tree in place, this realm is open to them. They are here on the lowest floor of the palace. Unless you have a behelit to make a sacrifice with, I doubt that they will heed whatever request you have."

"We shall see," Voldemort replied, his red eyes narrowing ever so slightly as a sign of his displeasure.

Almost sighing, the God Hand rose from his seat and took a step back. He placed the palm of his hand flat upon the ground. He flipped his hand so that his palm now faced the ceiling and slowly began to move it up. As he did, it was like the shadows on the floor were rising along with his arm, the once light-filled room now becoming plagued in a shadowy abyss. The temperature seemed to have dropped a few degrees as well, a tell-tale sign that a grand presence was getting ready to make an appearance. Sure enough, four distinct shadowy shapes had begun to take form on the walls surrounding them. As for Griffith, his white armor began to grow darker. His flowing, white hair was covered by a curved helm.

Anna had insisted that she not dwell on it. She told her that spending the day in the gardens planning out her wedding would be better. She was always in good health when she was thinking of Griffith. And she was thinking of Griffith; thinking about he had gone off alone with that visiting lord who was clearly less than pleased about something. From how his entourage had acted when he first arrived, she could only scarcely imagine what their lord would do when he was feeling angry.

But what was there to be angry about? Falconia was safe. They were all safe. Griffith saw to their protection and his band of inhumans were stronger than any army ever assembled before. She didn't find them comforting all the time, but Sir Locus, Grunbeld, and even Irvine had proven to be respectable. So why? What was there to be unhappy about?

She knew that she shouldn't worry. She especially had a lot to look forward to and be happy about with her wedding in a few months time and all. It was really the only thing that had been at the forefront of her mind since the war ended, and really, it was all she could ever hope for. This situation now, it served as an almost cruel reminder that not everyone was happy, not for her and most certainly not for Griffith.

It pained her to think about it like that. Things could and should always be nice. Whatever this was about, she knew Griffith would be able to handle it. And it also begged the question of why she was even standing outside his solar if she knew Griffith could handle it. She supposed that she could amount it to just wanting to be near him through thick and thin. It would be a question asked during their wedding by the High Pontiff and she would take those words to heart. She was queen as well; if someone had an issue, she did have a responsibility to deal with it alongside Griffith. She would have preferred the issue to be a trivial matter such as a property or legal dispute as opposed to... well, whatever it was that had this visiting lord so distraught.

Her hand reached out to knock on the door of Griffith's solar and she felt cold.

It was much more than a passing breeze from an open window and too sudden for it to have been a draft. She felt that if she were to exhale, she would be able to see her own breath cling to the air. Whatever it was, it swept over her entire body and it felt like it kept her from moving. Even her hand seemed immobile from just reaching the short distance to tap on the door.

She wondered if she looked the part of a statue right now with how still her body was. Probably. And it was embarrassing. Here she was going to stand faithfully beside Griffith, yet she couldn't even muster the strength to move. Even in her current state, she felt her heart beating rapidly against her ribcage. What if Griffith was in trouble right now? What if this cold was a premonition of some kind? That was an even worse thought.

The memories she had with Griffith, the ones that had cherished since he disappeared, she thought of them; wishing, hoping that it would give her a feeling of warmth to move. Slowly, her hand drew closer to making contact with the door, her senses coming back to her. And from the other side, she thought she heard a voice that belonged to neither Griffith nor the lord. It was... different but held some familial feeling to it that sent a shiver along her spine.

"Do you plan to intrude on him?"

That voice. She knew that voice that spoke from behind her.

Why? Why? Why? Why did he have to be here? The surge of warmth she had felt previous from her bout of courage was all but gone now. She was back to being scared stiff like a canary before a cat. She dared not turn around now, she felt that if she did she would be met with those terrifying eyes staring into her own.

"I... wish to see him." She managed to say that without much of a hesitation. She knew that he would only speak harsh words if she sounded weaker than she actually was.

"Do you know if he wishes to see you?" he asked. "You would be unwanted. This is not a matter that concerns you."

"Griffith is my... betrothed. It does concern me." She worried that it sounded more aggressive than she meant. The last thing she wanted was to provoke the beast of a man behind her. "What does that lord want?"

"That is not my concern either." Why had she even asked that? "His business here is greater than you or I. Leave it be."

Griffith was unchallenged, only a fool would deny that. But still... "I just want-,"

"-What you want is irrelevant." She flinched involuntarily. "Desire will only take a person so far. The will to act on it is a matter all its own. So what will you do? Will you follow through, or fall victim to your own cowardice?"

Why had he asked her that? She had been willing just moments ago to actually reach out until he showed up and frightened her so. What was worse was that she could feel those awful eyes on her as she just stood there. Cat-like eyes staring at her, judging her, waiting to see what it is she would do. As scared as she was by being watched, her hand reached out again, the hope of seeing Griffith giving her what she needed.

A single knuckle had barely touched the surface before she withdrew her hand in a panic. It was as if something had arced along her arm, forcing her to pull back. She thought she had seen something - a flash across her mind of someone, but it was gone before she could dwell on it. The eyes were still on her.

"You would do it?" he sounded less menacing than he had previously. "Whose strength did you draw from, his, or your own?"

"...I... wanted his to use mine." Griffith was stronger than anyone she had met. If she could not rely on hers through his own when need be, how could she call herself his queen once they were wed? She hoped that her answer would be enough to satisfy his question.

There was a rumble from his throat that might have been a chuckle if she wanted to interpret it as such. "Turn around, girl."

Her eye darted to the corner of her eye to see that she was indeed alone in the hall with the beastly warrior. She hated that they were alone. The fact that she could never know what was going through the other's head frightened her and she truly did feel like she was a bird before a fierce cat. It would have been easier to reach out and knock for Griffith to come to her rescue, but somehow that notion had left her head. The feeling from just touching that door scared her worse than facing the hulking figure behind her.

He leered over her, having to bend forward until they were on eye-level and red met with blue. "You cry."

She hadn't even been aware of the droplet running down her face until it was mentioned. She always felt safer when Griffith was near and now when he was so close, she hadn't the strength to actually open a single door. He would be ashamed if he saw her and she was thankful that Griffith was not here at the moment. No doubt she would face belittlement from the beast in human flesh. Her shame turned to horror as she saw him pull his sword from its scabbard. He actually meant to kill her. Before she knew it, she would be cleaved in half before she could even scream for help.

But he did not cut her. He held the blade with the flat side facing her, allowing her to see her own reflection in the metal. "What do you see?" His eyes were unblinking, demanding an answer.

"I see... myself." Her blue eyes were lined red as tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, but she looked the same as she always did. "I just see... myself."

"And you cry. Why?" his voice was not at all caring or comforting, but he expected an answer all the same.

"Because... I-I could not do... I could not do something simple to see Griffith."

"You did do it." His words shocked her. "You acted on your desire, but it did not matter. You will not go in because that is beyond you - beyond anyone here. And yet you cry. Tell me, what do you know of your ancestors?"

What did that have to do with anything? "I... know a rumor, but it is just a rumor. My family came from King Gaiseric's line."

"And what would he, an unrivaled warrior, think if he were to see you sniveling like a newborn?"

Must he be so blunt? "He... would be disappointed. But I am no Gaiseric."

"He would be, as am I. In all my years of existing, in all the wars that have broken out, I have only sided with your family once. A king with no taste for battle and yet he boasted of being descended from Gaiseric. He was a disappointment as well. And you are no Gaiseric."

"Why...?" She choked out. "Why tell me this? What does this have to do with Griffith?"

"Not a thing," he answered. "But I saw you act on your strength, that, from someone like you, deserves a merit." He put his sword away, much to her relief. "If your desire ever clashes with your source of strength, which one will you act on? Will you be a fool and trust where strength derives from like the petty king, or will you trust what you know as Gaiseric would have done?"

"I... cannot say I know what Gaiseric would do. He was... far before my time."

He stared at her. "Yet his strength carries on."

With that, he left her there as he went back to stalk about his usual activities. Her head swimming with all that she had just been told. A glance back at the door to Griffith's solar showed that it was still closed. She could still reach out and tell Griffith of what just transpired. And that cold, hostile feeling would return as well; the one that kept her away. Regret clenched at her heart as she instead walked away from the door that housed her beloved on the other side.

The potions master could feel a headache coming on after he had been dismissed from the headmaster's office. Dumbledore's injury could only be prolonged shortly before the rest of his body succumbed to the effect of the curse he had been struck with. While Snape might have disagreed with many decisions made by the headmaster in the past, the old wizard still did what he could to hold the wizarding community together as a whole.

Minister Fudge and his toad-spawn of a secretary certainly weren't going to be making things any less easier for the already strained headmaster. He had spotted the two Ministry bureaucrats heading to Dumbledore's office as he made his way back down to the great hall. It was still a bustling hub of activity. Madam Pomfrey no doubt got to all the people who needed attention but was probably keeping them there due to her own concerned nature. He would rather his Slytherin's return to their common room and be away from all this commotion, but he knew the matron would never permit it. A glance in one direction showed the Longbottom boy quietly discussing things with one of his Slytherin's and he found it hard to not roll his eyes. Leave it to a Gryffindor to try and show off after a battle.

But many others aside from the house of lions had participated in that fight. He himself risked his own safety as a double agent by aiding the students and staff of Hogwarts. There was no going back to the Dark Lord now and beg for forgiveness that would never come. No, he had thrown in his lot and would now have to face the consequences of it. The Dark Lord had never really had his true service anyway. The act of killing Lily was all the proof Snape needed to know that he would never make good on any word he gave.

Yes, he was, more or less, on the losing side of things now. He had made his choice and he would now be lumped in with the likes of Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, the rest of the staff, that vagabond swordsman, and, of course, Potter. The very son of the man who had been his main tormentor while at school. It was because of James Potter that he felt so humiliated while attending school. James Potter had helped drive that wedge between him and Lily and inadvertently push him towards the likes of the Death Eaters. It had been James Potter who had won Lily's heart. James Potter who he actually owed his life to for saving him that year from a werewolf Lupin. And that just made him hate it even more.

When he first saw the boy, it was like he was staring right back into the past without the use of a pensieve. He looked just like his father had while they were at school here. The same messy hair, the same lithe build, their voices sounded alike, and then the eyes. The eyes were the only thing that came from Lily that he could see but it was not enough to overshadow everything else. Snape had tried thinking back to the night he had gone with Dumbledore and McGonagall to investigate how the boy had suddenly vanished from his aunt's house and the living arrangements that had been assigned to him, a cupboard under the stairs. He never said anything, but he had felt a pang of sympathy for what Lily's son had been subjected to from her own blood no less. So he was sorely disappointed when he saw Potter act and speak in ways that would have made James Potter proud.

Snape's hopes had turned to disappointment. Potter was like his father before him. Seeing those memories and his actions on the battlefield only cemented that belief. And even still, because of Potter some of his Slytherins had been spared. That alone was worth merit. Not that he would ever say it. It would be like being rescued by James Potter all over again.

Why was he even thinking about Potter now?

"Professor." A familiar voice spoke as it approached him.

Snape turned around to face one of his pupils. "Yes," he drawled a bit. "What is it, Mr. Malfoy?"

The Malfoy scion looked the exact opposite of how he would normally carry himself. His shoulders were slouched, his pale blonde hair was disheveled, and he wasn't even making eye contact with his head of house. He appeared utterly defeated and it was no question as to why. Snape spotted Lucius Malfoy bound and watched over by two Aurors. Not that they needed to do much; Lucius was missing most of his wand hand.

"He lost the battle." Draco's voice sounded hollow.

"Yes, he did. That is quite evident." It wasn't like him to phrase his words in such a direct manner. He did so when making insults, but never when just having a conversation.

"And he's wounded. He retreated, probably back to my family manor."

"Perhaps," although it was logical. "Keep your voice down."

"Why?" Draco asked. "It's over, isn't it? He lost, he turned on us too. And my mother... she's still at the manor. I was saved by some... I don't even know her name. Who is it that's going to save my mother then?"

Draco finally looked up at him and Snape saw something he never would have expected from the fourth-year Slytherin; concern for someone other than himself. He had felt it for Lily back then as well and he knew instantly what the Malfoy boy planned to do.

The office of the headmaster had become increasingly more crowded with the inclusion of not only Harry, Guts, and their companions, Sirius Black, the deputy headmistress, and Madam Bones, but now with the man with a lime green bowler hat and a woman who looked to resemble a toad wither her plump stature and wide, thin smile that made her look like she was about to shoot her tongue out and catch a fly. And Harry felt the fly, in this case, was him.

"Minister Fudge," Madam Bones addressed the bowler hat man, "this is hardly the time or place to-,"

"-You are addressing your superior, Amelia," the toad looking woman spoke with a voice like sour honey. "It is not your place to tell the Minister where his restrictions lie." She followed that up a giggle that gave him goosebumps.

"Ease yourself, Dolores," the Minister politely ordered the short woman. "And, Amelia, you really are not about to stop me from offering a much-needed exchange of gratitude toward young Mr. Potter here, are you?" It didn't seem like the Minister was willing to listen to whatever Madam Bones would have said anyway as he continued on with a pleasant smile on his face. "Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Potter." Fudge made a move to extend his hand. At the same time, Guts was moving to intercept and Dumbledore managed to stand from his desk, albeit with much difficulty.

"Minister Fudge, Secretary Umbridge," Dumbledore's voice carried a strength that his body lacked. "You said we have much to discuss, I will gladly answer whatever questions you may have."

Fudge spared a look over to Dumbledore, taking notice of how weak the other wizard appeared to be. "Well, I'm sure that you would, Dumbledore, but would it not be more fitting if you were to get some rest first? Your actions during the battle would take a toll on any wizard. A battle we were lucky to survive." He was back to looking at Harry now, but also noticing how close Guts was too. "I imagine the victory would not have been possible had you not been there, Mr. Potter."

Although Fudge was smiling and trying to be polite, Harry couldn't help but feel put off by the sickly sweet smile from the short woman standing behind the Minister. It was like she was waiting for him to say something she could use to her advantage. "You... really don't have to thank me," Harry finally said.

Fudge still smiled and shook his head. "So modest. An admirable trait of any."

"We are all thankful for the efforts put forth by Mr. Potter an company," McGonagall suddenly said. "However, Professor Dumbledore would like a moment of private if you don't mind." Harry thought he saw the stern-faced witch give him a knowing look from the corner of her narrowed eyes.

"If that is the case," the short woman spoke and her voice was as sickly as her smile, "then why such a large crowd? Surely you don't expect such an excuse to fly, Professor McGonagall?" she followed that up with a girlish giggle that made Harry feel like he was listening to nails on a chalkboard.

From his side, Sirius decided to step in. "It was private until the four of you showed up. Maybe you missed the sign that was posted outside, Madam Umbridge, it was in a high position to be seen so close to the ground."

"Now, now," Fudge said with a nervous smile as he stopped twirling his hat to pat the air. "Come now, Sirius, no need to be so harsh with your words. we bear no ill will at all. You-Know-Who is the real menace, wouldn't you agree? Why we only came by to check on the state of Professor Dumbledore, we heard he had been heavily wounded. We had no way of knowing that young Mr. P-,"

"-Just what in the hell do you want already," Guts seemed to have gotten tired of the talking. "You're clearly not here for the old-timer, so what do you want?"

Fudge took in the swordsman's appearance and just how much taller he was than the Minister. "What in... I don't see how that concerns..."

"Hem-hem!" Umbridge cleared her throat in the girliest way possible. Even Casca and Farnese seemed repulsed by it. "Excuse me, Minister, but this is the one I told you about. This is that... Guts. The one who broke my wrist and disfigured my nose."

'You did what?' Harry heard Casca ask through thought transference.

Guts' sole eye wandered over to the woman who was glaring daggers behind a sweet smile. "You look the same to me."

"Dolores received treatment at St. Mungos, her injuries were easy to heal," Fudge said, his smile lessened. "A bit unnecessary as she was only acting on my orders. If things had gone smoother, we could have spoken to young Harry in a better light as I only wish to offer him thanks on behalf of the wizarding society as a whole."

'That seems less genuine than what he intends,' Schierke did not sound too satisfied with his wording.

'I agree,' Farnese's voice joined in. 'My father does play with politics, and if Magnifico is any example, there usually is always a side angle.'

Wanting to be careful of what he said, Harry spoke up. "If you really want to offer thanks, you should be thanking Guts then. He's the one who actually fought Voldemort." As soon as Harry said the name, there was a shared flinch between Fudge, Umbridge, and to a lesser extent Madam Bones.

"Hm." Serpico curiously rubbed at his chin as he observed the reaction. Isidro was equally as confused, or maybe even a bit more than the rest.

Fudge sputtered a cough before speaking. "My... you certainly are very brave to say his name like that, Mr. Potter."

Now Isidro was even more confused. "What? Voldemort? That's his name, isn't it? What's bad about saying Voldemort?"

"Stop! Saying his name, please." Fudge's smile crumbled at hearing the name repeated. Realizing that he let his composure slip, Fudge let out a sigh before offering a weak smile. "Forgive me, but it is not often that one hears the name of the darkest wizard in a century thrown around all willy-nilly!"

"You mean Voldemort?" Isidro scratched his head.

"Yes!" Fudge hissed as he tightened the grip on his bowler hat. He took a deep breath. "Yes. That name."

"Huh? For once, your natural annoyance comes in handy.' Schierke mentally praised the boy.

Isidro folded his arms behind his head at her praise. 'It's a gift.'

Fudge really seemed to have a hard time keeping it together and he kept glancing at Isidro like he expected him to say the name once more just for the fun of it. Harry wouldn't put it past him at all, especially if Puck picked up the habit as well. "Apologies once more. But, uh... you surely must be downplaying what really happened. That is not at all an insult of this man's strength, but this is You-Know-Who. Surely he did not do it alone?"

"If you want someone to give the thanks to, give it to the old man," Guts pointed a thumb over to Dumbledore. "He's a loon, but pulled his old bones into action when he needed to. Might want to get to thanking him before he croaks."

His comment about old bones reminded Harry of the Skull Knight whom they had seen shortly before coming up here. He had been surveying the battle too; it was how he was able to catch that one wizard. Where exactly had he ridden off to now? He said something along the lines of scouting out more of this world with places of strong magical connection that the world would start to overlap at. It would just be one world then. One world, one ruler, one god. Skull Knight was out riding, Neo-Griffith was probably carrying on without worry, and he and the others were here listening to this Minister try and paint him like he was the savior of the previous battle.

"And everyone else too," Harry added to what Guts had said. "The students at this school all did what they had to do to live and that was even before I got in that fight."

"And good for them as well!" Fudge tried to smile brilliantly. "Not that I wish that they had to be put in such a dire situation, of course, but seeing you there surely helped in inspiring the masses."

"Hehe! Ha!" Sirius failed to stifle his laughter. "Minister Fudge, do you think that we're all idiots?"

Fudge looked taken aback while Umbridge glowered with a smile on her face. "I don't... what are you implying, Black?" Fudge sounded indignant.

"Outside of anyone here directly affiliated with the Ministry, do you really think people care about politics? No offense to you, Madam Bones." Harry couldn't put a name to the face she gave him as an answer, but it would probably be closest to 'just say what you mean.' "These questions you've been asking, they're just to give you something to unite the people behind, right? My political skills are a little rusty, must have happened in Azkaban."

"Are you not for a unity of the masses?" Fudge asked. "In a time of war, would you have us running around divided?"

"Unity is what I saw last night, Minister," McGonagall spoke out again. "I saw students of every house of every year together as one. That, was not something that was created from any political motive."

"And what of the rest of the community?" Fudge demanded. "What about them?" he turned to Harry with pleading eyes. "Harry, my boy, surely you understand what this all means?"

Yeah, he had a pretty good idea of what it meant. "I think I just might. But, Minister, if it's all the same to you, it would probably be best if we went back to the ship to check on the crew there. You know, to preserve unity." He didn't miss the grin Sirius gave. There were greater things going on right now than some political agenda.

"We leaving?" Isidro asked as he looked ready to walk past the Minister and his secretary.

"You would have no objection from me," Serpico was in agreement.

Fudge was looking between all of them before his eyes landed on Dumbledore. "Dumbledore, you cannot condone this-,"

"-Alas, Cornelius," Dumbledore lightly raised his blackened hand, "as I have said, if you have business, you can discuss it with me. I will be more than happy to offer answers where needed."

While Fudge's fingers started to turn red from spinning his hat, Umbridge was turning red in the face, her smile only faltering at the corner of her wide mouth. Before any of them could take their leave, she spoke. "Hem-hem! Dumbledore, may I ask why you are letting this woman walk off with the Sword of Gryffindor?"

Casca stopped as she looked down on the shorter woman. "This?" she pulled a bit of steel free from the scabbard. "He said that I could keep it."

"Keep it?" Umbridge repeated with another one of her giggles. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you must have misheard. Dumbledore, you did not honestly say that she could keep the Sword of Gryffindor, did you?"

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled faintly. "I did indeed. In a desperate moment, it came to her. I saw it as fitting."

"Satisfied?" Casca asked.

Fudge looked to have choked on a wad of his own saliva. "D-dumbledore!"

Umbridge, on the other hand, smiled sweetly like poisoned honey. "That sword is a relic of the goblin nation, Dumbledore, and was intended to be a part of this school's legacy. It is not your's to give away on a whim."

To that, Sirius actually snorted. "Oh yes, you care very much about the goblin nation and the rights of other non-humans." He made no attempt to hide his sarcasm. "You remember what happened to you the last time you were being stubborn." Guts moved to stand behind Casca for further emphasis.

"Are you threatening a Ministry official?" Umbridge demanded, trying to make herself seem taller.

"I think he was just giving you a reminder," Casca offered in a tone Harry recognized as being an irate one. She usually reserved that for Guts when he did something that angered her. "A threat would be something like, you can have the sword once you're run through since I need the practice. That would be a threat."

Isidro grinned. "Yeah, I like that second one better."

Umbridge's nostrils were flaring. "Why you-!"

The door to the office opened once more to reveal Snape once again. His sudden arrival cut off whatever Umbridge was going to say. "I hope I'm not interrupting something." He didn't sound sorry at all.

"What is the meaning of this, Professor Snape?" Dumbledore asked the twinkle was lost.

Snape stepped aside to reveal a pale, blonde-haired youth around Harry and Schierke's age. "Young Mr. Malfoy wishes to speak with a higher authority."

Casca seemed to recognize the boy known as Malfoy. "You... you were one of those kids from last night. The ones in the stands."

Malfoy regarded her. "Yeah. That was me." His voice seemed defeated.

"What is the issue, Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked of the student.

"The Dark Lord... I know where he's staying."

Sonia wanted to cry, she sat slouched against one of the walls of Falconia's vast halls clutching her head with her knees up to her chest. That man... she had seen him through Luna last night, he was the one to attack her school with his army. And now... he was here, talking with Griffith of all people. She would have expected Griffith to listen to her and run the man through with his saber, killing him for what he had done to Luna's school, but no.

Griffith had always valued her talent as a medium before and always made time for her whenever possible. She was comfortable around Griffith, at ease. So why? Why would he not listen to her now when there was a madman in their presence? She wanted to go run and track down Irvine or even Rosine and have them shoot or run him through for almost getting her friend killed last night.

But she knew they would never do that. Even if she considered the two demons friends, they were still loyal to Griffith and would not disobey his command. She would just have to have faith in Griffith like always and he would pull through for her.

"Griffith wouldn't disappoint," Sonia chanted to herself. "Griffith wouldn't disappoint. Griffith wouldn't disappoint." She dared not to try and get in contact with Luna now because Sonia did not want to bring up the potential of admitting Luna had been right about her suspicion of Griffith all along.

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I really have no idea why it took me this long to write this. Next one should be out sooner. Thank you for reading.


	61. Chapter 61

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

"Are you nervous?" the long, curly strands of midnight black-hair partly obscured the side profile of the one in silvery armor reminiscent of the moon that was the one who was known as Sir Locus.

Voldemort followed a bit behind the tall "knight" as it was a word he would use very sparingly when he knew full well exactly what kind of being Locus truly was. As human as he appeared on the outside, there was no denying the beastly and demonic side that was hidden just beneath the skin level. It was the same with Voldemort as well, he had that side to him long before accepting the deal made by the Godhand; it was a side to him that had existed since he had been attending Hogwarts. If he did not possess such a side, he would not have set his basilisk on the mudbloods that polluted the school of his ancestor. And now he was being asked if he was nervous.

"There is no place for nervousness for beings such as you and I," Voldemort said with a bit of curl of his lip as a sign of his slight displeasure.

Locus might have raised a brow, but it was obscured by his long locks of hair. "There are few things in this world that can actually do us harm," Locus continued on as if Voldemort's answer held no trace of negative connotation towards the question asked prior. "But, even so, with all of our power, we can be killed."

"And has the White Hawk commanded that you kill me?" Voldemort asked this time, but he knew the answer to his own question. After his meeting with Femto, he was not on his way to any sort of executioners block.

"No," Locus simply answered. "But even you should know that as apostles, even we have mortality." The scar above Voldemort's eye seemed to itch with pain but he refused to bring a hand up to cover or scratch at it. Locus regarded him from the corner of his eye. "You know this already. You've had an encounter with him, the one who has killed so many of our kin in the past. The one who is known as the Black Swordsman."

"How much did the White Hawk tell you?" Voldemort demanded of the taller apostle as they walked.

"I am but a humble servant to the White Hawk, he tells me naught but is required of me to know," Locus brought a mailed hand to his breastplate as a sign of respect. "I have only guessed as to how you've acquired such a unique injury such as that." Voldemort's brow furrowed as his eyes narrowed at the back of Locus' head. He briefly imagined how Locus would look with a permanent haircut that started at the neck. Severus' sectumsempra or even a basic cutting jinx should work just well given his magical strength.

"And what do you know of him?" Voldemort asked. Better to know the true enemy than just focus on the lapdog of one who was, so far, untouchable.

"I have heard many stories about him," Locus began, "I heard that he fights like a demon out of the abyss and all the rest that you yourself have no doubt been informed of. I have not had the chance to cross blades with the man, but from yours and Grunbeld's injuries, even I would be hardpressed to do any real damage."

"Even he would fall before the full might of an apostle army even with that sword and armor of his. He may fight like a true demon, but he is human at his core." All humans could die, it was just a matter of finding out how to make it happen. And the Black Swordsman would suffer for humiliating him in such a way. If he could not be the one to kill the pest of a man, Voldemort hoped that the moral would see anyone he called a friend dead. He might even kill Potter in front of him if fate graced him with such an opportunity.

"To that, I can offer no counterpoint," Locus seemed to agree with his argument in reasoning. "As powerful as that armor may be, the story goes that the last user died while bleeding out inside of it." So there was a way to kill him. "And if he would be fool enough to come here, we have the Hawk of Light on our side who will no doubt lead us to victory."

"Your faith in your leader is absolute," Voldemort said with little disdain, just more of an observation on his end.

"As yours should be as well," Locus said with a firm tone.

The corner of Voldemort's mouth curled into a sneer at his tone which he found to be a bit too brazen. "I am well aware of how strong the Hawk of Light is. He is the absolute in this world." But not in my world.

Locus seemed to relax his shoulder posture. "Indeed he is. He recognizes the usefulness of your goals. To eliminate one who fights like a demon, you must know how demons fight."

That had been one of, if not the main point they had discussed back in the solar. As disinterested as the Godhand seemed to be in his pursuit of Potter, Voldemort had argued the case that we would be doing them a service by eliminating the Black Swordsman who accompanied him. What was the loss of one life anyway if Potter still wound up dead. Femto had seemed extremely skeptical that he would even be able to accomplish the feat to begin with. Come to think of it, the Godhand seemed unconcerned with what happened with anything happening outside of Falconia. But that was just foolish on Femto's end of things. As loathe as Voldemort was to admit it, he knew the cost of underestimating one's foes. He had done it the night he killed Potter's parents, he had done it again in his fight with the Black Swordsman. God or not, too much hubris could bring anyone down a peg or two.

Voldemort's red, slit eyes traveled ahead on the bridge the two of them were walking on. "So is that it, the place where the demons go to fight?"

They were approaching a giant spherical shape that was directly behind the main palace of Falconia. He had seen it when first entering the city to meet with the Godhand as it was quite impossible not to notice. It was like a giant black sun behind the horizon that was the palace that never quite made it to the zenith and was stuck in a state of suspended animation. The peasants of this city probably found the sight to be rather ambiguous and grand, completely unaware as to what its purpose was or what it actually held inside.

Locus gave a nod of his head causing his black curls to sway with the movement. "Indeed. That is Pandemonium, the Coliseum for us War Demons to unleash any aggression that we hold. Many apostles maintained a diet of human flesh before being united under the Hawk of Light and some old habits die hard." So they were also kept here away from the mundane crowd.

"Yet you and that brute seem comfortable enough to walk about the palace," Voldemort recalled.

"Yes, there are some who do not partake in some of the more repulsive acts as our brethren. Irvine, Zodd, Rosine, Grunbeld, Rakshas, and I are a few to be listed. That is why we hold the rank of captain for our respective squad."

"How quaint," Voldemort said as a misty fog started to follow in their wake as they neared the dark sphere.

They passed through no door, rather, they continued on the bridge as the layer of fog got increasingly denser with every step that they took. And when the fog did clear, they were inside a massive circular stand that overlooked a pit below. The stands were especially crowded as War Demons, in both human and apostle form alike, cheered on the spectacle that was happening below in the ring. Spittle flew from their maws as the two combatants faced off. One was a magical creature of some kind with a long snout pointed in the air with a set of tusks protruding out from the side. The arms and legs were covered in shaggy fur that reminded Voldemort of a type of ogre back in his own world.

The other was a giant of a man, perhaps even taller than that mindless oaf of a gamekeeper at Hogwarts. He was clad in silver armor that would be impossible for any man not of his size to move around in and a helm that was like a snarling dragon. His left arm was completely covered by a massive shield that was constructed to resemble an armored dragon head. In his right hand, he held a warhammer that was even taller than he was.

It was clear that the armored warrior was the fan favorite to win as the spectating War Demons shouted out his name. "Go, Grunbeld! For the glory of the Titan division!" a War Demon nearly as big as this Grunbeld cheered out.

"Let us watch," Locus said softly, but loud enough for Voldemort to hear as he led him over to the edge of the stands to observe the match. When other War Demons saw Locus coming, they cleared a path for him as a sign of his status and strength. It was none too different than how some of his Death Eaters acted on occasion, especially where Bellatrix or Greyback was concerned. The ones who follow value strength, Voldemort knew that to be true and strength seemed to be something this Grunbeld character held in abundance.

His battle cry was like hearing a dragon roar and it even seemed to be enough to terrify the giant ogre that had been pitted against him down in that pit. Grunbeld began his attack not with his mighty hammer, but a bash from his heavy shield to the beasts upturned maw. The impact was like a clap of thunder and the cheering like rain as the War Demons laughed at seeing the first blood be spilled out on the sand floor of the pit.

Feeling cornered, the ogre got down on all fours and charged at Grunbeld with its tusks pointed forward. But the giant warrior stood his ground, lifting a single leg as the ogre neared and then bringing it crashing down of its long snout once it was within the range of his long leg. Voldemort could barely hear the muted whimper escape from the side of its mouth as Grunbeld pressed his weight down upon it. Voldemort suspected that the creatures head might just explode from the pressure, but Grunbeld seemed to know when enough was enough.

"A pitiful creature," Grunbeld disdainfully scolded as he raised his hammer high above his head. "This is unbecoming of my hammer, but so be it!"

He drove the hammer down with the spiked end impaling itself through the ogre's torso and splattering more blood on the sand and on the walls as well. That elicited an even larger laugh from the War Demon audience, but it didn't seem like Grunbeld was quite done yet. With the ogre still impaled through the back by his hammer, Grunbeld raised it once more into the air like it weighed nothing more than a twig in his hand.

"Fall before my hammer!" Grunbeld yelled above all others as he brought his hammer with the skewered ogre back down to the ground. There was a sickening crack of bones as Voldemort suspected that the entire skeleton must have dust been reduced to dust; and that seemed much cleaner than the mess of blood, organs, and fur that was now splattered over the entirety of the fighting pit.

"Grunbeld!" War Demons cried out the name of the victor and his complete domination of his opponent.

"The Great Flame Dragon triumphs!" more cheers were thrown into the air.

But for all of the praise being sent his way, Grunbeld didn't appear the least bit satisfied down there. "It was not enough," the giant of a man could be heard speaking. "This was yet another mindless mess. Give me something larger! I wish to test my mettle further! The Black Swordsman will fall the next I see of him!"

Voldemort's narrowed eyes widened a bit in the interest of what Grunbeld had just said. "Curious?" Locus asked, noticing his change in expression.

"He too survived an encounter with the Black Swordsman?" Voldemort asked.

"Yes, a witch intervened to separate the two before the fight could continue," Locus explained. "Had she not, Grunbeld might not be standing here."

"So there is a witch on your side as well," Voldemort pressed the other apostle for more information. How many mages were living in this realm? Could he possibly gain more followers out of them?

"No," Locus said much to his surprise. "Grunbeld and a few others were there to exterminate the witch in question. The Archangel told Femto that she might prove troublesome in the future and told him where she might be hiding."

"Hm. I see." Voldemort curled his fingers. If a witch was trouble for the Godhand, she would have been useful to conscript into his ranks even if she was not a pure-blood. It would have been especially useful considering that he had lost a good chunk of his followers during the battle and only a few handfuls remained from that night and currently awaited his return back in Malfoy Manor.

He continued to ponder over his remaining loyalists as the next creature was dragged by chains into the pit. It was a black and purple firedrake, a lesser form of a dragon as it lacked wings, but still a mighty foe on its own. As if to prove its own ferocity, the drake fought against the chains and those pulling it to rear its head back and bite one of the War Demons on the arm, pulling the limb from the socket as it thrashed its head away.

Seeing trouble, the second War Demon attempted to transform into his apostle form, but the drake moved fast and flattened him under his leg. A series of boos and hisses escaped from the assembled War Demons as two of their own were mauled. It wasn't due to any sense of camaraderie they had, rather, they just wanted to see it play out a bit longer.

"Your attention should be on your foe," Grunbeld growled as he went to oppose the drake. This time, Grunbeld discarded his hammer and shield as his eyes seemed to become aglow with flame as his already massive frame began to get even larger than before. His heavy, silver armor was gone, replaced with glowing crystals that covered his scaled hide and ran down his legs and tail like spikes. The helm seemed to become the face of a tusked dragon as well, or more a drake as he lacked wings. The largest crystal lay at his forehead with a design of Grunbeld's face resting there.

"Prepare for my full apostle might!" Grunbeld yelled in defiance as his massive apostle form lumbered over to the actual drake. The spiked crystal on the top of Grunbeld's head acted as a horn as he barreled straight into the side of the drake to knock it over on its side. The War Demons cheered the fight on.

The drake did manage to swing its tail around and land a blow on Grunbeld's thick neck. The force was enough to push the apostle away but nowhere near strong enough to actually break or scratch the crystals that coated his already thick hide. Grunbeld, in turn, raised a leg once more and smashed it down on the hind leg of the drake, causing it to buckle and hit hard enough to shatter a bone which broke the surface of the skin.

"Do you see what it takes?" Locus asked as the crowd around them erupted in cheer once more. "See how demons fight?"

"Brutality?" Voldemort was unimpressed. "I know plenty about the art of brutality and even more about torturing one's opponent." Locus insulted him just by asking that question. He did not earn a title of Dark Lord without knowing how to brutalize an enemy.

"Not just brutality," Locus went on, sounding only a little perturbed. "It is about knowing where and how to use what power you have. Not all opponents warrant your full power; but those that do-," down below, the drake had headbutted Grunbeld off and was ready to unleash a torrent of flame from its maw. "-Those that do require a special hand at play. You surely understand this, but what of your servants? Have their abilities made them lax in any capacity?"

Voldemort would watch his words. He would not tolerate if Locus spoke down to him about his Death Eaters. "They follow my command and still learn to grasp their power. They have had little training in fighting anyone outside of other wizards."

"Then the White Hawk is wise to allow them access to this place. That is one of the things he discussed with you, is it not?" Locus seemed to know already.

"You're awfully well informed," Voldemort could have applauded him on his insight - could have, but wouldn't. "I have come to the realization myself that my forces were ill-prepared for the battle that befell us. With your leader's permission, I will be moving my forces here to strengthen them."

Locus gave a nod of his head. "The Hawk of Light will see his end of the bargain through to the end." He had been assured that, but it didn't make it true. Locus was but a pawn compared to a Godhand. The silver knight looked past Voldemort as the crowd of War Demons further dissipated around them. "It isn't every day you stop by." Voldemort turned his head to see whom Locus was addressing.

There were three altogether, two he recognized as the ones to escort him to the city when he arrived; the hunter and girl who partly resembled a bug or fairy in her apostle form. She stood close to the hunter and lightly kicked her feet across the floor almost to express boredom while the hunter gave a nod of acknowledgment to Locus. The third was one Voldemort knew by name already and already despised at that, the supposed strongest apostle in the Godhand's army.

"Pardon the intrusion," the hunter - Irvine, said. "Rosine wanted to see the fight."

Rosine looked up at Irvine with a slight pout as she kicked her foot again. "I thought this one would be different, but Grunbeld's basically already won." Down in the pit, Grunbeld had clamped his jaws around the top and bottom of the drake's maw and clamped them shut before the beast could spit out the fire and thus damaging its own insides.

"We met with Captain Zodd on our way here," Irvine explained. The two of them were clearly not a very social lot and probably had a certain understanding about that.

"Do you intend to go down there and fight?" Voldemort asked of the large apostle.

"Fighting for sport ruins the art, the outcome is as the girl said, the match is decided before it has begun."

"You've said as much before," Locus added. "You would draw quite a crowd, same for when the lord brings his followers over."

"More wizards?" Rosine asked next to Irvine.

"I'll be sure to keep a lookout for them when they arrive," the hunter told him.

"No need for that." Your help is unwanted anyway. "I'll be bringing them myself."

"And you would offer them as snacks to what lies in the pit," Zodd offhandedly said. Voldemort sneered at the implication.

"You doubt the power of magic?"

"I doubt lack of prowess."

"But is it not all for sport? Has it not all been decided beforehand?" Voldemort used his previous words to his advantage. "Why concern yourself at all if you look down upon it? Unless you worry that they have a chance to become stronger than when you saw them last." Locus was eyeing him warily like he was stepping on eggshells, Rosine was lightly glaring in his direction and Irvine did nothing but discretely look over in Zodd's direction.

"Let them grow stronger," the larger apostle said. "Maybe they will be worth killing the next time."

Voldemort lightly sneered. "I'm sure they'll be more than sufficient for the Black Swordsman, Potter, and whomever else might doubt them." He left the scene, heading the way he and Locus had entered, the silver knight following a few paces behind to escort him out. Rosine's eyes followed his form as the two of them exited Pandemonium.

"More wizards will be coming here?" she asked Irvine who looked down at her.

"It would appear that way," the archer answered the young girl apostle. "Does that make you anxious?"

"He wants to kill the one mage who let me live, doesn't he?" Rosine asked. "He was talking about the Black Swordsman and I know he has a wizard following him. They won't kill him."

"Be mindful of how you say that," Irvine bend to whisper to her above the cheer of the crowd. "It wouldn't bode well to have apostles thinking you might be wavering." They both knew many of the apostles' attention was drawn down below, but Zodd was still close by, carefully regarding them from the corner of his eye. If he suspected Rosine of harboring doubt about the Hawk's army, he made no mention of it; he seemed entirely indifferent.

She looked away bashfully. "Fine. Can we go back to the woods? This place is getting boring."

Irvine gave a silent nod of approval as he departed with the younger apostle. Down below, Grunbeld had ripped the head of the drake clean off. Planting his mighty foot atop the headless carcass, he sent a torrent of flame down to further char and smolder what remained of a once ferocious beast.

"Mr. Malfoy?" the professor known as McGonagall repeated the name of the platinum-haired student that had been escorted in the office. "What is it you just said about You-Know-Who?"

Looking more sullen that the greasy-haired professor behind him, the young Malfoy boy repeated what he had said previously. "I know where the Dark Lord is staying."

Guts had seen plenty of people tortured in a war long before he had joined up with the Band of the Hawk, he knew the usual look they usually had on their face afterward, especially when they gave information away there was always a certain look they had about them. It was the same look behind this boy's eyes; utter defeat as if he had just given up.

"My family manor," Malfoy continued on. "That's where he's staying."

The color seemed to be draining out of Fudge's face with every word the Malfoy boy was saying. "Well... ahem... that certainly is a grave bit of news to be dropped so suddenly, Mr. Malfoy. Has Madam Pomfrey looked you over yet? I know that seeing such a gruesome sight as a battle might have you a bit rattled."

"Oh, posh!" McGonagall loudly exclaimed. "Mr. Malfoy isn't suffering from confusion. The only thing he suffers from is an inflated ego, which I do believe is finally making sense for once."

Amelia Bones was quick to join in on her assessment. "And I seem to recall seeing Lucius Malfoy down in the great hall dressed in Death Eater robes."

Fudge looked like he was starting to get choked up. "Yes, well, be that as it may, even if the Dark Lord is indeed at Malfoy Manor, Lucius could be under the imperious curse the same as-,"

"-Don't even say 'the same as last time.'" McGonagall said in a defiant tone against Fudge. "Imperious curse or not, Malfoy Manor is where you should be focusing your attention. Leave the justice to Madam Bones."

The other witch nodded curtly. "She is right, Minister. Let us focus on assembling a team of Aurors to go and deal with the situation at hand. In the meantime, I'll be sure to document all captured Death Eaters and supply them with a dose of veritserum for good measure to clear up any notion of them being cursed into doing You-Know-Who's bidding." She looked over at Snape who stood behind the Malfoy boy like a bat. "You do have a supply of the potion, don't you?"

The potions master gave a slow nod. "Indeed. Always useful to have on hand when the time arises."

Guts noticed Isidro getting a bit restless. "So... are we out of here or what?" He was actually in full support of just leaving as well. They had done all they had here anyways and any longer would just mean he would have to stare at the toady woman who was barely keeping her frustration behind her sweet mask.

"Anything else you wanted to tell us, old man?" Guts addressed the headmaster one last time.

A faint smile could almost be seen through his white, silvery beard. "No. I do believe that concludes all I wanted to say. Sirius, Minerva, would you be so kind as to lead them out. And young Mr. Malfoy as well. I believe he has shared all he wanted to with us."

"B-but, Dumbledore-!" Fudge was stuttering. "This is all-!"

Dumbledore raised his blackened hand, silencing the minister with its sickly appearance. "Please, Cornelius, any further inquiries may be sent in my direction." His blue eyes had regained a faint twinkle to them as he looked past the minister toward Guts who sent the smallest of nods toward the aged wizard. Doing so, he didn't miss the unblinking glare coming from the Umbridge woman as she saw Casca leave with that Sword of Gryffindor. Guts almost wished that she would make a move to try and stop them, it would give him a reason to break more than just her nose like last time. But, like a true lapdog, she stayed in place beside her boss.

McGonagall followed them out, closing the door to the office as they left down the spiral staircase. Draco stuck more toward the back, not having his head of house there with him anymore, he felt like an outsider, the only familiar faces being the Gryffindor head of house, and his mother's cousin, Sirius Black, but Draco had never met the man before, only hearing about him by name. The only other recognizable face here was, of course, Harry Potter.

He looked exactly how all the stories and books described him to be with messy dark-hair like his father and that oh-so-famous lightning bolt scar on his forehead. And aside from that, the sword sheathed at his hip, a lithe physique probably as a result of having to use his sword, and the staff made from elder wood by the looks of it; Potter seemed to be an incarnation of Merlin if he knew it or not. And with all of that, he didn't seem out of place compared to some of these others.

There was a scrawny, rusty-haired youth that seemed he could pass as a long-lost Weasley sibling or something, a metamorphagus witch with short, green hair and purple robes and hat, a young, attractive blonde woman who seemed a year or two above a Hogwarts seventh year who seemed to have an air of nobility to her and another blonde man who stuck close to her side. Were they related or something? Then the intimidating swordsman who had actually wounded the Dark Lord. Draco could see the outline of the sword from under the black cloak as he trailed behind. And then there was the woman with Gryffindor's Sword. If Draco was an ignorant theorist, he would have said that she was a descendant of Godric Gryffindor himself; but that would have been outlandish. If she was from Gryffindor's line, she would have to be a witch and he saw no wand on her person and he doubted that the sword would reveal itself to a squib. Come to think of it, she had even looked surprised when the sword materialized inside of the hat; even if she were a squib, she should have known about her heritage.

Merlin, why was he even thinking so much about who she could be? She was just some woman with Gryffindor's sword, stranger things have happened around Hogwarts. If others found out about it, they would make a rumor of it and it would be forgotten about in just a few months time anyway. He wanted to keep that train of thought going, that she was just some nobody from nowhere.

And if that were true, then he had been saved by some nobody from nowhere. The great name of Malfoy that would soon be in shambles once his father was arrested, there was the shame of being saved by a stranger. It would probably be used as an insult against him by any other students of the school if they found out about it. Maybe it would be a fitting retribution for all the times he had lorded his own status above the rest of them. He knew exactly what he did even if he wasn't necessarily sorry about it. But he found that he didn't exactly care about that right now.

Now, he was still trying to piece it together. If she really was some nobody muggle from Merlin knows where with no connection to Hogwarts, why bother to stick around to help someone like him, a person she had never met and knew nothing about? She must have felt him staring once the spiral staircase ended and the level ground floor brought them all to equal footing. Her head turned to look at him with a blank yet expressive look.

He could handle looks thrown his way, people on the Gryffindor Quidditch team usually threw some unflattering ones in his direction and he brushed it aside as he normally would. But as she stared at him, the man with the large sword also stopped walking and glanced at him as well when he noticed - his wife? stop. Draco didn't actually see any rings, he was assuming from what he observed. The look he got from this swordsman might have only been a sideways glance, but something about it managed to frighten him more than anyone in the school could accomplish. It may have to do with the fact that the man actually managed to beat the Dark Lord in combat, after all.

"Why did you do that?" she asked him after a moment's pause. Why did you? Draco wanted to ask as well. "Back in the office, what made you come clean and confess like that?"

It wasn't just the two of them staring at him now, the rest and even Black and McGonagall as well. How ironic; attention I don't want. "I don't like to lose." That was really what it came down to. Malfoy's were supposed to be the best at whatever, no exceptions. Yet he had been a cowering mess during the battle and his father was crippled and soon to be arrested. Mother meanwhile... she was still stuck back at the manor among what remained of the Dark Lord's followers. "And I'm sure my mother doesn't like entertaining larger amounts of guests."

Black seemed intrigued by the mention of his cousin. Draco had no idea how close he and mother were before he was cast out of the family, but Aunt Bellatrix had nothing but contempt for blood traitor of a cousin. "Huh, I imagine Cissa would be like that. She ever only cared about keeping a stable home. Too many guests and even she has her limits." So perhaps they had been close.

"So how long until something happens then?" Potter asked. It was also a prime opportunity for Draco to go and speak to the one person the whole wizarding world wouldn't shut up about. He had a chance to finally see how well Potter was versed in their cultural ways; an opportunity many would envious of. But Draco didn't answer. It had to do to him wanting to know the answer to the same question Potter had asked.

"You did just meet Fudge a few moments ago, didn't you?" Black asked in a dry humor sort of way. "By all of your guesses, how long would you say?"

The implication seemed to deeply trouble the green-haired metamorphagus girl. "He wouldn't actually put it off, would he? What else does he need as proof to act? He just confessed and his father is back in the great hall wounded from the fight." She seemed to realize that while he had played his part, his father was still very much at fault and he was still in their presence. She looked over to him with her large eyes and seemed to offer some sort of silent consolation. Draco averted his own gaze as she did so; he didn't need her pity, he didn't want it.

Potter seemed in thought. "Based on the impression I got, he just might. He doesn't seem to want to do hard jobs himself and he has a female version of Foss advising him."

The tall blonde seemed to recognize the name. "You compare her to the advisor from Windham? Well, maybe in looks I could see a resemblance."

"Who cares about any of that?" the rusty-haired youth practically yelled. Yeah, he could definitely pass for a Weasley. "If the minister guy and the toad are just gonna sit on their hands and wait for someone else to handle the problem, why don't we just do it?"

"What?" Draco found himself asking that question along with several others.

"That is a rather rash decision to come to," the blonde man told the younger boy. "We are still but foreigners to this land and only acted in defense before."

McGonagall, ever the lioness, seemed ready to delve into one of her infamous scoldings, only being restrained by the fact this boy was not a student. "I would heavily agree with that statement, young man. No one, no matter how skilled, should ever go out looking for a fight without knowing what they may be getting into."

The Weasley imposter gave a bored sigh at the mini-lecture he just received. "Worked out well so far," he muttered as he crossed his arms behind his head. The blue pixie floated over to him.

"Indeed," the pixie spoke, "confidence is key." Did pixies normally speak? Draco wondered. They hadn't when that idiot Lockhart brought them to class two years ago.

McGonagall shook her head in indignation at the boy's clear ignorance and arrogance. "Sirius, you have spoken with them longer than I have. Maybe help this one see reason?"

Black looked amused. "Actually, he seems to be making sense to me."

McGonagall looked surprised but expected at the same time. "You as well, Sirius?"

"I'm surprised you aren't," Black said to her. "Of all the staff, I was sure you would agree to that. You hate it when people are incompetent at their jobs and you just met with one. He's wounded from the fight and we know exactly where he is now. You don't want him recovering and coming back to attack, do you?" Black asked more persistently.

"Of course not!" McGonagall denied. "I would sooner this end, but I would be obliged to report back to Dumbledore on what you are planning."

"Not saying you wouldn't," Black countered. "But I think we both know what he would have to say about it."

After that, it was one of the few times Draco ever saw McGonagall's stiff lips actually twitch up for a fraction of a second. "Be that as it may, you'd have to leave castle grounds before setting up what I presume will be a portkey if you actually intend to go through with this foolhardy plan."

The Weasley imposter scratched the back of his head. "Hey," he whispered over to the metamorphagus, "what's a portkey?" What an idiot.

"Not now," the green-haired whispered back sounding irate. She could pass for a Ravenclaw if she had school robes on.

Not getting an answer, he tried it with Potter. "Hey, what's a portkey?"

"Not now," Potter repeated the same answer as before. Wait - did Potter not even know?

The swordsman seemed to be getting impatient. "Whatever we're doing, let's just do it then. When we see that Voldemort guy-," Draco involuntarily winced at hearing the name spoken so brazenly, "-just let me handle him. He won't slither away like before."

"And what about the rest of us?" the woman beside him asked. "You don't just expect us to sit around while you do everything, do you?" given the size difference between the two of them, Draco was a bit amazed she was actually talking back to the man.

"Harry and Schierke, can track down any od and hold their own in a magic fight, same with Sirius. You, Farnese, Serpico, and Isidro could work as a group." Now he at least had names to put to faces.

Black smirked like an excited schoolboy. "Diving into danger with a hastily thought out plan - this brings back a lot of memories." Yeah, no way he ever would have fit in with a Slytherin crowd.

The blonde - Serpico, if he put the name correctly offered, "That does seem to be the usual method. Quite frankly I'm surprised it keeps working out the way it does."

"Whatever," the swordsman began to walk off, the others promptly following after save for him and McGonagall as well. "Let's just hurry and get this done already, no reason to stand around while that Voldemort guy is probably getting stronger and healing."

They started to walk off, leaving him and McGonagall behind. She would probably take him back to the great hall with the rest of the school or just back down to the dungeons where his common room resided. It didn't really matter, either way, he supposed. But, there still was one thing left nagging at him that he did not have an answer to.

"Hey!" he called out getting them to halt their pace and turn to look back at him. He never specified who he was addressing, but from the one person he was staring at, it was obvious.

"What?" she - Casca, asked sounding only a bit miffed that they were being held up. He noticed her expression was more in her eyes than her voice.

"...Why'd you risk your life last night?" he asked. "You didn't know me. I was just as scared and confused as anyone else, why try risking your life for someone like that?" Really, it was no different than what she had asked him before.

"That's what you want to know?" she asked. "I was just as scared then as you were." Draco wanted to doubt that, but-, "I was scared for a long time. And I don't want to feel like that ever again."

You-Know-Who Defeated and Lost Heir Found?!

By Rita Skeeter

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the most feared dark wizard in the century has perhaps met his match? For those of you who haven't heard, allow me to be the first to bring you all the good news. As you've no doubt heard, Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry came under heavy attack the previous night while hosting the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. The event was rumored to feature the long-lost Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter, but was cut short as You-Know-Who attacked with his band of Death Eaters, a few giants, and even two dragons.

Yes, that is a handful, but just as things seemed at their bleakest, a ray of hope was given to those present as multiple eye-witness accounts say that Harry Potter himself emerged to turn the tide of battle. Our Savior was seen to take down a dragon and slay a giant while also keeping on par with spellwork with wizards much more experienced than himself.

But young Mr. Potter was not alone, no sir! Again, from multiple eyewitness accounts also list multiple other individuals following Mr. Potter into battle as well. Most notably was a man in full muggle armor with a sword that was far too big to even be called as such. As unbelievable as that may sound, this "Black Swordsman" did battle with You-Know-Who, forcing the dark wizard to take to the defensive with the help of Albus Dumbledore.

People say that this man fought like a demon in human flesh and even managed to wound You-Know-Who to warrant a full retreat. And if you aren't amazed yet, another amazing discovery could further make good news great.

Among the people traveling with Mr. Potter, one woman was seen to have been wielding the one and only Sword of Godric Gryffindor. Could this have been what our savior has been doing in his time away from Hogwarts, assembling the heirs of all four founders for a moment such as this? Either way, we can rest assured that Mr. Potter is here to stay!

After reading that, Narcissa decided she had enough. She was frankly surprised the papers were running today, but when Skeeter smelled a story she wouldn't rest until she got it. And it was nothing that Narcissa hadn't already known anyway. The Dark Lord had been in a right fit when he returned back sooner than expected. It was quite evident that he had lost the battle as he started throwing around cruciatus curses to anyone and everyone, herself included.

Dobby had treated her afterward once the Dark Lord had disappeared down to the cellar where that rune arch was and she had not seen him since. He must be wherever it led to on the other side and taking his time about it as well. That was perfectly fine by her; the less she saw of him the better. It had not escaped her eye that of all the people to come back alive, her husband was not among them. She didn't want to dismiss Lucius as being dead, the paper probably had a column of all those who had died or were captured, but she didn't want to look at it in fear of what she may actually find.

Sure, her marriage had been contracted to begin with, but Lucius had always been a curtious husband to her and never raised a hand or wand to her. He could be annoyed with her at times, but she could feel the same about him as well. And then there was Draco. She knew she might spoil him but it countered Lucius' usual distant yet attentive being. She above all else wanted to know that Draco had made it out safe and unscathed.

The door to her bedroom creaked open. "Cissy," she heard the still weak voice of Bellatrix leaning from the doorframe.

She tossed the paper from the desk as she greeted her sister. "Yes, what is it, Bella?"

Her sister had seen better days to be sure. Before they left, Bellatrix had been energetic and bloodthirsty as ever, and now; it was like she was clinging to life. She knew it had nothing to do with the loss of her husband or brother-in-law, but more from the wound that had been inflicted on her side. When she returned, no amount of normal magical healing seemed to close the wound or stop the bleeding and Dobby had to be summoned to perform what magic he could. According to Bellatrix, it had been from the very man who fought the Dark Lord who had inflicted this wound upon her. It seemed Skeeter had indeed downplayed the accomplishments of the rest of Potter's companions to paint the boy in a more heroic light.

Bella wheezed a bit as a hand moved to cover her still wounded side. "We have new orders from the Dark Lord."

"The Dark Lord has returned?" Narcissa asked.

"Only briefly before leaving again," Bellatrix replied as her brow scrunched up. "We are to go to the cellar and follow to where he has gone. Gather what things you kgn-need." Bellatrix winced at that last part as the pain in her side flared back up for a brief second. "Hurry, Cissy."

"You expect me to leave?" Narcissa was more offended than anything. She did not have that hideous brand on her forearm, she was not a part of the same crowd as her husband and sister. "Leave and go where? What of Lucius? Merlin, what of Draco?! You expect me to just up and leave without knowing what has become of either of them?"

Bellatrix's lip curled from either a burst of pain or irritation. "If your husband has not returned, he has likely met the same fate as my own." She did not sound sorry in the least. "As for Draco, if the boy is smart he will know not to get caught and wait until we've returned. Now hurry. Some of the others have already gone through."

"Bella, you cannot expect me to comply with that. I have no idea where the Dark Lord has gone or for how long we would even be there. If Draco is alive, he'll need me."

"Kch!" Bellatrix elicited a mix between a hiss and a scoff. "The Aurors are probably on their way here now, you know. If Lucius is dead, this will be one of the first places they search. Do you really want me to tell you stories about Azkaban, dear Cissy?"

"No more than you already have, Bella."

"The dementors would probably love visiting your cell, Cissy," Bellatrix continued. "The more you would hold out hope to see your son again, the more they would feed off of you. You'd be a shallow husk sitting in the corner waiting patiently for the chance to see him again before finally-,"

"-Enough, Bella!" she finally yelled. "I know what would happen. You have your orders from the Dark Lord; follow them. I'll... I'll just be a while." She could see Bellatrix narrow her gaze, but behind the furrowed brow and suspicious glance, there was also an understanding from her sister.

"Very well then. Don't take too long to say goodbye to a house and all the... sentimental value it must hold. Have that house elf help you pack if it suits you. I'll be waiting in the cellar." Bellatrix hobbled out of the room, closing the door behind her. She must have really been injured, she usually slammed any door she entered or exited through. It was a habit she had had ever since they were kids actually and it saddened her to see it lacking.

They really had grown apart later in life, neither really saw much of the other after they were both married and then there was the business of Bellatrix being locked up in Azkaban for over a decade. While Bellatrix had always been a bit of a spitfire when they were younger, she had only gotten more wild as the years passed. She wasn't deaf to some of the stories Lucius had told her about what her sister had done, she knew what she was capable of, but what worried her the most was the unwavering dedication her sister had for the Dark Lord.

Being a Slytherin as well, they were always taught not to be blind sheep followers like Hufflepuff's or Gryffindor's and to actually think about their actions and be ambitious. So when the Dark Lord preached of the importance of blood purity, she knew exactly why her sister would be so eager to follow a man as charismatic as that. The downside to it being, Bellatrix also had a Slytherin ambition, many Death Eaters did and the Dark Lord was not one to share power easily. Her sister was more a tool than anything, a valuable one, but not above being disposed of when the job was done.

She barely knew the Dark Lord personally, only acting as courteous and proper as she could when he was at their manor. He had her sister's complete trust and confidence and her husband's, not so much trust, but his backing. Even with that, their plan still failed. He had done more harm for them than good and while she did not wish misfortune on her husband or sister, she could wish whatever she wanted on the Dark Lord for what had happened because of his involvement. Bellatrix was scarred for life, her husband was missing, possibly even dead, their funds were running low, and Draco was probably confused out of his mind.

Maybe it was for the best if she just leave now. Not to wherever the Dark Lord wanted them to go, but to where she knew her son to be at the moment. Hogwarts probably looked worst than when the Quidditch World Cup was held, but who cares how the place looks as long as Draco was still alive. She could summon Dobby right now and have him take her out of here.

"Do-," she called out before an audible crack! sounded in the room. Narcissa almost drew her wand in defense before she recognized the shape to be that of the floppy-eared house elf. Strange, Dobby had always been quick to respond, but he was always fully called before appearing. "Dobby? What is the meaning of this?"

The elf bowed his head which caused his ears to flop with his motion. "Dobby is sorry for interrupting, but Mistress wanted Dobby to let her know if anything has changed with the wards."

"The wards?" she repeated. "What business about the wards, Dobby? Tell me."

"Dobby's magic felt one of the wards go down, Mistress. Someone is at the gate trying to get into the manor."

Aurors was the first thought. They had probably found Lucius' body and put two and two together and were on their way to raid the house. She asked, "Which ward was it, Dobby?"

"Mistress, it was the one you put up yourself." The elf fidgeted with his hands like he had said something that insulted the strength of her magic. "Dobby came to tell you straight away, Mistress. Dobby thought you might want to know."

"That ward shouldn't have broken so easily," Narcissa said more to herself than to the nervous house elf. "That ward was a Black family secret. The only one who could have undone it so quickly would be..." another Black. She seriously doubted it was her other sister so the only one it could be was-, "Sirius."

She could almost feel it in the air. It was like a protective dome had been shattered and invisible droplets of rain were falling down upon them right now. "Dobby!" she shouted to the house elf. "Hurry and-!"

Kabrackk!

From downstairs, it sounded like the front door had been blown to pieces by a high powered bombarda curse or one of those muggle... what was the word - cannons. Footsteps could be heard next, no doubt some lingering Death Eaters or a few of Greyback's packmates. She could hear the voice of one wizard shouting, saying the words of that unforgivable curse.

"Avadaaaghhh!" the curse was interrupted mid-word as the spell turned into a cry of despair as the castor was met with an unforeseen fate which was punctuated by a loud clang! The sound of something metal rang loud across the floor.

It didn't end there though. She could hear spells being thrown around, some voices belonged to the Death Eaters which still lingered around her home, not yet making for the cellar as instructed, and others sounded foreign to her; probably the team of Aurors that were here at the moment. Some voices did sound incredibly young though, maybe Draco's age if she had to put an age to them. But if she listened hard enough, she could hear the voice of her cousin, Sirius Black down there among them as well.

Then there was the sound of more metal, more screams from the Death Eaters. The screams began to die down - literally, and the sounds of footsteps began to disperse. some sounded like they were moving further away, notably the heaviest of the set which brought some comfort. The others, they were coming up the stairs, heading straight for her room.

"Dobby!" she turned to the frightened elf once again. "Get us out of here, Dobby! Take us to Hogs-!" the door rattled, they must be attempting to force their way in. No spell was ever uttered, but the doors still flew open like a strong gust of air had pushed them back. Narcissa still held her wand, ready to either drop it or surrender it if she thought it might spare her life if she feigned ignorance to the whole affair.

But standing in the now open doorway was no group of Aurors; they couldn't be, not with the way they were dressed. Two blondes, one female with a dagger at her hip and the other male with a billowing cloak and thin sword; a teenager who could pass for a missing Weasley child, and a young woman with a sword that had fresh blood on the tip. It was only by closer inspection that Narcissa realized that it was the Sword of Gryffindor. Her eyes widened. That could only mean one thing.

The blonde youth was the first to say something. "Your mastery of sensing od has progressed far, Lady Farnese. Miss. Schierke would be most impressed."

"Yeah," the Weasley child doppelganger agreed. "How'd you know this lady would be here?"

The blonde girl seemed a bit flustered from the praise but kept her composure almost like one born from a higher standard like herself. "It was not too difficult. Her od felt similar to how her son's felt when we saw him." Her words almost made Narcissa's heart skip a beat.

"W-who are you all?" Narcissa finally demanded, seeing none of them try to make an aggressive move toward her. "How do you know my son?!" it was hard to keep the emotion out of her voice. But, Narcissa looked over to the one with Gryffindor's Sword, if they were with Potter, they would know what had become of Draco.

It was the woman with the sword who answered. "You're his mother, aren't you?"

"Yes, of course, I'm his mother. And you all, you're with the Potter boy. You were there at the battle. Tell me then. Tell me what happened to Draco!" she was willing to do what they wanted. They could leave her here or take her into custody, she didn't care, just so long as they gave her an answer before they did.

The woman with the sword regarded her in a way that Narcissa recognized as only a mother could. Her dark eyes weren't exactly warm at the moment, but there was something there. She spoke again. "Your son is why we're here."

Guts snarled as more blood went flying into the air and on the side of his face. Dragonslayer cut down another wizard who stood in their way as he led them to where both Harry and Schierke confirmed an unnatural energy was flowing from; down in the cellar. Leave it to someone who calls himself the "Dark Lord" to put some weird magical item in a cellar.

With Guts in the lead, Harry and Schierke brought up the middle with the former providing spellwork to repel hostile wizards and the latter uttering protective spells quietly as they proceded. Sirius was in the back of the formation, keeping an eye for any further signs of attack and lending his own magic in neutralizing any Death Eaters that they came across. He had also come in handy when it came to taking down some of the wards around the manor.

Apparently, Sirius was the cousin of the lady of the manor so any spells she might have used as wards, he probably knew how to get around them. The rest of them, Harry, Schierke, and even Farnese had pitched in to bring down the wards. Now it was all a manner of getting down to where the two mages had felt an influx in magic. There were supposed to be several od signatures down there but were vanishing all of a sudden. Casca and the rest could handle everything upstairs with the lady, let him deal with the most dangerous part of the house.

"Just down these stairs," Schierke said to him after Harry had used magic to send a barrage of tiles at one final Death Eater. "There is only one other od signature down there and the anomaly as well. Once we're down there, I can tell you for certain what it is." Guts sent her a silent nod over his shoulder as they cleared the stairs two at a time. At the bottom, the came upon a closed door.

"Not exactly the overwhelming," Sirius dryly remarked as he eyed the door. He readied his wand. "A good spell should-," Guts leveled Dragonslayer in front of him and thrust it forward, knocking it clear off the hinges. "That works as well."

Before they could take a step past the threshold, a jet of green light came flying in their direction. Guts raised his sword to absorb it, but it flew higher and hit the ceiling. Whoever had sent it clearly couldn't aim to their fullest at the moment. Sirius moved to the side and fired his own spell toward the unseen assailant. There was a flash of light followed by a small explosion.

"Aagh!" a woman screamed.

Guts made ready to go in. "The two of you keep behind me." Guts fought off the urge to listen to the negative presence in his head as he moved past the threshold. The rest followed after him.

There, standing near one of the walls of the cellar by what appeared to be an arch drawn with runes leading to a near blinding white light was one of the witches from the other night. Her tangled dark-hair seemed more disheveled than before as she leaned against the wall. Her eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness of the cellar could be sharper than any dagger and they seemed especially dangerous when they saw Guts and Sirius.

She sent another jet of light their way and Sirius sent one back to her in return. Both spells missed their intended targets but Bellatrix rolled in front of the runic archway. She took a step back, letting her body be enveloped by the light. Sirius made ready to fire another spell after her, but before her head and arm disappeared fully, she cast one last spell, this one not aimed at any of them. Instead, she fired it at the side of the arch.

The runes reacted with a violent, pulsating glow and Guts felt a tingle run down his spine. Three sets of voices rang out as all three magic users put their energy forward to projecting a magical shield in front of them and Guts. They did it just in time as the entire cellar was cast into a blinding glow and what felt like a whirlwind picking up around them before a final gust shot out not penetrating the shield, but putting enough force behind that the castors had to put forth an additional amount of concentration. It concluded with a fading light and a ringing in Guts' ears.

"Merlin's blue beard," Sirius said as he took in the damage that had been done. "What did she do?"

"Schierke," Guts looked over to the young witch. "Any ideas?"

The wall where the runes had been was still intact, but it looked like it had a cannonball explode next to it as it was now charred black. The runic symbols were still there, but the glow had completely faded, probably unable to be used again.

She reached her staff out and began tracing the pattern that had been drawn by the runes. "They had created a pathway of some kind," she answered. "The lingering sense of magic is both familiar and new." She examined further, feeling for further magical energy. "Wait. Wait a minute, this is..."

"Schierke?" Harry walked next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"They..." she continued, "They made a pathway to Midland."

"What?" Guts asked, his sense of foreboding rising.

"I felt it," Schierke continued. "The feeling of magic that felt familiar, it was the energy from Midland. That witch and probably a few others are there right now."

"Voldemort probably is as well," Harry concluded.

Leave it to an apostle to make its way to where Griffith was. It did make sense in some capacity. If Voldemort was an apostle, he would have to have made a deal with the God Hand previous. and with Griffith creating a whole army of apostles, why not have one who could perform magic?

"Well isn't that a kick off the broom," Sirius ran a hand through his hair. "We come here to put an end to Voldemort and the Death Eaters only to have them give us the slip."

"We never expected it to be easy," Guts said as he rested Dragonslayer on his back. "It's still a struggle, always has been." But it was frustrating. They would have to return to Midland at one point and now a direct gate to it had just been destroyed. Looks like they would have to rely on the old bonehead to get them back then once they got in contact with him. His eye darted back over to now ruined gateway. They would be back, and when they were, they would enter their final fight.

A week had passed since the raid they conducted at the manor. It certainly hadn't been what Harry had been expecting, but he had grown to know that nothing was ever really as it seemed and expecting one thing to go exactly as planned was a high improbability. Still, some good had come out of it all. The lady of the manor, Sirius' cousin was reunited with her son, the boy who came forward and told them where the Death Eaters were hiding.

Her husband was still alive as well and was allowed to see her and his son before Madam Bones took him away to be arrested. Narcissa and her son were put under what could be called house arrest, but with every nook and cranny of their house being torn apart for further evidence, they would be staying at Hogwarts for however long it was deemed necessary. They probably wouldn't be able to return to their old manor as most of their assets had been seized, but Sirus said they would be left enough money to support themselves. The house elf that had been with them had also been taken from them but was offered a job in the Hogwarts kitchen which he eagerly accepted.

But for now, Harry wasn't trying to concentrate on thoughts like that, he was trying to look more for a happy memory. It wasn't because he was an optimist, but because it was the next step for learning this particular magical spell. Ever since the battle, Harry thought about those creatures known as dementors that could suck out a person's soul given the chance. No creature existed like that back in Midland, but now that Voldemort was there, it was possible he had brought some of those things with him as well. If he did, Harry wanted to be prepared.

Sirius and Lupin had been more than willing to show not only him but Schierke as well the spell needed to repel those creatures. Even if they never needed it to repel Dementors, the charm could still be used to deliver messages to people. That would be useful in case the hairs they used for thought transference ever got removed.

"Expecto..." Harry muttered as he held his staff in front of him. Schierke stood off to his right, following his movements.

"Keep trying," Sirius said as he leaned against the rail of the ship. "If it makes you feel any better, you're doing better than most your age."

"Better than you, you mean," Lupin corrected as he too watched their progress. Roderick had no doubt about them after the battle and gave them permission to come aboard when it suited them. The captain was over by Farnese who was also progressing her magical art. Schierke and Harry both decided that with her advancement, it was time for her to get a staff of her own.

As an act of compassion, Roderick had offered her to use the wood from the figurehead of the ship. "Are you sure this is alright?" Farnese asked as Serpico worked on carving some wood for her to work with.

"This is a warship, taking damage is to be expected," Roderick replied with a smile on his face. "What sort of betrothed would I be if I didn't let you take what was mine to use?"

"...Yes, well, thank you, Roderick."

"Think nothing of it," he told her. "Just be sure to think of Lith's navy whenever you use that staff. It'll be part of the sea after all."

Harry was happy for her. Not just because she was growing in magic, but because she seemed to be growing used to Roderick as well. Of course, if he ever found out the captain ever hurt Farnese in any way, he'd hex him into oblivion after Casca or Serpico had done what they had to do. But he felt that wouldn't be the case. Roderick seemed far too genuine to actually be a deceitful guy.

"Expecto Patronum," Schierke said the incarnation again.

"Expecto Patronum," Harry repeated again, his eyes following the white mist that trailed from his staff.

"What were you thinking of?" Schierke asked, her mist still looking feeble.

"Just how far Farnese has come along, I guess," Harry really hadn't had a solid idea in mind.

"Ah," she looked over to their pupil who was carving the wood with Serpico's assistance. "Yeah, she really has."

"What memory are you thinking of?" Harry asked her in turn.

"Oh, just..." her face seemed to heat up, "the first time I tried honey."

Ivalera floated over. "Really, Schierke? Honey? What about when you got me as your best friend?" the pink elf smiled proudly.

"Yes... that's right." She looked unsure, not that Ivalera noticed.

What is it? Harry mentally asked.

'I tried that first, it didn't work either. But if I tell her that she'll get upset and you know how she gets.'

That seemed to be something Schierke was struggling with. She had no shortage of good memories from her time with Flora, it probably had to do with how magic worked in this world as opposed to Midland.

"Well, at least you know what shape it'll take when you do finally figure it out," Harry tried to inspire her through curiosity.

It worked. She looked over to him with large, curious eyes. "Yes? Go on."

"An owl."

She looked almost deadpan. "Really? Care to explain?"

"I don't think there's any real need." He smiled as he went back to practicing his own spellwork again.

"Hmph." In an attempt to almost prove him wrong, she seemed more focused than ever as she too went over the incarnation given to them.

Harry repeated the spell over and over, his eyes trailing the whisps of white smoke as it trailed out of his staff. What would his look like when it finally took a shape? He had been able to talk to snakes before, would it be a snake? Maybe not. A snake had never been an animal he was too attached to, he felt no personal connection with a snake and he knew no inner animal that acted as a guide. But his green eyes still followed the white as it looked to grow bigger with his determination. If he kept at it, it looked...

Done.

At last, she had finished it. Her blue eyes seemed to shine as she took in her handiwork and what she had created. Her wedding dress was finally done. Charlotte admired the look of it as she held it up in front of the mirror. She had a real desire to incorporate Griffith's signature hawk design in her dress so she sewed wing designs on the shoulders and back pattern. The bottom of the dress was long and almost held a feather appearance to it like a swan resting upon a lake.

Charlotte had tried to make the corset and side design avian in appearance as well, but she found that it had been too difficult to pull off let alone sew the design. Instead, it held an almost rib-bone or skeletal design. It strangely did not bother her as much as she thought it would and she had to have faith that Griffith would not care about a design that didn't fully match.

Granted, the wedding day was still a ways off, but her dress was done. It was done and she had done it herself. All that was left now was to walk down the aisle on that day and become Griffith's queen. The thought made her feel anxious, anxious for what was to come and... anxious for a reason unknown to her.

A/N: Happy Halloween! Sorry for the long wait for the chapter, everyone in my family got sick at once, I came down with pink eye and had this cough that made it impossible to just write this. But I'm better now and hope to have the next one out much sooner. Thank you for reading.


	62. Chapter 62

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

"Ow!" Farnese lightly yelped as she put her finger to her mouth yet again. This was the fourth time now she had gotten a sliver from attempting to properly carve her staff from the wood of the masthead. She had more than enough to work with to have it at a length that would be proper for her height, that was not the problem. The problem was actually being able to craft the thing to how she wanted it.

Teacher Harry had told her not to be discouraged if she was having trouble as he had gone through quite a bit of wood himself trying to craft his first staff. Teacher Schierke had also interjected saying that his past tries often shattered into pieces when he tried to use them, much to Harry's embarrassment.

She hoped that wouldn't happen to her when she tried to actually use it, but before it even came to that she had to carve it out first and she already had enough splinters now as it was. Before she returned to her tedious task, a light presence seemed to float down to her.

"Having trouble, Lady Farnese?"

Serpico's face was as passive and calm as she remembered, but she had been in his company enough to know the difference between a simple question and light concern. Maybe it had to do with him knowing what she meant when she said one thing but meant another. Whatever the case, she was happy to have someone to confide in.

"I can see the design in my mind clear enough, but I don't seem apt in the actual process of making it a reality." She had spent more than a fair amount of time debating on what she wanted it to look like when finished. She had once been the commander of the Holy Iron Chain Knights, an organization bent on serving God; and it had been a lie. What was God's work was only a distraction for her, a way to get her out of the house and out of trouble.

People accused of witchcraft who were all but innocent in a world far too cruel, she had been tasked with lighting the pyre for those same souls who were now probably trapped in what her teachers called the Abyss, the lowest of the astral layers and where their enemy now draws their power from. Their enemy now was a being who was all but supreme, the Hawk of Light who was said to lead the people to prosperity. That too was a lie.

That being who paraded around as a savior was but a deceiver, one who would take the lives of millions to secure his kingdom, one who would sacrifice the life of an innocent queen because of her blood, and the one who had made Casca retreat into her own mind. Before meeting her and all the others, Farnese never would have thought she would ever truly call someone a friend, but going through near-death experiences would do that to a person. And having been Casca's primary caretaker for the duration of their journey, Farnese couldn't help but feel a sense of loathing for who made her like that to begin with.

"Would you allow me to assist you in your endeavor?" Serpico asked seeing the look on her face that was contemplative.

"I'm unsure," Farnese told him. "Teachers Harry and Schierke both made their own staffs on their own." Well, before Harry's first one broke.

"Hm." Serpico lightly nodded but made no move to leave her side. "The fruit of their efforts have shown, but I doubt that it was the result of just their work. I mean to deprive them of no credit," Serpico added when seeing her brief look of confusion. "But even Schierke had Miss. Flora as a teacher to assist her and Harry learned from them."

"Yes," Farnese admitted as much. "I do not wish to bother my teachers at the moment. They are both still trying to get an understanding of the spell used to repel those cloaked figures, the Patronus charm, I believe."

Serpico's thin brows knitted together for a fraction at the mention of the beings called Dementors. "I recall the feeling of being near them as well during that fight. It was... unpleasant to say the least." She regarded him with concern. This was the first Serpico spoke of being near those things. Guts had it the worst, but Serpico was still close to him when they had attacked.

"Serpico," Farnese studied his face, "is something wrong?" she knew him to be soft-spoken on many topics, but when he seemed ready to elaborate it usually meant that it was important.

"Oh, no, nothing drastic. I was just recalling how it felt is all." Serpico offered up a slight smile to disperse her worries. "I consider us very lucky not to have any of those creatures plaguing Midland."

"I don't want to sound a pessimist, but if that Lord Voldemort is there, wouldn't there be a chance that they are as well?" Farnese did not want to worry Serpico, but it did stand to reason.

To his credit, Serpico didn't seem to mind. "Then all the better that our two master mages are learning such a useful spell." Farnese momentarily cast her attention back to where her two teachers were still going over the spell they had been shown earlier. Harry's white mist seemed to have more solidarity with it, but Schierke's, while lighter, seemed to almost take a shape before dissolving. Serpico watched as they progressed. "It is such a contrast to how being around those things felt." His small smile wavered.

"Pardon, but what did it feel like, Serpico?"

She had no need to ask his pardon, he would answer all the same. "I felt unnaturally cold. I could almost hear my name being called, it was a woman calling to me." He paused, maybe thinking he had said enough. "It was my mother." Farnese looked at him with concern now. His mother had been one of many souls that had been burnt alive at the stake and what was worse, she had made Serpico throw the torch on the pyre. She had done it so his life would, in turn, be spared by showing his loyalty to the Holy See, but also so that he would stay by her side.

unaware of her thoughts, Serpico continued. "That cold feeling, I almost wanted to feel the heat of the fire. I wanted to be there with her at that stake, to warm myself and to see her face again. It may have just been a trick, but I could not tell if the woman's face was my mother's. Maybe I have just forgotten, or, maybe I haven't." His eyelids opened slightly before he shut them. "Either way, it isn't an experience I would lightly wish on anyone." He looked at her. "My apologies if I have upset you in any way, Lady Farnese. I recognize that it all needed to happen in order to-,"

"-Please do not finish, Serpico," Farnese suddenly asked of him. "There has already been enough suffering concerning the past already. For now, I would like it if you could use your Sylph sword to help with this."

If Serpico was going to raise an objection, he quickly dismissed it and instead replied with, "Of course. It would be an honor, Lady Farnese."

The Patronus charm was put on hold for the moment. It wasn't as though Harry was giving up, it was just that it became too tiring to keep at it again. He never thought just trying to find a happy memory for a spell could be so taxing. Maybe the nature held true for the good as it did the bad with extreme emotions; anger could give tremendous strength, but leave you feeling weak afterward, the Berserker Armor being a prime example.

Harry had good memories, it wasn't all fighting and death all the time, although it had a habit of sticking out. If he had to guess himself, it was knowing how those good memories usually ended. Any promise of a good and peaceful life came to a screeching halt with a black sun overhead. There was still time for them to prevent another tragedy from happening, but getting high hopes for that now could prove to be a fatal mistake.

This world held knowledge of generations of magic, some foreign to Midland. And on the other hand, Falconia now had Voldemort there as well with his own knowledge and power.

They had magical items from something as small as Isidro's Salamander Dagger to something as unstoppable as the Berserker Armor.

And the God Hand had an army of apostles and probably regular humans as well.

They have access to more resources, magical and otherwise.

And the God Hand has the power of God basically.

So if he and the rest actually won this coming fight, would it really be over? Guts could cleave a demonic apostle in half no problem, magic had a wide range of possibility and some new ones were even presenting themselves now, but would that be enough to actually kill a god?

He wasn't just thinking about the God Hand either. With all Skull Knight had told them about the past and the fall of his kingdom, how people looked to a higher power for explanation and blame, there being a power behind people's belief, and even where the God Hand derived their own power from; the abyss. Even if they were able, killing the God Hand would not be enough. There was something hidden in the depths of the abyss, the thing that made the behelits, gave causality reason for being, something the God Hand cherished.

Maybe it wasn't God, but it was something. And if left undealt with, the cycle would just repeat even if these five God Hand were dealt with.

"Hey, incoming!" Puck's voice reached his ears and Harry was quick enough to move out of the way as Isidro fell down where he had been standing previously.

The rusty-haired boy quickly hopped back to his feet, rubbing at his chin. "Hey! Since when could we use feet?"

Casca walked over to him holding his dropped sparring sword. "We never agreed that we couldn't."

"Seriously?!" he exclaimed. "Do you know how many times I could have used that to my advantage?"

"So why didn't you?" Casca asked, not sounding impressed by his ignorance.

"Because you never said that we could!" he didn't realize he was just reiterating his own point from before.

Ivalera flew over from Schierke's hat to sadly shake her head. "Not like it would have been effective anyway."

Puck floated over to her. "Do not doubt the power of feet. When used properly, feet are more dangerous than hands."

"How would you know?" Ivalera asked. "You never needed to walk." She pointed at his fluttering wings.

"A trade secret," was all Puck had to say, but it was clear that he really had no way to think of a come-back for that.

Stretching his neck, Isidro looked over to where the two mages were by the rail. "So how's that patro-, patrnomo-, that light spell coming along?"

Schierke perked up a little, not expecting Isidro of all people to ask a question concerning magic. "This is supposed to be one of the highest grades of spells known to this world, so it's actually quite miraculous that we're even able to produce what we have so far. But according to Mr. Lupin, there are even more categories of magic here that do not rely solely on a spiritual connection to the astral world."

Even though she spoke with excitement, Isidro seemed to have gotten lost somewhere along the way. "Uh-huh. So you still haven't mastered it after practicing it for hours, and meanwhile, I'm doing some real training and getting even stronger than before."

Schierke closed her eyes in frustration and Harry responded, "And when does your training involve you not getting knocked down like a sack of flour?"

"Hey!" Isidro yelled. "She's fast when she wants to be! I can't roll out of the way when I'm all out of deck to roll on."

"Are you saying I'm not meeting your teaching expectations?" Casca asked in a half-serious half-humorous tone. "Maybe someone a little slower paced is better suited for you?" her eyes drifted over to the stout man still wearing a helm with two black feathers to resemble a mustache. He was chatting away with some deckhands who were largely ignoring him, only nodding when he paused while talking.

"I thought my injury would mean certain amputation, but that healer proved otherwise!" he retold the story, again. "I never would have thought that I would find myself indebted to the use of magic given a previous affiliation. But, my friends, that just goes to show that life has a way of surprising you in ways you never thought possible, no matter your age."

Isidro seemed less than impressed. "That old fossil?" he pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "C'mon! That would just be insulting at this point."

The older knight began to meander his way over to where they were on the deck causing Isidro to hold his tongue from releasing any further comments. He was probably thinking that his jab had not gone unnoticed. "But more importantly," the knight looked to start speaking again, "I owe you an apology!" the knight bent a knee before Harry.

"Uh, you do?" confused, Harry looked over to Schierke who simply shrugged but still somehow looked amused by the sight.

"I understand if you do not remember, allow me to finally come clean with a reveal so shocking that I would not believe it if I was not involved. You see, I am no mere hedge knight. I once served you, Lady Farnese as your second-in-command during your tenure with the Holy See. I was there when this young man was taken captive, for you see, I am Sir Azan!"

We already knew that, was the collective thought between Harry, Schierke, Casca, Farnese, Serpico, and even Isidro.

"I can tell by your surprised faces that this must come as a great shock, but rest assured, while my identity may have been kept secret, my skills are at your disposal!" he seemed to overlook the fact that no one seemed shocked or even the remote bit interested in what he thought was a well-guarded secret.

Hey, Farnese, Harry reached out to his student via thought transference.

'Yes,' she answered.

Does he always act like this? A little charisma is fine and all, but I don't want him acting like a fanatic.

'Actually, he seems to have mellowed out a bit from our time in the Holy Iron Chain Knights. Any help we can get is beneficial, yes? Sir Azan is good for his word. At least he isn't retelling the infamous bridge story.'

"I wish no animosity between any of us here," Azan went on. "I have pledged my allegiance and will stand by your side against the corrupt and further monstrosities. Why this reminds me of my first noble act of being a hedge knight. An elderly man was having difficulty crossing a bridge, you see-," Harry turned his head to give Farnese a single look.

'I stand corrected.'

"Quite a sight, isn't it?"

Guts directed his sole eye over to where Roderick leaned against the rail of the helms deck as he observed the scenes playing out below.

"Lively," Guts gave a sole reply, but not carrying any hostile or negative connotations. He was just... tired. Yes, tired.

It was a bit hard to believe that it had only been a little over a week since the battle and subsequent raid had commenced. Looking at everyone down on the main deck, he could tell that the three with magic were attempting to benefit from the magic of this world. Serpico still stayed by Farnese's side, but Guts had seen more of a serious change in the young man since the battle but he seemed content to confide his thoughts to just Farnese at the moment. That older hedge knight now seems willing and fully committed to their cause, even Isidro seemed to be getting better at his swordsmanship - even if he did wind up on his ass most of the time.

Then there was Casca as well. He could tell she was starting to slip back into her more confident sense of self just by watching her. Being around people like Harry, Farnese, and Schierke was helping her, putting her mind at ease with faces both familiar and new as she herself trained. She was getting faster, stronger, her sense of persistence and stubbornness resurfacing as she continued to train her body back to a prime fighting condition. Guts also noticed that even though Farnese had cut Casca's hair not too long ago, it was starting to grow a bit longer in the back and Casca either didn't notice or didn't care enough to do anything about it at the moment; her sole focus was getting stronger.

And as for Guts, he would never say it, but he felt weaker.

Physically, he was still the strongest on the entire ship, no question about it. It was something that was gnawing away inside of him for a while now. He slept without the Berserker Armor on, leaving his mind as clear as it could be before falling asleep. But whenever he put it back on, it became ever more apparent that the evil presence inside of it was sitting idly by, picking its moment. Even his previous partial usage from the battle was starting to take its toll on his body and senses.

Colors that were bright and vibrant just seemed so much more dull to him now, like a greyness was seeping into everything bright. Whenever he wakes up in the morning, he barely feels the warm rays of the sun on his face or even the cold of a passing breeze. Whenever he ate a meal, it was like he was just biting into parchment, his tongue feeling only blandness and the occasional texture if it was hard or soft.

He wanted to be rid of it. If he finally hung the armor up by the end of this, would his senses come back to him? He thought of the Skull Knight's words to him about the armor and decided that wouldn't be the case. This was a path he was already walking down for longer than he could remember. And as reluctant as he was about fully using the armor to its full potential, he knew that it was one of the best chances they had at fighting the God Hand.

It would be a huge toll on his person to use it, but if Harry or Schierke were in their astral bodies or whatever, he stood some chance of keeping himself in control. "When I first met you, I thought you were an idiot." Godo's words to him almost seemed appropriate in that moment of reflection and if the smith were alive, he would probably say the same thing again. Here he was thinking about what he would be like after when they hadn't even started forming an actual plan on how they would even go about taking down this Neo-Griffith and the rest of the God Hand.

"Guts... when you get back from making Casca better, are you all going to come back? You all can come back here. We can fix the mine so you three can be safe at night, we could all live here together, right?" the voice of Erica sounded in his mind before they had all departed. The girl was probably eleven by now, but Guts doubted she had outgrown her childlike sense of wonder and optimism. Well, eleven still was being a child in many regards and her optimism had not been ill-placed; they had healed Casca. But for all of them to be together by the end of this, that really was the dream of a child.

But, knowing how dreams could end or what they could lead into, that one didn't seem like one to b extinguished.

His eye once again drifted back to Casca. It was a child's dream, but a good one. Until now he had never really given much thought as to what he would do if he lived to see the end of this coming fight. It just felt like from the first day he had been in a fight, taking only a short break between them before moving onto the next. He wasn't naive enough to believe that just because if they managed to take out beings of infinite evil that no more fights would break out, it was more of what would he do himself?

Ever since the Eclipse, he had two clear concise goals in mind; heal Casca and kill Griffith.

The first task was already done, not without hardships, but still completed. The second was something he had thought about for so long but recently had taken less precedent given their location now and all the madness that had happened with magic. But that hatred that had been raging inside of his heart, that clearly meant nothing to this Hawk of Light. Why else would he have allowed Casca and his son to see them during the full moon if not to try and placate them?

No. That dream that Griffith once had was finally carrying over now and they were but mere distractions to this being more than anything else. He might look at them like ants upon the ground, ready to squish them should they prove to be a nuisance.

"...we could all live here together, right?"

He looked at them all down on the deck. "You found it. That dream, or spark, you found it. Never let it go; think, if not for yourself, for her, for those that follow you."

You had to be right, you old hermit.

"Are Sirius and Lupin still onboard?" Guts asked Roderick.

"Hm? As far as I know," Roderick answered as far as his knowledge. "Something on your mind, Chief?"

"Too much," Guts simply answered before heading off to see if he could find the two resident wizards of this world. Roderick gave a small salute as he went.

Most of the crew continued on with their daily tasks of either swabbing the deck, coiling some rope, adjusting the sails and manning the crow's nest, but two were off to the port side, lowering a rope ladder to an awaiting boat below. The two men dressed in robes seemed ready to take their leave for now.

"Am I catching you two at a bad moment?" Guts asked as Lupin already began to swing his leg over the side.

"We've been caught in worse situations, not often, but still," Sirius offered with a semi-crooked grin. "What can we do for you?"

"Other than this castle, where can you get more books about different kinds of magic, weapons too?" Guts wasted no time in just asking what he had been thinking about.

Lupin furrowed his brow at the question. "Well, many pure-bloods like Sirius have extensive libraries usually for more family-based magic. But for magical items and various spellbooks, Diagon Alley or even Knockturn Alley would offer up a selection."

"Weapons, armor?" Guts repeated.

"That might be a bit hard to come by," Lupin answered. "Sets of armor are mostly used as antique decorations unless you put in an order with the goblins at Gringotts for them to make one."

"That armor getting a bit too stuffy?" Sirius asked but still curious.

"Not for me," Guts told him, his eye quickly darting over to where Casca was. Basic armor wouldn't cut it for the coming fight and he wasn't about to let her lose herself to something like the Berserker Armor.

Sirius seemed to follow where his gaze had temporarily drifted. "Ah. I see. Well, I'm no Bill Weasley when it comes to dealing with goblins, but I imagine I can try my hand at reasoning with the little devils. But uh-,"

"What is it?" Guts asked, not put at ease by the mention of goblins. He had encountered trolls and ogres and he could only imagine goblins wouldn't fall far from them on the tree of monstrosities.

"Well, if you're putting in an order for them, just know that they have their own set of rules that normal wizards don't always abide by."

"Meaning?" Guts pushed.

"Even if you pay for a goblin-made item and you keep it, the goblins would still consider it their property and have a right to it as they did make it," Lupin did his best to summarize.

"Right," Sirius nodded. "Loads of wizarding families have goblin-made items as heirlooms that are passed down, but if that line were to end, the goblins would have first right to take it back. Things like that. And it isn't really hard to see why, their craft is the best there is, well, maybe aside from the dwarves. Not to mention that they would also want to meet in person. Goblins aren't exactly the most trusting of folk."

"Figures as such." Guts rubbed at his chin. "I'll tell everyone else, see what they think. If they're agreeable to it when's the soonest you could get us there?"

"Not long," Sirius quickly answered. "With the wards down from the attack, it'll be no problem to make a portkey-,"

"-illegal portkey," Lupin briefly interjected.

"Oh, the Ministry has bigger fish to fry anyway. If we make to the outside the Leaky Cauldron, we're right at Diagon Alley. If you all agree, we can go in a day or two."

Guts nodded, understanding. "And who would be paying for this to be made?" he also asked.

"I could easily pitch in," Sirius casually said. "But it might be more beneficial if the cost was split."

"So that way there would be a way around that rule of theirs," Guts concluded.

"Exactly!" Sirius snapped his fingers. "Harry probably doesn't know, but his parents did set aside a trust vault for him when he attended school. All things considered, it's just sitting there untouched. But if it's for a friend, I doubt he would mind lending a few galleons. That does mean he would have to be there in person to verify a transaction, you know?" Guts nodded again. Maybe it was time to see how well that invisibility cloak of his worked. He didn't want them getting swarmed if they had to walk. "One more thing," Sirius added. "It would help if you brought someone who has experience negotiating or with financial affairs."

"You know," Guts said, "I think we have someone just like that."

"I don't understand! I just don't understand! Surely there must be someone else who could negotiate on your behalf!"

Harry fought the urge to roll his eye at the elder Vandimion sibling, Magnifico as Guts nearly dragged him out and onto the deck. Harry had seen very little of Farnese's elder brother since setting sail and on most days he nearly forgot that he was even on the ship as the people he talked to mostly consisted of Roderick and Farnese. But after Guts had explained the idea of further becoming equipped for the rest of the journey ahead of them, it made sense that they would have to get off this ship eventually, and not just on Hogwarts grounds. He just never expected Magnifico to be tagging along with them in the two days since Guts had proposed this idea of his.

"You studied your father's business, didn't you?" Guts asked looming over the noble. "Your father is a banker."

"Well, of course, I know finance!" Magnifico sounded insulted almost. "I made excellent connections while studying abroad, just ask Roderick. I can talk another noble into making a deal as easily as you could cleave a man in two. But you ask me to help strike a deal with a bunch of gremlins?"

"Goblins, actually," Sirius smiled over from where he set up a portkey. Harry had to admit, an object that could instantly transport someone from one place to another sounded rather ingenious. If and when they went back to Midland, it could prove handy for a quick getaway; although, Harry doubted someone like Guts would run from a fight.

But if Neo-Griffith's plan largely revolved around Charlotte, if she were to touch a portkey unknowingly, it could get her to a place where they could get her away from the city. And to actually do that, they would have to be in the city in the first place.

He put that thought on hold as Roderick came over to offer some words of ease to his friend. "Why such the long face, Magnifico?" he patted him on the shoulders. "For once, you'll be the one to tell me of an adventure. Try looking at it like that!"

"Yes, well, I'm sure none of your adventures ever included being whisked away to god-knows-where to talk business with a couple of slimy goblins!" Magnifico whined.

"For future record, try not to call them slimy," Sirius advised. "They hate us humans enough as it is."

"Oh, fantastic," Magnifico groaned as he was forced to step closer to where they had all gathered.

A spare coil of rope was the object that had been magically turned into a portkey. From what Harry saw, it didn't seem all too hard to create one. Sirius had just set it on the deck and said the spell, portus. There was probably more to it than just that, probably having to visualize where you wanted it to go, how many people it could take, where to return to, how long it would stay in effect, all those kinds of things.

"So where's this take us?" Isidro was staring unimpressed at the coil of rope.

"In a space outside of a pub," Sirius said. "And they don't serve anyone under seventeen." Isidro's face fell. "Unless you get an adult to buy." Isidro's face spoke of mischief.

"Forget about drinks," Guts ordered after making sure Magnifico was between him and Farnese. "You got your cloak, Harry?"

Harry pulled the silvery fabric from his satchel and dropped it over his shoulders and head. Puck flew close to where his head was. "Yup. He's invisible alright. Do you think he could see other invisible people now?" Looking down at where his torso was, Harry saw nothing. the only visible part of him that poked through was his hand and that was to show he was ready to grab the portkey same as everyone else. If they were going to be appearing in a street of some kind, better no one see him and start crowding around.

"Alright then," Sirius reached down to place his hand over the portkey. "If you're all ready, grab in, three, two, now!"

There was a tug behind Harry's navel and he felt a sensation of spinning, a disorientation of his senses and his surroundings. the deck of the ship became a whirlwind and myriad of assorted colors that made him feel he was staring directly into a rainbow. The speed of which was only increasing and Harry thought that the cloak would fly off of him from the force of the speed, but it stayed in place around his being.

As abrupt as it began, it ended. Harry felt his feet touch solid ground and he fumbled a bit from the suddenness of it all. Looking around, everyone seemed to have handled themselves well. Isidro was a bit wobbly on his feet as he looked close to tripping over himself as he tried to steady his posture but by no surprise the one who was handling it the worst was Magnifico.

The man's short, blonde curls were in a mess and his face seemed flushed with green as he put a hand to cover his mouth. Farnese looked over to her brother with mild concern.

"Magnifico?"

The elder Vandimion didn't say anything but raised a hand to signal her not to speak. It looked like he was forcing himself to swallow down whatever bile had been working its way up. "Gah!" Magnifico choked out at last. "Would a little warning be too much to suffice?" he directed his ire over to where Sirius was who merely shrugged.

"I presume that we are outside of that pub then?" Serpico inquired as he turned his head in the direction of a worn, wooden building to their left. If they listened, the sound of rather animated chatter could be heard from the other side.

"You'd be right," Sirius instead went opposite the pub and to a brick wall. "But all the fun stuff is through here." He raised his wand to touch one of the bricks but paused. "You know, it might be a good idea if I put a disillusion charm on you before we go through." He looked at Guts more than anyone.

"What for?" Guts demanded.

"I don't see you parting with that sword of yours anytime soon," Sirius told him. "If anyone who read that issue of the Prophet puts two and two together, likely chance is you'll be drawing quite the crowd."

Harry knew Guts wasn't going to put up with more distractions so it came as no surprise when he said, "Do what you need to then." As Sirius performed the charm, Guts' attention was on the sword at Casca's side. She was wearing a cloak to partially conceal the Sword of Gryffindor as apparently she had also been mentioned in an article and as the sword was made by goblins, best to keep it a bit of a secret.

"Right then," Sirius said as he tapped one of the bricks and the wall began to split apart to open up to a much more lively scene.

It was leading straight into a cobblestone street lined a colorful assortment of shops and homes that seemed like they could all be connected as one long stretch of construction. There were signs for new racing broomsticks, a snack called every flavored beans, a tailor shop, and even an apothecary and bookshop. And then there were the people. No matter who they were, old, young, boy, girl, robes seemed to be the preferred outfit of choice. They ranged from bright and colorful with designs of the elements to more calm and warm natural colors such as a basic brown or grey.

As Harry looked around to take in the sights around him, he got the strangest feeling of vertigo. It was almost like he was taking in one of the streets of the capital of Windham again for the first time. The exception being everyone here was a witch or wizard and wouldn't be burned at the stake for it. Things had probably changed in the capital since he had last been there, but it was just where his mind had wandered.

"These are all mages?" Schierke asked as she too was taking in all the sights around them so far. The wonder in her voice was evident. There were more mages here in one street than there were in the entirety of Midland. The same could be said for Hogwarts too, but that was a single secluded school, this was a representation of an entire community.

"Ah, the first time reaction," Sirius smiled at her face. "You'll probably be able to find more than a fair share of items or books for purchase at any of these stores."

"I don't doubt it in the slightest," Serpico agreed. "But I doubt the currency we carry will be accepted by any merchants here."

"All the more reason to go to this bank first," Guts concluded.

"Actually, Guts," Farnese spoke up. "Perhaps it would be beneficial if some of us scout out a few places beforehand while you visit the bank. That way we would know where to stop after."

Guts thought it over. "If that's what you want to do, do it. Just bring him with you." He pointed a thumb over at Isidro.

"What's that mean?" Isidro demanded.

"I don't want you in a bank," Guts flatly told him. "You don't need to try and steal something from some goblin."

"Try and steal?" Isidro looked offended now. "I'd succeed."

Serpico gave a small sigh. "I'll be sure to keep an eye on him."

'And if we find something useful, we still have the thought transference,' Farnese's voice spoke inside all their heads.

Sirius seemed to understand. "Well, if you want my advice, Flourish and Blotts would be the place to go for any additional magical texts. As for the rest, this way to Gringotts."

It was probably from the disillusion charm Sirius had cast earlier, but they easily slipped into the crowd of people on the street and moved with the flow of things further down. Being invisible, Harry followed close behind Guts as the people seemed to give him a wide berth of space as he walked and Harry didn't want to bump into anyone and possibly blow his cover. He only had to worry about Magnifico who was insistent that none of the wizards touch him but Guts kept him in line by steering him in the right direction.

"Harry," Schierke called his name from the side. "You're seeing all of this, right?"

"Yeah, I'm seeing it," he whispered back. "How are you holding up?"

"Me?" she asked.

"Yeah. You don't like cities or crowded places," he recalled Vritannis.

"Well, it's overwhelming for sure and... hold on."

'It's weird talking to you when I can't see you,' she spoke via thought. 'I could barely sense your od at all when you wear that. But, it is overwhelming, but not how I would expect.'

Meaning?

'Well, no one is looking at me funny. I'm dressed the same as I always do and no one thinks anything of it. That would never happen in a city or town in Midland. It feels... it's just not something that I would be used to normally.'

Ah, I see. You know, if we actually start up a school of our own, it might not be too uncommon.

'Assuming we can best gods and not be condemned by every government on the continent. Then, yes, maybe. But even that would - what is that?'

What?

'That vendor over there. What is he selling?'

Harry looked over to where Schierke's attention was drawn and saw a man scooping a frozen treat onto a sugar cone. That? It's ice cream.

'Have you had it before?'

He recalled one of Dudley's birthday parties where his whale of a cousin had brought a bun of his friends over after going to a theme park for cake and other sweets. Harry had been quick enough to snag a bowl of half-melted vanilla before having to retreat back to the cupboard.

Only when it was warm. Why? Do you want to try it?

'No,' she thought unconvincingly. 'I was just curious was all.'

Sirius led them to the largest building on the street, an imposing white marble one. "Well, this is Gringotts," Sirius beckoned them over. "Once we're inside you can take the cloak off; goblins don't like being tricked. And as for your sword," he looked to Guts, "I sent them a letter in advance and gave an oath that you wouldn't be using it. Of course, if you do I'll likely have my vault sealed so you know, no pressure."

"That's up to them."

"Good to know." with that, Sirius led them into the bank.

The inside was well polished and well kept. Lines and rows of desks crowded the main lobby as small, pointed creatures worked away at signing or stamping various papers. Unlike trolls, these creatures were fully clothed and looked to be sharp about it as well. Their skin looked like wrinkled leather, especially the ears and nose. Even with closed lips, a few pointed teeth stuck out giving their professional appearance more of a twisted look about it.

Harry did as Sirius instructed and removed his cloak. He noticed how Casca would stiffen up at the sight of some of the goblins. Outside of Puck and Ivalera, she really had no experience with magical or supernatural creatures that didn't mean her any harm. Guts seemed to notice this as well and moved a bit ahead of her.

"God," Magnifico looked worse than before. "These things are goblins!"

"Yes," Sirius nodded. "And try to keep your voice down if you call them that. Come, let's get things settled with a teller, we'll probably meet with the director after."

Going to the nearest desk, Sirius tapped his knuckles against the wood to get the goblin's attention. The goblin looked up with beady eyes and a sneer that showed off its pointed teeth. "And how may Gringotts be of assistance to you today?" he seemed less than enthused.

"I, Sirius Black, was looking to put in a forging request with the contribution of another patron," Sirius explained.

"And is the other patron present?" the goblin furrowed its brow.

Sirius looked over to Harry, letting him know he was to speak. "I am."

"And your name?" the goblin seemed irritated at having to deal with him now.

"Harry Potter," he said loud enough for only the teller to hear.

He was met with a gaze that was more scrutinizing than spiteful as if the goblin was attempting to see past a lie he had just told. The goblin pushed his chair back and stood on short, stumpy legs. "Wait here for a moment. I'll fetch the director."

"Are they all unpleasant?" Casca asked as soon as the teller had left.

"No, not at all," Sirius swatted the air. "He seemed one of the more polite ones."

"What joy," Magnifico sarcastically commented.

The teller returned with another goblin, this one dressed in a more expensive attire and looking older for a goblin, but with the same beady and sharp eyes as all the others. "Sirius Black, it has been a long time since you last set foot in goblin territory. And from what Bonejaw has told me, you come to make an unusual request from us."

"Director Ragnok. I would have visited much sooner, but being falsely accused and imprisoned will do that. But if it's all the same to you, is there a more private space we can discuss this?"

"Indeed," Ragnok nodded with a slight sneer. "My office shall suffice. Come. We can discuss matters there."

Guts disliked goblins right away. Unlike Puck who got on his nerves with his constant positive attitude, the goblins seemed ready to skewer you for the slightest offense. He knew he would do the same thing if they offended him in some way, but it didn't help that they looked an awful lot like how some of the monsters he killed looked. He would rather make a deal his way than resort to meeting in an office of some kind.

His opinion of them didn't exactly change as the office of this director seemed decorated in paintings of goblins in some kind of war or even several. He could respect a good warrior when he came across one, but if the imagery was anything to go by, the goblins were more violent than they let on. And no warrior ever stops being a warrior.

It was why the talk coming out of Ragnok now bored him senseless as well. He was going on about things like "historical creation methods as opposed to more modern ones," and "lists of other goblin-made items and relics." It was useful information and something he was glad Schierke was here for, but all of this just seemed like dancing around the question for him.

"-finest materials available. Not that any wizards would know what to do if they ever got their hands on such materials."

This goblin also seemed to have a history with wizards. To be more specific, he seemed to have experience of being screwed over more than once. Even though he had agreed to meet with them, he didn't have to agree to help them in any way.

"The only better smiths that could best a goblin are the dwarves and a majority of them sailed to America at the centuries ago at the prospect of mining gold," the goblin continued with his little history lesson. "Now, a suit of armor is a request that has been common during previous wizarding wars and during King Arthur's time, but the art has not been lost to us. It is a bit impractical for a family to have two sets of armor, Mr. Potter. This is your request, is it not?" the goblin seemed to smile but it looked far more predatory.

"I'll pay for a majority of the order, but it isn't for me," Harry told the goblin who seemed to frown a bit.

"Oh?"

"It'll be for my companion, Casca." Harry indicated her and she now had the goblin's attention.

"A rather unexpected request then, but not unheard of." Ragnok opened a drawer and started going through some of the papers. "But seeing as you have never visited Gringotts until today, I will need to verify certain formalities. I trust you have your vault key?"

"Well-,"

"Ah! Here it is!" Sirius dug in his pockets to pull a key out. "A spare James lent me as godfather."

Ragnok took the key and examined it close to his beady eyes like he was trying to detect any flaw in it. "Very well." He slid a piece of parchment on his desk over to Harry as well as a quill and ink. "Read over this statement concerning your vault and sign if you accept."

Harry took the paper and handed it over to a nervous Magnifico. "You're the future banker, what do you think?"

Taking the parchment, Magnifico held it up in front of his face to block out the sight of the goblin as he began reading it over. "Everything seems in order," Magnifico said as he read it over thrice. "But this is the terms of agreement for a trust vault in your name, not the primary one."

"You are correct," Ragnok hardly seemed impressed. "The key is for young Mr. Potter's trust vault set aside by his parents. The main vault remains sealed until Mr. Potter comes of age at seventeen. Then, and only then, can he make a claim to the main vault."

"Seventeen?" Magnifico repeated. "Isn't this boy the last of his line? By that standard, all rights are his by default."

"Mr. Potter still has rights, but this is the goblin law. He has full access to his trust vault, if you wish to extract funds, you may do so from there at Mr. Potter's behest."

"And how much is in this trust vault exactly?" Magnifico asked, not liking the tone the goblin spoke to him with. "If he is pressed for funds, placing an order here would be a waste of everyone's time."

"Are you acting as a proxy of some kind?" Ragnok asked. "If you are not, I cannot divulge that information to you. Not without Mr. Potter's permission, of course." He curled his upper lip to show off some of his pointed teeth.

"If you have a statement on the vault, you can disclose it to him and the others," Harry told the goblin.

Looking neither pleased or concerned, Ragnok shifted through a few stacks of parchment before pulling one out and sliding it across the table. "That is the latest statement of your trust vault since the start of this month."

Guts wasn't looking over Magnifico's shoulder, but he could see how the elder Vandimion suddenly change in his demeanor. "W-well. This is certainly a bountiful amount to more than cover the majority of the cost you mentioned earlier."

Without even looking at the number written on the parchment, Guts was sure of a few things; their order would be placed, Magnifico was wishing he knew of this sooner so he could have maybe married Farnese off to Harry, and that whatever books the others found, Harry was paying for it.

It was nice to actually be out of the city. Things had not been as fine as they once were, or at least, how she perceived them to be. Irvine had instructed her to always stay in his sight as she never knew what sorts of beasts were in the woods this close to the capital. And the same could be said in reverse.

Sonia wasn't just thinking about the War Demons as ferocious as they could be. No. Her mind was still on that wizard, the one she knew had come from Luna's side of things. She never saw him or any of his followers around the main palace so she could only guess that they were inside that giant sphere behind the city. She never really wanted to see him ever again knowing Luna could have died that night because he had attacked her school.

She grumbled at her thought and tossed the apple Irvine had plucked for her into the fire of his camp.

"Not to your liking?" Irvine asked from where he was skinning a deer. He had shot it straight through the heart.

"Not hungry," Sonia lightly whined.

Irvine momentarily paused before peeling away some more of its hide. "Something is on your mind."

"Hey, Irvine, do you like the other War Demons?" Sonia asked.

He regarded her. "There are those I tolerate more than others. Zodd and I have an understanding and Rosine is good company. Why do you ask?"

"Do you like the wizard from earlier?" Sonia asked.

"It is far too soon to say," the hunter replied. "I would feel no different if I never saw him again. Does this have to do with your one friend?"

"Of course!" Sonia threw her arms up. "I tried telling Griffith that he wasn't any good and that he should just kill him, but he didn't. He just dismissed me. I trust Griffith, I do At least, I want to."

Irvine said nothing. He waited to see if she had any more to say. She did not. "You are a citizen of Falconia. Trusting the Hawk will keep you in his favor. Trust in yourself will not lead you astray. Trust in a friend will give you trust in yourself."

Sonia frowned. "What's that mean?"

Irvine shrugged. "I trust you to figure it out."

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving! I hope everoyne who celebrates has a happy holiday! Thank you for reading.


	63. Chapter 63

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

"A month," Harry heard Guts grumble to himself later that day.

"Don't sound so grouchy, this was your idea to begin with," Casca had told him.

"Yeah, I know it was," Guts agreed. "It's just ridiculous is all."

"It was my money that paid for it," Harry pointed out.

For the right price, the goblins were agreeable to making a custom suit of armor for Casca. They did charge a hefty price that took a sizable chunk out of his trust vault, but if they were as good as they claimed to be at smithing, it would have been a price well paid. And besides the price in gold that had to be paid, there was another toll; time.

It would take at least a month for the armor to be fully completed. And that was with the best goblin smiths working on it as well.

Guts was none too happy about that fact as they were already on a limited time as it was. According to that talk they had with Luna, the wedding would be taking place at the beginning of what would be August in this world. Already, the season here was transitioning from the balanced weather of spring to a more sunny and warm temperate. That left them three, maybe four months at the maximum to not only return to Midland but also come up with a way of stopping the Neo-Griffith and his army of apostles.

Taking an entire month, while beneficial, still consumed a great deal of time.

But, even still, that month of waiting would be spent on managing the time they had wisely. The trip they had taken did come with some benefits as well.

There had been a variety of spellbooks that were unique to this world only that Schierke had been studying over. It seemed to help understand the main difference between how each side was able to use magic. The mages here didn't seem to have a solid understanding of od and its full potential, hence why the spells here took far less time to cast without the use of spirits but consumed more od in the process. That wasn't to say that there weren't spells that were quick to cast with some understanding as Flora had shown them such as the basic elementals. Perhaps it had even been something she had learned from Merlin.

And speaking of Merlin, there had been quite a number of different texts concerning him and his history.

Much like how films and television often showed, he did indeed seem to be a good friend of the once King of Camelot, Arthur. The story was a bit different in varying books; some claimed that Merlin was a young man when he met King Arthur, others said that he was already an old and wise wizard when they first met while another claimed he was actually young and was just using a glamor to disguise his appearance.

But aside from that, it also seemed to be a common agreement that there was some initial hostility when they first met. And much like his appearance, different sources gave different explanations as to why. They varied from Arthur having a distrust for magic due to his upbringing with his father and others say it was nothing more than a simple misunderstanding.

Most of his personal information such as his varying aliases, deeds, and other accomplishments seemed to be more common knowledge. It was common knowledge that Merlin had a staff that he won from a sorceress named Morgana and the full extent of it was known only by what Merlin himself wrote down in his own research which was later publically distributed.

The staff was said to collectively store magic from each previous holder, making it effectively more powerful with every new wielder. Due to this, spells that were either previously unknown by the wielder could almost seem like second nature or their hand was being guided by a different castor. Because of this, using the staff could be especially draining the first initial times around.

Isn't that the truth, Harry thought of the first time he had used it back at the Spirit Tree shortly after Guts gained the Berserker Armor. He had felt completely drained but more powerful than ever at the same time.

The books offered a few rough sketches of what the staff would look like, but that was really it. Since it had been with Flora the entire time, many mages here regarded it as a relic that had been lost to the ages.

That was, of course, before Harry received it.

And as fascinating as that was, he did know some of it already from what both Schierke and Flora had told him previously. What really held his and Schierke's attention was what Merlin had shared with his knowledge of the astral layers.

Schierke had been a bit miffed that she had found the book under the "theoretical" section in the bookshop as it was anything but. Nevertheless, any information available to them on what may lie deeper would be helpful.

Much of what was written in there were things Flora had taught the both of them with there being three main layers; the deepest is the Abyss, the middle being more mundane but highly susceptible to supernatural influence from the other two and it was where Midland resided. The last was the highest layer with the most magical energy, the Ideal World, a blend of mundane and magical and the one they were in now.

But for all three worlds, they remained connected through the World Tree, a symbolic representation of the astral layers themselves. And based on what they knew, Neo-Griffith had found a way to manifest a corporeal version of the World Tree near his city. All he needed to do now was to make the sacrifice to fully merge the worlds together into one.

It also seemed to confirm Harry's own suspicion. There was indeed something at the very bottom of the Abyss. Whatever it was, not even Merlin seemed to have a solid idea.

With additional money from Harry's trust vault, they had purchased the books as well as one on magical runes. Nearly everyone in their party had a magical item be it a weapon or piece of attire. Farnese had figured someone like the stout Sir. Azan, a perk or two to his ax would be a welcome addition.

Aside from the books, Farnese had made good of her stop to the apothecary. There she had been able to purchase the rest of the materials needed to complete her staff.

A few fire salamander scales and a green clover, the symbol of the Vandimion family.

She did seem a bit tempted at the idea that there was an entire shop where a wand could be purchased in a matter of minutes, but both Schierke and Harry told her a handmade staff was far better for connecting to the astral world. And it did save Harry some money as well.

But where he had saved money in place of a wand, he seemed to have lost a far greater amount in Schierke's new love; frozen treats.

She had spotted the ice cream parlor and had been naturally curious as to what it tasted like and seeing as that his gold was paying for everything, it had been his treat to her. It was also his mistake.

Schierke had taken to it a little too well before settling on green mint as her favorite flavor. But never having had the frozen treat before, she had no idea what brain freeze was.

"You know, for once I'm glad I didn't try any of that stuff," Isidro told Puck as he watched Schierke rub at her head.

"Uggh," Schierke rubbed at her temples. "Why'd you let me have that stuff?" she sent an accusing glare over toward Harry.

"Me?" Harry asked. "You're the one who wanted to try it."

"Why didn't you warn me about this?" she continued rubbing at her head.

"I didn't know you were going to take it so far. Besides, I never really had it when it was cold."

"Ugh! I think I'm just going to go to my cabin and lie down for a bit." She disappeared under the ship deck with Ivalera fluttering behind her and giving her warnings of the dangers of overindulging.

Going back to his own cabin seemed a tempting idea to Harry as well and not to just ponder over any of the books they had acquired with his gold. For as much good as the trip to Gringotts had been, there was a noticeable downside.

Whereas before Harry had barely seen the elder Vandimion sibling, Magnifico, it seemed like now he couldn't take two steps without being ambushed by the blonde man.

It was no secret that Magnifico was an opportunist looking for ways to move up in his family status and when he had learned on the trip that Harry had a sizable fortune not just in his trust vault, but a whole main one as well, he seemed to have appointed himself as Harry's personal financial advisor. Apparently, he had figured out what the exchange rate would be from gold galleons to the Midland currency and... well it was a lot. And to be perfectly honest, it was annoying.

The day following the trip had Magnifico practically stalking him wherever he went.

"You are currently fourteen, correct?" Magnifico had asked him.

"Only for a few more months," Harry did his best to sound as disinterested as possible.

"Hm. Yes, yes." Magnifico nodded. "Then, by all means, you're already a legal adult by Midland standards. You'd be able to claim all family inheritances in a few months time then, take up your head of house titles."

"I'm pretty sure the legal age here is seventeen," Harry tried to argue against his points and get him to shut up.

"What a drag that is," Magnifico rolled his eyes. "Bit pointless if you ask me."

I wasn't.

"Fifteen is a prime age. Many Midland boys are of a marrying age by that time, and girls as well."

Harry found it very difficult not to roll his eyes at that at what Magnifico was implying. "Your only sister is already engaged to your best friend. In case you forgot."

"Oh, Farnese? Oh, no! I simply meant down the line. With someone with a fortune like yours, it would be a waste to not have it pass along. With that, you'd need help managing certain riches and other various assets. You are good friends with my sister so I see no reason not to have a prestigious banking family ally itself one such as yourself."

"I'd rather focus on staying alive at the moment that worrying about money if its all the same to you." Any surviving noble families had probably already pledged their loyalty to Neo-Griffith anyway; maybe even the rest of the Vandimion's. If that were the case, Magnifico's offer was worthless at the moment.

Strangely, Magnifico did not seem put off by his answer. "Of course, we all want to live after all. That is what we are planning out, is it not. And in the best case scenario, we should also consider what comes after. That includes foundation reconstruction and-,"

By that point, Harry had discreetly cast an od distortion charm on Magnifico, making him falter slightly as he believed Harry to still be standing there when in reality he slipped away below deck and to his own cabin.

Once there, Harry put another od manipulation charm around the outside of the door that would alert him of the person's od signature. Closing the door, Harry sat down on the cot that was allotted to him. He sighed as he ran a hand through his already messy black hair. As annoying as Magnifico had been, he hadn't been entirely wrong. Not that Harry would ever tell him that; the elder Vandimion's ego was large enough as it was.

It wasn't the gold that Harry thought of, but what Magnifico had said about what would have to be done after, assuming they all lived to see it.

Neo-Griffith essentially had control of all nations from that city of his, he had only to marry to make it official. Despite being an evil bastard, the entire of humanity had been united under his banner. Killing him, would they split and divide into warring countries once again similar to the fall of Gaiseric's Empire? Maybe they would continue to all live in Falconia where they were safe from monster attacks, assuming the city didn't crumble along with its creator.

They still had to wait at least a month for the armor to be completed before they could actually attempt to make their way back to Midland, so there was still time to try and finalize a plan.

A whole month.

Would that mean they could expect another visit from that mysterious boy? He always seemed to show up during the full moon so he doubted that this time would be any different.

Harry opened the drawer of the stand next to his cot. The invisibility cloak was folded neatly there and three figurines rested on top. Two were of the plastic white and black knights Sirius had gotten from his old room under the stairs that he used in that ritual of his. The lance was still broken on the black one. The third was a wooden knight figure that the boy had during his last visit. Guts had given it to him for safekeeping even though Harry was stumped by it as well.

Just another in a long list of things that they didn't understand.

There came a knock on his door and he thought it was Magnifico until the feeling of a calmer and familiar od washed over him. He opened the door for the green-haired witch.

"How're you feeling?" Harry asked.

"Better," Schierke answered. "But I don't think I'll be having any more sweets for some time now. Can I come in?"

Harry allowed her entry and she sat down at the desk, lightly rubbing her head. She still seemed to be getting over her massive brain freeze. "So aside from an ice cream headache, what's on your mind?"

"Nothing really," Schierke admitted which seemed unusual to Harry. Schierke always had a reason for doing something. "But if I needed a reason, it would be to ask what the plan is exactly."

"Oh." She had been thinking about it too then. "I take it that just showing up to Falconia, kill a bunch of apostles before taking on Griffith isn't much of an acceptable plan."

"It'd be one I'd expect from Isidro, even if it was just the general gist of things." She seemed to find the idea amusing. "There's just a lot to work out in the in-between."

"No argument there. Between actually returning, infiltrating the city, stopping a wedding, battling a demon army, and killing a godly being, there was quite a lot to work out. Skull Knight always seems to know when he's needed and he's our best chance of getting back."

"You left out that Voldemort character," Schierke noticed. "Evidence back at the manor shows that he's probably there as well."

"Oh, yeah." He frowned slightly at that additional prospect as well. He knew that the dark wizard had been gunning for him during the previous battle and given the opportunity, he would likely do so again should they ever encounter in a fight. And if Guts was too caught up in fighting numerous apostles, it would fall to him.

The only real sorcerer Harry had ever really faced had been the Kushan named Daiba, but he had a feeling fighting Voldemort would be a much different feeling. He was confident that he could win with all he knew of magic and the astral world, but that didn't Voldemort wouldn't try his damnest to see him dead by the end of it.

Schierke noticed his lackluster answer. "You hardly seem concerned."

"No, I'm not saying fighting him would be easy," Harry clarified. "It's just - hard."

"Hard how?"

"Well, knowing that there are five divine beings with god-like powers, one aspiring dark lord doesn't seem as threatening, I guess." That statement would no doubt infuriate Voldemort if he heard Harry say that.

"Hm." Schierke mulled that thought over. "Well, you do have a point when you phrase it like that. The Godhand, they're able to draw vast amounts of power from the Abyss itself and-," she stopped, her large eyes going wide in what seemed to be realization.

"Schierke?" Harry asked in concern. "What is it?"

"Could that really be... if that's where their power comes from then it might be..." She seemed to be theorizing to herself.

Harry put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a light shake. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I just," she shook her head. "I feel like I've been stupid."

"Stupid? You? Those are two things that don't really go together." What was she even talking about?

Despite her self-doubt, Schierke did manage to smile, if only slightly at that. "I admire the flattery, but now really isn't the time." Her smile faltered again. "What I mean is, that the Godhand, essentially are gods - or, the embodiment of a god."

Harry remembered back to the times he had heard one of demonic five speak. They were the Hand of God. "Yeah, that doesn't make you stupid."

She again shook her head. "That still isn't it. If they have the power of a god, then it won't matter what we use against them. Guts' Dragonslayer, Casca's armor, our magic, nothing."

It was baffling to hear Schierke say something like that. She was always down to earth and tried to keep herself the most rational out of everyone, but she was never a pessimist. She was making it sound like there was no hope at all for them to come out on top with this. After all they had been through, he never thought to hear her say something like that. Sans Guts, she was perhaps the strongest willed out of their entire company.

Seeing the way he was looking at her in disbelief, Schierke was quick to amend, "What I mean to say is, their power is infinite. Any damage done to them, they'll recover in no time at all. Time may not even be a concept to some of them because it isn't to where they draw their power from."

"The Abyss," Harry thought of the deepest of the astral layers.

"Exactly!" Schierke urged him on. "Don't you see? As long as the Abyss has a connection to the upper levels, they have power there. If the World Tree has manifested in the middle layer, the Godhand might have unknowingly made a double-edged sword."

"Wouldn't it just make them stronger? I don't see where you're going with this."

"Mistress Flora always said that everything was connected through the branches of the World Tree, remember?" Harry nodded, remembering the lessons. "That also includes the Abyss. They might not know it, but by bringing the tree into physical form, they just created a way to potentially cut off connection as well as create it. A double-edged sword."

"Travel into the Abyss?" that was what she was inferring to. "I also seem to remember Flora telling me once that other wizards in the past have tried to astral project there before and none ever returned. They were just lifeless husks afterward. Whatever it is that's down there, what makes us trying to go there any different?"

"Because we know where the actual World Tree is," Schierke sounded certain. "There are bound to be pathways to even the lowest of levels and then there's the timing of it all. They want the worlds to merge, they want whatever is in the Abyss to be able to have free reign; that's bound to open up a pathway. Don't you agree?"

It all sounded completely crazy, not that he would ever tell her that, but she did have a point to what she was saying. Knowing Guts, he would want a way to kill the Godhand and this seemed the only solution. If they didn't have one, Guts could very well end up dying trying to kill Femto. And that wouldn't be the worst of it. If they had no way to kill the Godhand, it meant death for all of them. He would die, Isidro and Puck would die, Serpico and Sir Azan, Roderick and Magnifico would die as well; Schierke, Farnese, and Casca, well, Harry remembered what had happened during the Eclipse. In the best scenario, an apostle like Zodd got to the girls and would recognize their strong determination and leave them unspoiled with a clean death.

He found himself clutching his unruly black hair at that very thought. Harry didn't want to think of any of his friends being killed or violated. There was enough of that, enough people had already suffered to evil deeds, feeding the Godhand's power with each act committed. Here he was with Schierke trying to figure out a way to avoid all of that, to actually make some good happen for once. It was just... just...

"I don't want to lose you," Harry finally said. "Not you, Guts, Casca, anyone." It hardly seemed the answer she was expecting from him and she seemed like she wanted to say something, but held herself back, understanding that he needed to say this.

"I'm not like Guts where I can just shut people out completely," he continued. "But, I haven't been entirely open either. I want to change something, I've said as much before. When I first met Guts and Casca and everyone else, it was like I finally found a place I belonged even though I was useless through it all. After the Eclipse happened, I already knew I had magic and I just had to hope that someone out there had it too. With you and Flora, I felt I belonged there too. That changed too and I still couldn't do a thing. Now, this feels like it's happening all over again the same as those.

"I think maybe, the reason I never became as angry and shut off as Guts did was that some part of me always knew that I would find someone or someones out there where I could belong again. I... feel that same feeling with all of you now, more than I ever did previously. That's why no matter what plan we come up with, no matter what we do, I just want to be selfish enough to have all of you there by the end of it even though... even though I have a feeling that isn't going to be a reality."

The thought that had been plaguing his mind was finally out. He had been feeling it ever since they had last seen Skull Knight and he had kept it to himself, never wanting to say it out loud. There was power in belief and by saying it, confessing it to someone, he didn't want to feel like the only difference he had made was the death of someone he valued.

His eyes were directed at the floor and he only noticed Schierke had moved from her seat by the desk when he felt a slight shift on his cot. Schierke sat beside him, looking down at the same piece of flooring he seemed to have found interesting.

"Harry, I... there's really nothing that I can say or do to get you to think differently. Whenever I look at our friends now, knowing that we'll be going back, I can't help but feel a little of the same. I don't want any of them to die and I'm not naive enough to make you some promise such as 'I swear not to die.' I wish that I could, but I would want you to know that in the short time I've spent with all of you, I really felt lucky to have met you all."

Harry looked to his right and brought an arm up to her shoulder. "And... I guess that makes two of us."

Whatever plan they were going to come up with could wait. For now, Harry was entirely focused on the silence that was between them; thankful that he would at least remember this moment before it all ended.

"You have been taking the potions I brewed periodically?" Severus asked him yet again as he examined his now cursed hand - or rather, his cursed arm.

The curse Voldemort had hit him with had spread fast and even with Severus' knowledge of the dark arts, only so much could be done for him at this point. But for what good he was still capable of, he would not expire before he had set right some of his previous wrongs.

"Indeed I have, and I thank you for the effort, Severus." His voice sounded frail, even to him. This had nothing to do with the curse, he was simply just getting older.

The sneer on Severus' face was not an unfriendly one. "Thanks are not something that can magically cure a cursed appendage. Or, rather, heal it, in your case."

"Oh, Severus, you flatter me." Dumbledore offered one of his infamous twinkles.

"And what do you have to be flatter for?" the potions master demanded of him. "Do you like me brewing potions that only prolong your suffering? If you do, I'd be more concerned about the state of your mental well-being. Perhaps dipping your head in your pensieve, from what I've heard that seems to do wonders."

"No." Dumbledore simply said. "I am just flattered that to see that you care so much."

"You were the one who asked I brew these potions for you," Severus denied the compliment.

"You did not have to agree to it."

"I did if I still desire to maintain my position."

"Ah, so do you finally admit to enjoying teaching students?"

"Only those that show promise," came Severus' monotone reply.

"And to docking points from a few Gryffindors?" Dumbledore brought up the man's hatred for the house of lions.

Severus did not seem bothered. "There is a satisfaction to be had in ending arrogance before it can begin to take hold."

"You still hold a grudge, even after all this time?" no single person was perfect, they all had flaws, but Severus had a vindictive streak a mile long.

"You have discussed this with me before, Headmaster, Potter is not his father, no matter how similar that they appear. Which is a great amount." He muttered that last part.

"This is bigger than just your grudge with James Potter."

"Nothing was ever bigger than James Potter," Severus bitterly remarked. He truly was a child sometimes.

"That is exactly what I mean, Severus. Do you not feel there is already enough of that in this world? Do you want future Slytherin's sharing in your same sentiment?"

"I may be their head of house, but their opinions are their own," Severus narrowed his gaze. "If it pleases you to know, one of my Slytherin's seems to have actually befriended the Longbottom boy."

"Ah, Neville, such a nice boy."

"Clumsy as a baffoon," Severus felt the need to add on.

"Full of potential," Dumbledore added.

"If he isn't acting like a complete dunderhead," Severus spoke again.

"Come now, Severus, must you be that way?"

"I speak from what I know to be true."

"Be that as it may, it is the students who will be the ones to truly keep the spirit of Hogwarts alive when I have passed and you have moved on."

Severus raised a greasy eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"You're smarter than that, Severus, what do you think I mean by it? You said yourself but a moment earlier, I can really only be healed, not cured." Upon his words, Dumbledore felt a jolt of pain run from his hand and to his shoulder. He could feel nothing in his right hand now except for pain. Potions could numb it, suppress it, but not cure it.

"There is more than one reason why I called you up here, and my daily dosage is not among them."

"And that is to have me reflect?" he asked almost sarcastically.

"Only in part. I just wish to correct a few wrongs before I pass and if I could perhaps help a man as stubborn as you to let go, I would consider my job as a teacher complete. It has already been close to three weeks and the curse has already grown at an exponential rate. It won't be long before it reaches my heart. So, Severus, would you care to do me two last favors?"

"And what would they be?" while Severus' tone did sound neutral, there was just a trace of bitter sadness to be found. As much as Severus hated teaching, Dumbledore was still the only one who would have ever offered him a chance to turn his life around; even if he still made many mistakes along the way."

"Firstly, I would ask you to save your ingredients and stop brewing potions for me. They run out far too quickly and the pain is far too great. Second," Dumbledore produced a piece of parchment and a quill. "Would you be so kind as to record the last will and testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore? Feel at liberty to abbreviate my name, it always was quite the mouthful."

As Severus began to write, Dumbledore cast a glance over to the perch where his ever-loyal phoenix, Fawkes usually resided. The majestic bird was not there, only a pile of ashes remained. If he squinted hard enough, he could see a tiny beak poking out from those ashes; life born anew. And what a beautiful bird he was.

The following weeks were a weather myriad.

Throughout the night and into the morning, dark storm clouds and rain dominated the sky as expected of spring weather. But just past noon, the sky would clear up to reveal the glowing light of the sun, bathing the sky and grounds with soft, warm light. That would last until sundown where the clouds moved back in to take control above once again.

It wasn't as if Guts could feel the warmth of the sun anyways, not all of it anyway. Then again, he couldn't fully feel the chill that came with the night either. They sort of balanced out that way. But there was a consistency for these days in that they all felt like they were blurring together into one. The same pattern repeating over and over as they waited.

Nearly a month had passed since the trip now and Guts could feel a sense of anxiety starting to build up. It wasn't just to do with wanting to move on before he could feel complacent, but he knew that with a new month came a new full moon. He knew what to expect by this point and according to Schierke, a full moon wasn't that far away now. As long as he didn't have to subdue any more werewolves, things should be much smoother this time around.

Well, as smooth as things could get for them.

But as polar as the current weather situation was, there seemed to be a good reason for it. The news came when Sirius came by with news on the Gringotts deal and word what had just happened.

"Dumbledore passed a few hours ago." Sirius usual joyous voice sounded unnaturally solemn.

Guts and all the others said nothing at the moment as Sirius let the gravity of the event sink in. Guts wasn't all too shocked to hear of the headmaster's passing, the man looked to be over a hundred years old, but that didn't mean he was apathetic about it either. His opinion of the old man was strictly positive and he seemed to have done some pretty shady stuff in the past, but when it really mattered, the ancient wizard had stood by their side against dark wizards and his own government. For that, Guts could respect his commitment even though Guts felt he had been a shady bastard in the past.

Then again, Guts had done some things that probably would have put the old timer in his grave thrice over.

But any thoughts he might have had concerning the headmaster's decisions in life, Guts chose to keep silent. He wasn't about to speak ill of the dead like that.

Farnese seemed to find her voice first. "I'm - er, we're sorry to hear that, Sirius, truly."

"I'm sure he would appreciate the sentiment," Sirius told her. "But from what I always understood about Dumbledore, he wouldn't want people to be wallowing about it." He sounded like he said that part to remind himself of something. "He made some decisions I thought were pretty stupid, but... what else would I expect from a man who makes the password to his office after candy?"

Sirius sported a ghost of a smile at his own description of the man.

"He left behind a will." At Sirius' mention of that, Isidro perked right up.

"That old man left us something? Oh, man, I kinda regret throwing a rock at him when we first met!"

"You 'kinda' regret it?" Schierke looked at him, unamused.

For what it was worth, it did seem to amuse Sirius somewhat. "Well, he never explicitly mentioned any of you by name."

Guts noticed Harry seemed confused. "Not even me?"

"Surprisingly," Sirius smiled. "But when he had listed 'travelers from a foreign land,' it wasn't that hard to figure out. He seemed to believe that this," he reached into the bag he had with him, "would be useful at one point."

It was the pensieve. Guts recognized it instantly from their previous usage.

"He thought a way to view our memories was worth giving to us?" Serpico asked, confused as to what the gift could mean.

"Evidently," Sirius gave a haphazard shrug. "Dumbledore could be easy enough for a child to figure out at times and then be completely aloof the next minute. It always seemed a bit hit or miss with him, he was a schemer to be certain." Sirius naturally handed the silver basin over to Harry who accepted it. "The pensieve has a charm on it so nothing can spill out. Makes less of a mess that way."

Harry nodded. "I'll be sure to keep it safe then." He looked unsure, but eventually asked, "Did his will say anything else?"

"Nothing that was too out of the ordinary for someone like Dumbledore. He left me a sizable amount of galleons for my service in the Order and for the years I spent in Azkaban. Pretty much all Order members got some sort of reimbursement for their services and that the money from his own vault should be put forth to Hogwarts for future muggle-borns to be better prepared for magical schooling. Aside from that, he requested to be buried on Hogwarts grounds which isn't really a surprise to anyone. The only other thing he made mention of was his chocolate frog collection being donated to a museum."

Just when Guts was starting to think the old man had a lick of actual sanity to him.

"How're things up at the castle then?" Casca asked him next.

"Dreary," Sirius simply said. "A lot of Gryffindors are torn up the worst, Dumbledore used to be in that house himself. But even those who thought he had lost his touch are still being as respectful as they can be. McGonagall's taken over as acting headmistress until the board of governors can appoint a new one." He paused. "If you're in the mood for some good news, I got a letter from Gringott's. The order is all set, I just have to pick it up and it's all yours. Or, not by goblin standards, but still yours."

Guts gave a silent nod of acknowledgment. So long as they were better prepared, the better. He could feel it again. That sense of anticipation was back, stronger than ever. It was the one thing the armor he wore could never fully strip away from him; the knowing when a battle was about to begin.

Neville had never seen Hogwarts look as glum as it did now.

He could name numerous times where the castle had seemed less appealing such as in first-year when Hermione Granger had been attacked by a troll. Or the year after when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened and students were being petrified which ended in Ginny Weasley being abducted. Those events both came to mind, but even then they only served to make the castle seem less safe and those incidents had all been resolved and set straight by Dumbledore. Any time other than that, Hogwarts was always a time to look forward to, save for some of the bullies.

Even if Neville had never been particularly close to the headmaster, Dumbledore always gave off a feeling of welcomeness to all he encountered. It was almost as if Hogwarts had just lost a piece of itself with his passing.

The teachers were probably already making arrangements for his funeral; a wizard as revered as Dumbledore, it was bound to turn up a crowd. Dumbledore had been quite elderly and probably had various acquaintances all over the world seeing as he spoke multiple languages. The Minister was bound to show up as well to give a speech, his gran might even come as well. She was one of Dumbledore's biggest supporters after all.

She would probably show up in an all black version of her usual attire, handbag and all; maybe even make a fuss about needing a seat closer so she could see the proceedings. It'd be embarrassing, but it would be gran.

For that thought alone, it was enough to make Neville crack the smallest of smiles. He was probably the only one in the entire hall to do so. Students from the three other houses seemed to be in a similar funk, completely drained of all happiness. The Weasley twins and their friend Lee Jordan, the resident jokers, seemed out of ideas for pranks and ate their meal in silence. Over at the Ravenclaw table, even the usual cheery Luna Lovegood seemed a lot less... well, Luna.

The girl in question seemed to notice him staring in her direction. She offered a comforting type of smile, but it was probably to just assume him than anything else. Perhaps he would go and speak with her later. While he wasn't a "friend" with her so to speak like he was with Tracey and even Hannah, Luna had always been kind and they had survived the battle together, that was bound to make a connection with a person.

The rest of the day hardly seemed to be real at all. Classes were canceled for the rest of the day. No teacher really felt like teaching and no student would actually bother to attend if they did, and Neville suspected that would even include a bushy-haired Gryffindor.

He mainly stayed in the Gryffindor common room for the rest of the day with every other Gryffindor. There was some chatter going around, but even then it was just depressing. Fred and George seemed to want to pull something, but even that was done with respect.

"Fireworks," George proposed.

"Red and gold?" Fred asked, liking the idea.

"Nah, more like purple and yellow, like those robes he used to wear."

"Shoot them off from the astronomy tower?"

"You read my mind. Think Lee will hook us up?"

"He better. He owes us for smuggling that tarantula in."

Over on the other side of the common room, many tears were being shed by the resident gossipers, Lavender Brown and Pavarti Patil.

"Do you know that for sure?" Lavender asked her friend.

"Pretty much," Pavarti choked back a sob. "My parents are going to pull my sister and me from Hogwarts."

"There's still time to change their minds," Lavender encouraged. "If they're worried about You-Know-Who, that Black Swordsman fellow is still here with Harry Potter and Gryffindor's lost heir." They were among the population who seemed to believe that that woman was indeed related to Gryffindor as was reported in Rita Skeeter's article.

He had not seen or heard, aside from the widespread rumors, what was going on with their unexpected visitors, but he was still as curious as anyone else in the castle. If given the chance, he would still want to say a proper thanks, unlike the horribly rushed one he had given after the battle concluded. That Black Swordsman had fought with his parents' tormentor and he knew his gran would want him giving a better thanks than the one he had.

When dinner came around, it was still a somber affair. McGonagall gave another small speech about the deceased headmaster. The food was never lacking but many still ate in silence. He spared a couple of glances over to Luna who was only lazily eating some pudding with a side salad.

There was really no formal dismissal for this dinner, students were either there or not. Not feeling all too hungry to begin with, Neville just sort of sat there next to Seamus and Dean, his two dormmates. He only excused himself from the table when he noticed the blonde Ravenclaw get up and leave her table.

Spotting her just outside the great hall, Neville called out to her. "Luna!"

She turned, not looking like she was surprised to see him. "Hello, Neville. What can I do for you?"

"For me? Nothing really." That probably sounded weird, but for someone like Luna, she wouldn't think anything of it. "I just wanted to ask if you were doing alright."

"I noticed you looking over at me during meals so I'm glad that you asked what was on your mind. I like you, Neville, but I don't really fancy you though."

That's what she was thinking it had been? Neville felt the heat rise to his face. "N-no, that isn't it at all! I like you too, but just as a friend. I just noticed that you seemed a lot less yourself is all and I wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Oh, I see." She looked a bit happier. "I'm doing fine for now. I was just going to see if I could go talk to my friend. It's going to be a full moon out tonight."

Neville had noticed Professor Lupin was absent during meals today. Ever since that last unexpected full moon, the professor had mapped out this new lunar calendar and figured out when the next one would be. He supposedly found a safe spot outside of the village and brought a bottle of wolfsbane with him as well.

"Did you want any company?" Neville offered. He had long since guessed that Luna's imaginary friend Sonia was just her way of coping with the hard things in life like bullies and loss.

"That is kind of you to offer, but I was going to go out by the forest to speak with her," Luna nonchalantly told him.

"The forest?!" Neville repeated, his eyes practically bugging out. "Why?"

"It's quite peaceful at night," came her simple reply. "Thank you for being concerned though." It sounded like she was purposefully saying it so he wouldn't follow.

"I-I can't just let you go off into the forest alone!"

"Well you could, but you won't let yourself," Luna corrected. "It isn't in your nature, is it?"

The passing of Dumbledore would be felt all over the magical world and especially at Hogwarts. McGonagall knew her friend and mentor's death would cause ripples in society and the proof of that was in her office right now.

All the heads of the four houses were present as well as the Minister of Magic, his personal toady, and Madam Bones as well. The Ministry delegates had shown up unexpectedly after dinner once word of Dumbledore's passing had spread. And while they were the only three present in her office, McGonagall had seen a few teams of Aurors accompanying them. That and the skin-crawling smile on Umbridge's face could only spell trouble.

While the Minister and Amelia both wore black as a sign of respect, Umbridge wore bright pink attire, only partially covered by a black cardigan.

"Such an unfortunate time for this to happen," Fudge said, his eyes downcast. "Please try to understand that we would not be here if not to offer our condolences."

McGonagall knew that wasn't the only reason, but she kept shut about that for now. Poppy, Filius, and Severus were all perceptive enough to know there was more to it than that. "Of course," she answered back. "I'm sure Albus would have been touched by the thought of you visiting."

Fudge at least had the decency to appear a little flustered. "Well, I suppose he would have. Whatever disagreements we may have had in the past, Dumbledore never was one to hold grudges. I am truly sorry. He offered me advice in a great many cases, even if I didn't always listen." Well, at least he was aware of it. "We received a copy of his will earlier today, courtesy of your potions master. It was rather simple for a man such as him."

"He was never one for lavishments," McGonagall answered. "But he did make sure the school's funding would be well taken care of."

"Hm? Oh, yes, yes, no doubt about that," Fudge agreed. "But, um, there was a point of notice that Dolores made mention of when examining the will." Of course, she would. "Two points, as a matter of fact. The first being that the item Dumbledore wished to leave, the pensieve, was not Dumbledore's to give away. The pensieve was a Hogwarts property, not a personal item. Secondly, there was never a ministry official present to bear witness to the last will and testimony, only Professor Snape."

For once, McGonagall approved of the sneer on her colleagues face.

Amelia, sensing an argument, spoke up. "While that may be true, it is easy to fix. So long as Professor Snape here gives a solemn vow that the will is completely sound, it will be considered legal."

Umbridge didn't seem satisfied with that. "Hem-hem! While that may be true, Amelia," she smiled widely, "The Minister has already pointed out that the pensieve is not Dumbledore's to give away as he pleases."

"You would undermine Dumbledore's last will?" Sprout looked highly offended.

"I would uphold the law," Umbridge thinly smiled.

"If I recall correctly, exceptions to the law have been made before," Flitwick challenged. "Unless you were deliberately planning on legalizing the will, I see no reason as to why an exception cannot be applied here."

By the look of things, Flitwick had already figured out, as expected of the Head of Ravenclaw. The will was nothing extraordinary, but the fact remained he had left a very valuable magical item in the possession of a few certain individuals who had a less than stellar standing with the Ministry. With Dumbledore gone, the primary force at keeping the Ministry away had also faded as well. It explained the Aurors McGonagall had seen as well as the smug smile on the toad's face.

Fudge didn't seem to notice that all the professors had already worked it out. "I assure you, Dumbledore's last wishes shall be honored, but even the matter concerning the pensieve is a bit foggy. He never even left a name for who it was intended."

Umbridge nodded. "Indeed, Minister! But, I do believe we can all come to a conclusion of who Dumbledore intended. Professor Snape," she rounded on the Head of Slytherin. "Dumbledore intended for it to go to Harry Potter, didn't he?"

McGonagall knew it was true, there was little secret about it. It was even less of a secret to know that Severus held an extreme dislike for Harry based solely on his grudge with the boy's father. Saying "yes" would just bring unwanted and unneeded trouble. Her eyes turned to the greasy-haired man who kept an impassive sneer on his face.

"I've really no idea," he answered with a drawl.

That honestly surprised McGonagall. The default Snape answer would have been to sell them out due to his grudge. She didn't believe that Snape had actually come to like the boy from any previous interaction so it must have been something Dumbledore had said to him - a final promise in a way. That, or, he just wanted to see Umbridge get knocked down a peg, either way, McGonagall was grateful.

The Undersecretary's expression faltered for a bit before trying to regain her composure. "But, that is who Dumbledore was referring to, who else could it be?"

"The headmaster left no name," Snape continued. "All he said was foreign visitors. They could be from either of the two schools for all I know. It would have been in his character to have those students remember the time they stayed here as a memento of sorts."

Umbridge's lower lip was trembling as she forced herself to stop from yelling. "Well," she finally spoke in a voice like poisoned honey. "We shall see about that." McGonagall would have given a small smirk at the sight of the toad stomping out of the office if it hadn't been for the feeling that she was about to do something incredibly stupid.

"So, are we just going to wait out here all night?" Neville had finally asked the question that had been on his mind since they got outside the castle.

The part of the forest they were in was near the clearing right next to the lake so it was out of the way from the deeper parts where all the dangerous creatures tended to live. The trees here were less packed together, the canopy above them allowed them a stunning view of the full moon up above. The light from the moon seemed to shine off of Luna's pale blonde hair like it was a mirror.

"I'm not staying out here all night," Luna told him. "I just had a feeling and I wanted to see if I was right."

"A feeling?" Neville repeated. "I thought you were out here to talk to your friend." Maybe even she was shy about talking to herself in front of another person. But, she had done it before. Maybe this was all part of the grief she might be feeling.

"I planned on it, but I think she's asleep, she isn't answering."

"Oh, alright then." Neville took a seat on a root adjacent to her own and stared out over the lake. He thought that Luna might break the silence between them, but her attention remained solely on the glowing sphere above them. It looks like it was up to him to end it.

"So, Luna, this friend of yours-,"

"Sonia."

"Yeah, Sonia, what exactly does she look like?" might as well get her to try and open up.

"A lot like me actually, although her hair is straighter than mine is. Oh, her forehead is taller too."

"And she is interested in what you like?"

"She's a lot more interested now," Luna said. "Ever since her city came about, all sorts of creatures are roaming her land. I told her about all the ones my father writes about and she said they probably exist there now and always says she wants me to come and visit."

It was worse than Neville thought. Had Luna really been bullied so much that she had created her own little fantasy world with a girl to serve as her parallel? He had been bullied and he never really had much self-esteem to begin with, but he had never been pushed that far. He was even more concerned that she was willing to come out to the forest alone to try and live up to her own figment.

"And, would you want to see her?"

"Yes, but not right now."

"What do you mean?" Neville asked. That was a more of a strange answer than it was a Luna answer.

Overhead, the moon glowed brighter than it had before, causing Neville to briefly avert his eyes from the shine. If he hadn't, he might have been able to see what looked like the outline of a branch traveling across the bright object.

"I don't like the person who is going to be the king."

There was a rustle.

Neville panicked and went to pull his wand out, nearly dropping it as he did so.

"I was right," Luna got off the root she was on. "He did come again."

Off to their left, a small shape could be seen poking its head out from behind a tree. Long, dark hair fell past the shoulders as it stared at them with equally dark eyes. Dressed in a simple white, over-sized tunic was a young boy - much too young to even be a first-year in any of the three schools here at the moment. It was as if he had just shown up.

"L-luna, you know who that is?" had this actually been what she came out here to wait for?

"I have a name for him because I don't think anyone gave him one yet." Luna got closer to where their visitor was eyeing them. "You can go back to the castle, Neville, I'll try and get him to where he's going." She wanted him to just leave?

"It could be dangerous out here."

It wasn't Nevile who spoke.

From behind that same tree, another figure stepped out. This one was no child, but a beautiful man in white armor that matched his snowy locks. A saber was sheathed at his hip and he seemed to have no other weapons on him save for his eyes. They were an icy cold blue that held unparalleled cunning and intellect that was made even more evident by his slit pupils.

No one moved. Not Neville, not Luna, not this white man, the child he was with simply moved his eyes between the three of them, seemingly more comfortable with the two strangers than he was with the man.

"...You're here again?" Luna seemed to have finally found her voice. It was enough to draw his attention to her.

"You saw me then?" he seemed more curious than anything as he bent a bit at the waist to stare her directly. "You must be Luna. You look so very similar to a medium of mine who mentions you by name. I believe you know Sonia?"

What?

Neville felt his brain turn off as he heard what the man said. Luna had been right all this time.

"She's my friend," Luna said, sounding more even than before. "And you're Griffith."

"You're well informed then. A true pleasure to meet you then." Griffith's hand was reaching out toward Luna who seemed to be rooted to the spot.

The sight of it seemed to ignite a spark of courage in Neville as he managed to find his voice. "H-hey!" he managed to take a few tentative steps forward. It wasn't much, but it got his attention. Now Neville felt himself under the calm yet intense gaze of those slit eyes.

"I wasn't aware that extending a hand to shake was considered offensive, Neville." He felt his blood run cold.

"You... know my name?"

"Sonia tells me much and Luna has told Sonia much." He kept Neville under his stare, not blinking once. "You seem very out of place here. Luna was waiting for this arrival. Did you follow her?"

He didn't answer, he didn't want to answer. Something about this man, it was entirely off.

Griffith averted his gaze only slightly. "You don't feel like answering, that is fine. I didn't come here to talk anyway." He cast a glance over his shoulder as if he was giving a silent command for the kid to come out of hiding.

Seeing no other choice, the boy came out to stand a bit behind Griffith. "Ah, they seemed to be preparing to come ashore."

Neville risked a glance behind him to see silhouettes moving about on the deck of the ship anchored out on the lake. He knew the bare minimum about seafaring, but it looked like some people were getting a lifeboat ready to come ashore.

"I'll be taking my leave then," Griffith announced. "My presence here will only aggravate them." He cast a look down at the boy who stared back up at him. "Do as you will, but remember what we discussed."

Griffith seemed ready to turn and leave when Luna suddenly said, "Leave Sonia out of it."

Griffith paused. "Your pardon?" He pivoted his torso as his armor would allow, staring back at the Ravenclaw.

There was a fizzle - no, a ripple in the air behind where Griffith stood. Neville thought that perhaps the white man had done something, but the ripple seemed to be getting wider, wide enough for a long, strong leg to poke out of followed by another and then plates of what looked to be armor fashioned like bones that made up the body of a war horse. But the figure that was astride must have been seven feet tall standing up on his own. He was clad in an armor of bones as well with a skull-helm and glowing reddish-purple sockets.

The Skull Knight, for lack of a better name, held a sword in his right hand, his glowing sockets ablaze with emotion as he brought the blade down toward Griffith.

The strike didn't land.

With almost inhuman speed, Griffith drew his saber and blocked the would-be fatal strike by the Skull Knight. Griffith's intense blue eyes masked his emotions behind a veil of apathy as he lazily stared up at Skull Knight with their blades still locked.

"That trick didn't work last time, Your Majesty."

Skull Knight broke the lock and his steed galloped around to face him in the front. "I did not expect it to, Demon Prince. You are already beyond such basic trickery."

Griffith hardly seemed insulted. "Is this where you have been since the end of the war? Ubik suspected as much. How did you know I would be here?"

"This world is ripe with magical areas. One such place was decorated in stone. Your presence could be felt even from there where I waited. I thought you would be gone by the time I arrived but it seems even I did not account on you being held up." His glowing sockets stared down at both Neville and Luna, not in contempt, but surprise almost that they had been talking with Griffith.

"And so you came to try and end my reign before it begins," Griffith examined his saber. "The both of us know who would emerge the victor. And if by some miracle you did land a strike," his eyes darted down to the child, "even I do not know what would happen to him."

"Even with infinite power, you are wrong. I come not for you, but that does not mean that your reign is secure."

If but for a fraction of a second, Neville saw a hint of annoyance flash across Griffith's eyes. "The past millennia of your failures have taken a toll on you, Your Majesty." Griffith sheathed his blade and turned his back. His figure disappeared behind a tree and a brilliant flash of the moon occurred and somehow Neville knew that he was gone.

There was silence. Not even the crickets seemed to make a sound after what had just transpired. The only sound now was that of the hooves of Skull Knight's horse as it rode forward so he could stare down properly at the two mages.

"Seer," he seemed to address Luna. "The boy, lift him to my saddle."

Luna looked over to where the boy was and easily lifted him up into her arms.

"Luna!" Neville put a hand on her shoulder to stop her. "What are you doing?" even though the kid had shown up with someone like Griffith who made him feel a new type of fear, she shouldn't just hand it over to what was probably the personification of Death.

"It's alright, Neville," Luna said in a voice that was similar to her usual dreamy one. "I believe we can trust him. It doesn't feel like he means us any harm."

"You what?!" he was too stunned to stop her as she sat the kid down on the saddle as Skull Knight appeared to not want to directly touch the kid for some reason.

Once the boy was secure, Skull Knight seemed to give a small nod to the both of them. "You have a choice to make, Seer. You have been gifted with sight, to see through the veil that separates worlds. Vision can lead to many aspirations but blind many to the truth. If you know what it is you wish to protect-," Skull Knight cut himself off as he tilted his helm back, allowing the jaw portion of his helm to open as he stuck his sword down his throat. It made Neville want to gag. When he pulled it out, it was covered in multiple facial features and was emitting a glow as well. He swung it in a vertical arc and another ripple like before appeared in the air spreading until it got wider for someone like Skull Knight to fit through. "Then you know what choice is presented to you now."

"Luna, what is he talking about?" Neville demanded, not liking the sound of it one bit. She looked at him with a melancholy look in her dreamy eyes that seemed much clearer than they ever did before. "You're not about to leave?"

She looked up at Skull Knight. "I know what you mean, but... I also know what has to happen here as well. I want to see Sonia, but... being here, that's the best way to help her now."

Skull Knight's gaze made it near impossible to tell if he approved or not. "If you choose to follow your sight by this path, so be it, Seer. Not many would have refused one of the things they have craved the most. There is a strength to you yet." His steed galloped into the ripple that began to close behind him.

Neville only caught one last look at the boy and the rider before it closed completely. It was just the two of them now.

"You're wondering what all of that was, aren't you?" Luna easily read his thoughts. He could only nod dumbly with her question. "I'll tell you all about who they were."

"He offered you to go with him."

"Yes. But, I have that same feeling we'll see them again." When she said that, Neville got a feeling she wasn't talking about just Skull Knight.

"Not wearing it?" Guts observed as they got ready to take a small boat to the shore.

Casca worked one of the ropes. "We won't be long. We just have to find him and come right back."

"Yeah, well, even if you don't plan on being long, things can still happen."

"I told you, it fits just fine," Casca argued. "I have you and Harry coming with me and I'm armed myself."

"It could just be that he thinks you look good in it," Sirius joked next to them. Hearing that, Guts sent a look his way which silenced the joker. He had picked up the armor from the goblins and brought it back as promised. As far as Guts could tell, the goblins had lived up to their reputation as smiths. It fit Casca perfectly when she had shown him earlier and Sirius did have a bit of a point, she did look good in it.

"We didn't account on a werewolf being there last time either," Guts reminded. "You don't want Harry feeling like you wasted his gold, do you?"

Casca narrowed her eyes. "Do you feel your gold was wasted, Harry?"

The wizard shrugged. "Maybe a little."

"I'm still capable of-," Casca stopped short of defending her opinion as the sound of hooves on wood rang out on deck.

Guts had Dragonslayer drawn in a flash as he spun to the source of the noise.

"Your skills are still your own, Struggler?" the voice was unmistakable.

"'Bout time you finally showed up again, Bonehead," Guts put Dragonslayer on his back once again. While his reaction was tame, many of the crew had never seen their ghostly ally before. Some nearly fell overboard while others scrambled to find any swords or axes that were close.

"Deckhands, what is the meaning of- what in the hell is that?!" Roderick who was usually calm in the face of action even seemed startled at the sight of the visitor. Guts really couldn't fault the captain for that, he probably wasn't used to having a skeletal rider pop up on his ship.

Before an order could be given, Farnese had run up next to Roderick. "Wait! He means us no harm."

Roderick stared at Farnese like she had just grown a second head. "Farnese?"

In a light breeze, Serpico drifted down from the mast he had been on. His Slyph cloak billowing as he descended. "Lady Farnese speaks the truth. The means of returning home does lie with him."

As if to offer more proof in favor of the Skull Knight, Casca had taken notice of the addition on the saddle. The rope she had been holding fell to the deck as she rushed forward with no hesitation to lift the child up and into her arms. The child seemed relieved as well as his small hands touched at Casca's face and hair. The sight seemed enough to make some of the crew members hesitate and even a little embarrassed that she seemed to hold no fear in the face of a figure who looked like Death.

"I came about him in the forest along with some unexpected company."

"Mind explaining that?" Guts moved to stand next to Casca and the skeletal steed.

"That much is simple," Skull Knight's glowing sockets seemed directed out to shore. "But your company seems to be past words."

Furrowing his brow, Guts looked to see what Skull Knight was referring to. "What in Merlin's name are they doing?" it was Sirius who spoke.

Moving across the still waters of the lake were a dozen boats, at least. Each one seemed to be packed with four people and Guts was able to distinguish a very short, plump shape in one of those advancing boats. Her again?

"You mind taking of this one?" Guts asked Harry as he too stared at the advancing boats. The young wizard nodded as he closed his eyes and focused. He was probably in his astral form, calling a water spirit or something of that nature.

Skull Knight had trotted his horse to the bow of the ship, his sword a glowing mass of various facial features and Guts knew was about to happen next. Turning to Sirius he said, "This is your last chance to get off, you know?"

Sirius spotted the Skull Knight as well, ready to swing his sword before they darted back to a concentrating Harry. His face broke out into a cocksure grin. "I've always wanted to travel the world. Just never expected to go to another one."

The small fleet of boats neared and a magically amplified voice called out into the night. "UNDER MAGICAL DECREE NUMBER-,"

Fwooshhasssh!

A wall of water shot up from the still lake, courtesy of Harry's spell, pushing the fleet of boats back and toppling some of the passengers and also propelling a ship like the Sea Horse forward toward the expanding ripple in the air caused by Skull Knight's slash. The bow dipped a bit as it went through the ripple and the crew scrambled to grab hold of the mast and rails as they felt the sudden shift.

Harry's eyes opened once again and they along with the rest were able to catch sight of the floundering occupants of the boats as they coughed up lake water. A single tentacle belonging to the giant squid popped out of the water and seemed to wave a farewell before poking back down into the depths. The candles and torches decorating Hogwarts gave a tranquil and peaceful feeling about it that also made it seem very inviting.

The entire ship rocked as the castle disappeared from sight and they were left with a vast expanse of water in every direction. Some of which managed to spray up over the sides of the ship hitting Harry and a few others.

"Ugh!" Isidro gagged as he wiped off his tongue. "That's salt!"

They were back.

A/N: Well, the return to Midland has arrived but that doesn't mean that some glimpses in what's happening into Hogwarts won't still happen as there are a few threads that have to be tied up there as well. Thank you for reading.


	64. Chapter 64

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

The feel and smell of the fresh sea breeze assaulted Harry's senses after a particularly large wave sprayed over the side of the ship. Guess it would have been a little too much to ask for a smoother return, but he wasn't about to complain out loud. They owed Skull Knight a lot for all he had done and this was just another in the list.

From the bow of the ship, Skull Knight sheathed his sword which now looked like its regular sharpened steel as opposed to the behelit infused mass used to cut tears in the fabric of astral space. The skeletal knight looked as ominous as ever, the skull helm giving no indication as to what he might be thinking. Harry wondered if Skull Knight was still a human, would he feel a sense of pride or accomplishment at being back in his own world; or indifferent to all of it considering how the continent seemed to have divided since the fall of his once empire?

Harry supposed that it didn't really matter either way. Skull Knight would only give an answer along the lines of how it was all just necessary, and while that was true, he wanted to believe that there was still fragments of personality in that armor somewhere. Not just because they owed Skull Knight, but also for Guts' sake as well. If the worst happened and Guts lost control of himself within his armor, Harry wanted to believe that he would be able to somehow still retain more pieces of his humanity.

Up near the helm, Roderick grabbed hold of the wheel as if to steady the ship and to give himself a sense of comfort as well. "What's our reading?"

His grizzled old first mate pulled a spyglass from a pocket inside of his coat. "I recognize the stars, Captain," the first mate reported. "We're 'bout a weeks sail from the mainland, just about a day away from Solitary Island."

"Solitary Island, hm?" Roderick seemed to ponder that. "The winds are against us as of now. We should be able to reach there by midday tomorrow."

"You know the island well?" Serpico asked.

"Not well," Roderick replied. "About as any man of the sea knows, really. It's a small spit of rock, really. It doesn't really have all too many resources to it, save for fish, so the only village there is dirt poor."

"Hm. I see." Serpico nodded. "And I presume that their main source of income would be by offering shelter to seafaring vessels in exchange for resources."

"You'd be spot on," Roderick grinned. "Stopped there a few times myself. Never really stayed too long though, locals are pretty reserved when it comes to outsiders visiting."

Harry listened to Roderick's explanation of their current location before he looked over to Skull Knight. "Any reason why you decided to drop us off all the way out here?" he asked.

"Ships do not fair well on land, Wizard." Skull Knight replied dryly.

"He means why didn't you just drop us off right by the coast," Guts backed the reasoning of Harry's question. Harry figured it was in Guts' restless nature to want to back on land and traveling compared to the lack of space a confined ship could provide. "You usually have a reason for doing all the stunts you pull, Bonehead."

"Your entrance to the other astral plane was unexpected." Sirius had a bit of decency to look a tad guilty for that, especially under Skull Knight's glowing gaze. "Events would have been quite different had you not been summoned. While the island you sail to may be but a rock, it is strong in astral energy."

Schierke perked her head up at the mention of that bit of information. "Are you saying that we would've had an ally there?"

"Just because things have been changed does not mean the loss or gain of anything or one." Skull Knight was back to his usual cryptic way of speaking, even to them. "Out here, there is time. Do what you will with it."

That seemed a bit more obvious, even for Skull Knight as his glowing gaze seemed to drift to Casca who held the mysterious boy in her arms. Was it possible that he no longer viewed the child Casca held as being the deformed fetus he had told Guts to kill after the Eclipse? While Skull Knight had announced himself as a foe to enemies of humanity, Harry knew that the child of Guts and Casca was something other than just human. All those apostles and monsters he must have killed as Gaiseric and then now as Skull Knight, he would have no problem killing something as seemingly helpless as the kid.

But more than anything, Skull Knight had also proved himself a loyal and valuable ally to their entire party. If he wasn't going to kill the child, it was entirely for their own desire. If that were the case, it cemented the idea that there was still fragments of humanity left somewhere in that skeletal suit.

The glowing sockets of the skull helm seemed to go to Guts next. "Take heed, Struggler. Nights such as these, the full moon, they are special. If you want to hold onto what you value, take that thought to mind. The Fighter as well."

Harry expected that to be it. The Skull Knight had said his peace of mind and would use that sword of his to disappear until he was needed again. But that wasn't the case this time, or so it seemed.

He still sat atop his steed but he turned his gaze outward toward the vast expanse of dark sea that lay before them. It was almost like they had gained a second masthead for the ship, one that would have struck terror into any enemy vessel and would have looked more fitting for a pirate ship. The crew eyed Skull Knight warily, still holding some superstitions to the heart which was only strengthened by the fact that they had been in a world full of magic and wizards, not even an hour prior.

"Captain," the first mate began as he cast a nervous glance to Skull Knight. "What should we do with him?"

If Roderick had any apprehension to an undead knight on his ship, he did very well at hiding it. "We don't make an enemy of him, for one. Second, we sail for the island. Maybe we can get some word of what's happening since our unexpected detour."

Seeing that Skull Knight wasn't going anywhere, for the time being, Guts approached. "Hey." Skull Knight looked down at him. "Got a snack for you."

Reaching into his satchel, Guts pulled out the emerald green behelit that he had been keeping for so long. The action didn't go unnoticed by Puck. "Becchi! You're giving him away? He's my friend."

"Make new friends," Guts dismissed the blue elf's concern as he handed the behelit to Skull Knight who gripped it in his bony grasp.

Instead of swallowing the behelit straight away, Skull Knight examined it first as if he were trying to determine something about it. With a few of his skeletal fingers, he undid the armor panel on the back of his left hand and dropped the bauble in with a small clink! to indicate it hit nothing but solid armor within before he snapped the armor plate back in place.

Guts' sole eye narrowed in suspicion. "What's wrong, Bonehead? Not feeling hungry tonight?"

"Do not mistake my action as unwarranted, Struggler," Skull Knight said, uncaring at the looks he was getting from Harry, Guts, Casca and everyone else. "I have told you before that you were like a vessel, a ride for this cursed trinket. Having it in your possession was how I was always able to locate you and your companions. Yet for all this time, it has remained stagnant, impassive, yet to wind up in the hands of whom it was meant. Keeping it in my possession is a gamble of sorts. Do you disagree, Wizard?"

Harry thought his heart would skip a beat at those words.

"Me? You're saying that it's mine?"

Like Guts, Harry was also curious as to who the behelit might be intended for. He had always thought that if it was intended for him, he would either ditch it the first chance he got or try to find some magic seal that would prevent it from ever activating. He wouldn't be like him, he wouldn't throw away everyone he cared about for some lousy exchange of power.

Already he could see concern fill the eyes of Schierke and Farnese, Serpico appeared calm, but perspiration on his brow as he probably imagined how the outcome would look. Sirius, who had only a vague understanding of what a behelit actually was, looked between the two of them with a mixture of curiosity and concern. But for all the looks that he was receiving, it was Casca who spoke up first.

"You're wrong." Skull Knight turned his glowing gaze over to her. "You're wrong," Casca said again. "It isn't his. It can't be."

"Your concern is justified, but not accurate. I do not believe that this trinket of desire belongs to the Wizard. The Godhand originally intended to select him as a champion with such an item before I intervened, leading them to choose the other one instead."

Upon hearing Skull Knight's words, Harry felt an invisible weight lift off of his chest as the concerned-filled looks started to fade as well. Knowing that a cursed artifact belonged to him was one thing, having his friends look at him with worry like that was something else entirely. They wouldn't turn their backs on him, he knew that; it was more of knowing that he had some part to play in making them feel that way that was bothersome.

"So why keep it?" Sirius asked looking a bit relieved himself. If he was to join them, he might as well understand the grand plan of things.

Skull Knight's gaze lingered back out to the open sea. "I was reminded of something."

"Mind sharing what that is?" Guts asked, trying not to sound impatient or anything. He received a single word in response.

"Reflections."

"Of what?" Schierke asked, Ivalera sitting on the brim of her hat in anticipation.

The glowing gaze traveled once more over to Harry and then over to Guts before returning to stare at the inky blackness of the expansive sea. That was the only indication Skull Knight gave at hearing her question and let the rest go unanswered into silence.

The night air, while progressively getting warmer, still held a bit of a chill to it given the sea environment which they now found themselves. It wasn't too bad, but it was enough for Harry to close the window to his cabin.

"Not a fan of the sea smell?" his visitor, Sirius Black asked him. "There's a charm to help mask that, you know."

"Isn't there a charm for everything?" Harry rhetorically asked. After reading over some of the purchased spell books, it was apparent that wizards from that astral layer had discovered some very practical, as well as some overtly useless spells as well. That wasn't to insult their magic, but Harry just didn't really see any benefit in turning needles into matchsticks when there was already spells to cast fire or light.

"That's what makes the magical world feel, well, magical!" he gave a light-hearted grin, but Harry suspected that had to do with the matter they had been discussing previously. It had clearly been something that Sirius had been thinking about, but had not brought himself to say it out loud yet.

It had to do with the behelit.

While Sirius had seen many of the key memories that Harry had been through while in Midland, there was the biggest one he had purposefully omitted; the Eclipse. They had no right to have seen that memory and it wasn't one he ever wanted to see play out ever again.

"You wanted to know what behelits actually do, don't you?" Harry addressed the underlining topic which had been on Sirius' mind ever since he heard Skull Knight address him when talking about those cursed trinkets.

"Looks like I need to brush up on my occulumency skills. I don't think any of you have ever mentioned what those freaky little egg things do."

"They're... like a calling card almost," Harry thought of a good way to explain it. "Behelits are designed for specific people and can sometimes be used more than once if need be. They can wait for years to find the person they're meant for."

Sirius nodded, understanding it so far. "Well if they're made for a specific person, who makes them to begin with? And what exactly do they call?"

"Wherever they come from, it isn't a good place," although Harry had a pretty good idea that was more or less fact. "But for who they call, it-," he paused.

"Harry?" Sirius took note of his silence.

"They call themselves the Godhand," Harry continued, finding it near impossible to say the name without feeling a hint of anger and resentment. "From my memories before, you remember the one with the white hair?"

"Griffith was his name," Sirius recalled correctly. "He was the one you freed after having been tortured. Then there was that gap and the next we saw of him he looked good as new." Realization dawned on Sirius' face. "He had one like that?"

"His was different. His was red."

"And he got a hold of these Godhand people with it? And they were able to - Harry?" Sirius called his name again as he saw what Harry was doing.

Much like he had seen Dumbledore do, Harry pressed the top of his staff to his temple and concentrated on that particular event. Even though a few years have passed since that fateful day, Harry still remembered it as clear as day. It was one of those events that managed to stick with a person no matter how much time has passed since. With the images and play of events flashing across his mind's eye, Harry started to pull his staff away, watching as a silvery string started to protrude from the side of his head in unison with his staff.

Once it was fully out, Harry dropped the silvery memory into the contents of the basin which began to swirl around making the once clear fluid look an almost bloody color that stained that day with the lives of all the Hawks that had been needlessly sacrificed to birth the fifth and final member of the demonic forces. It began with him leaving the princess and her handmaiden behind, a choice he should have never made in heinsight, and the activation of the crimson behelit. He had made sure to leave the more degrading aspects less clear as that had really been another aspect of evil that was equally unnecessary. It would end with Skull Knight rescuing them from being devoured.

"The memory you omitted?" Sirius guessed correctly.

Harry gave a silent nod and slid the pensieve across the desk toward Sirius. "If you wanted, I left it out of good reason."

Sirius' eyes traveled down to where the pensieve was, looking like he was about to gaze into it and see. But he rejected it. The pensieve was slid back across the desk towards Harry who glanced up at Sirius with a stunned expression on his face.

"Why?" he simply asked. "You chose to come with us here, don't you want to know as much as you can?"

"I was never really one for learning, anyone can tell you that," Sirius told him. "And I came because you are my godson. And as much as I want to be a part of your life, I understand that there are some things that you just might not be comfortable telling me about yet and... I don't want you feeling that you need to rush whatever memory it was that you put in there just now."

The reasoning was simple, but it was much appreciated.

Feeling a sense of relief almost, Harry put the pensieve back into his satchel. The contents continued to swirl around but never threatened to spill out thanks to the charm that prevented them from doing so. There they continued to swirl around like they were resisting the pull of gravity from an invisible drain into the bowls of the mind.

"He seems to like your hair." Guts observed from a distance as Casca had her hair pulled for about the tenth time that night. At least now he knew where their kid inherited that aspect from.

"I just got it cut not too long ago. How'd it get longer this fast?" The light provided by the full moon illuminated their figures as Casca sat on the end of the cot, the child in her lap looking aware but tired. Maybe he lost energy as the night came close to an end?

"He's looking a bit tired," Guts voiced that thought out loud.

"I suppose he is, yeah," Casca was looking tired as well. "Do you find it strange how he only comes during the full moon though?"

"Well it has something to do with magic and astral energy, doesn't it?" Guts recited what he knew. "When is that ever not strange?"

She looked at him like he was missing the point. "That's accurate, but it isn't what I meant." Casca waited for Guts to say something, but he kept quiet and let her continue. "He's tied somehow to Griffith. Not an ally, but being able to be here, that isn't just his doing. If we do manage to defeat him... there has to be some way to ensure that he-," she patted the child on the back, "doesn't die along with him."

"We fight him during a full moon, he'd be his own person then, wouldn't he?" Guts offered the idea. It was simple, but that was the best way he saw fit of ensuring that the boy would not be killed along with the disguised Godhand member. And as soon as he said it, Guts felt like an idiot. This was a war they were going into with an opponent that had more power and standing than they did. It was foolish and naive to believe that they could control all aspects of the battle like that, including the weather. From the look he was getting, Casca thought something along the same thing.

"The minute any of us enter that city, we're practically invoking a fight," Casca pointed out. "And there's still the wedding we need to prevent from happening, and assuming we get that far, a fight is guaranteed if we do manage to prevent it."

"And the only way we can prevent it is by entering the city," Guts recited. "Either way it's a risk."

Casca nodded, silence fell between them. "What about Rickert?" Casca asked. "He'd be willing to help, and that's something we can use an abundance of right about now."

Guts agreed with that as well. Rickert wasn't the strongest or the fastest, but he had one of the most creative and sharpest minds that Guts knew of. "Once we reach land we can make for the mine where he and Erica were living." He didn't know if the two would still be there, but it was still their best bet as of where to go once they made landfall. "Or we could just have the Bonehead cut our way there and save us the time of walking. Assuming he's still around by morning." Guts spared a glance toward the kid in Casca's lap who looked back at him, an action which didn't go unnoticed by Casca.

"We should still talk about this with the others and see if they have any ideas, Harry and Schierke especially." Guts figured that would be the case. "There is one thing we can discuss and figure out now though."

"What is it?" Guts asked.

"I don't know if it's been bothering you the way it has been me, but I still wanted to bring it up at some point, maybe just for my own peace of mind than anything else."

"What is it?" Guts repeated his question.

"His name," Casca said suddenly, gesturing to the child on her lap who was reaching for her hair again.

"His name?" Guts parroted.

"Well I don't just want to be referring to him as, well, 'him,'" Casca defended her point. "It just... doesn't sit right with me not calling him by anything proper, don't you think so?"

Really, Guts had not really thought about something like that at all. He never really expected to have a kid or find a woman in his life to begin with. Taking the time to actually think of a name for another living thing was something so far out of his area of expertise that he wouldn't even know where to begin. Names like Jon and Eric were popular names, but nothing about them really stood out to Guts like his encounters with this child had been.

"What about your father's name?" Guts offered the choice to Casca. It was tradition to name family after the other.

"He looks nothing like how my father used to look," Casca said. "And I was already thinking of one."

"Then why even ask me?" Guts lightly demanded. She had to have known he would have no idea.

"Because I wanted to see if you would suggest it first," Casca said it like it was obvious.

"And what name would that be?"

She looked down at the being in her lap before answering.

"Gaiseric."

Guts wasn't really sure if he was surprised or not. "Why that name?"

"After learning about the past, I realized that despite being a king, he was still a fighter and a struggler much like most of us until the end and even after. His spirit has been helping us along this entire time as well." She paused. "If we really don't end up living through all of this, I'd want the Godhand to know that some resistance still carried on after all of us as well." Casca heaved a small sigh. "Not the most optimistic way of thinking, I know, but-,"

"No," Guts said before she could finish that thought. "Gaiseric sounds... it sounds good."

Casca looked at him like she was trying to determine if he was just saying that to say it or not. "Alright." Although he would be gone in just a few short hours, she at least had something to call him by now.

"So that's it?" Isidro asked midway from climbing a rope to look at the outcrop of rock on the near horizon.

Harry came over to look as well, taking in the sight alongside him. Daybreak had brought about a nice sunny lighting with a cloudy overcast that gave the feeling of a true seafaring environment. Without a spyglass, Harry was really only able to distinguish one very key feature of the island; a large, dark cliffside surrounded by many jagged looking rocks that would capsize any ship that dared to get too close. It wasn't a very welcoming sight.

At the very least, Skull Knight had stayed, remaining at the same spot near the bow of the ship as he was the night before. The crew looked especially apprehensive about their skeletal passenger and kept their distance, leaving the bow relatively devoid of any company.

"Have you ever been to this island?" Harry asked the astride horseman.

"There was very little reason to see it more than once. It fell without bloodshed during Gaiseric's sea campaign. It served as a resting port for the true point of conquest, this ship's captain's native island. But that was not the only reason for having minimal involvement here."

"What would that be?" Harry asked, keeping his green eyes on the island as it loomed closer, the current feeling strong with the ship's motions.

"These waters are home to a legendary sea beast that preys on all manners of creatures, getting bigger and with each life that it consumes and masses into its being. Gaiseric lost many a ship trying to venture farther out to sea because of that monster. For that reason, it was named, the Sea God."

Isidro's disinterest quickly turned to a mix of apprehension and anticipation. "A-and we're sailing straight toward it? You going to take it down finally?" He received no answer from the Skull Knight as the ship neared closer to the isolated island.

"What in the hell happened here?" Harry heard Roderic's voice from the opposite end of the ship as they finally got within close proximity.

"Things have clearly changed since our departure," Serpico observed along with them.

"Take great heed, Captain," Skull Knight said to Roderick. "Much has changed in the sea as of late." Intrigued, Roderick moved down to where they were to listen in on what was to be said.

The large cliffside that Harry had easily spotted was also the resting place of a naturally made cave. But it looked like the entire mouth of the cave had suddenly exploded outward as something had escaped from within. Aside from that, the entire island itself seemed to have also deflated in a way. It was as if whatever was residing under there had caused the main body of land to cave in on itself.

"So," Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. "If no one's ever killed this 'Sea God' and with its lifespan, could it grow to be as big as an island?"

"You would be correct." Skull Knight's words brought him no sense of praise. The biggest being they had ever encountered had been Emperor Ganishka, but even then that had been a very brief encounter. This was a monster that had been a foundation for an entire island! No wonder no one had ever been able to kill it in the past. Skull Knight noticed the look of worry on Harry's face. "You are scared?"

"I'd be stupid if I wasn't."

"Hey! I'm not scared of some big fish!" Isidro tried to look more confident than he was at the moment.

My point exactly, Harry thought to himself. "This thing is free now, isn't it? How'd it even get under there to begin with?"

"The sea holds more than just monsters," Skull Knight said. "Creatures such as merrows inhabit the sea as well."

"The ones with the torso of a human and legs of a fish," Serpico recalled the myth about the elusive sea creatures.

"Oh, yes!" Roderick recalled as well. "Many a sailor claimed to have seen one at one point, some of the crew present as well. Their voices are said to have a magic to them that can guide ships through the most perilous of storms and they have been known to help sailors who have fallen overboard."

"You are well informed." Skull Knight kept his gaze forward. "It was the merrows magic that restrained the Sea God for all these centuries. The tear of the astral words which resulted in the World Tree has weakened that seal and the Sea God roams the sea once more, but you need not panic. The Sea God has moved on from here, searching for more life to devour."

"Well, that does seem a welcome relief," Serpico said with a hint of nervousness still in his voice. He seemed to be planning out how they could go about killing something as large and ancient as the Sea God if they had crossed paths with it. It wasn't an apostle, but they could still count on Skull Knight to assists them, couldn't they?

"So if we aren't fighting the Sea God, why are we even wasting our time here?" Isidro asked, pinching his nose. "This whole place reeks of fish."

Skull Knight's gaze rested just past Isidro, right near the rail. "There is your answer."

Isidro didn't seem to get it. "What? We're here for the fish smell?"

There was the sound of a light splash of water and a girls voice answered. "What's wrong with fish?"

The voice belonged to neither Schierke, Farnese, or Casca although both were present on the deck. This one was slightly accented and held more traces of playfulness and curiosity than anything. There, leaning over the side of the rail like she had jumped up from the ocean was a girl about his age with choppy chin-length blue hair and matching blue eyes. But what stood out the most was by far her most unique trait.

"T-t-t-t-," Isidro stuttered over himself in order to get the word out.

"Tail," Schierke finished, joining them. In place of human legs was a blue-scaled tail like a fish.

But Isidro shook his head, clearly not what he was trying to say. "T-t-ti-,"

The merrow girl seemed curious as well. "Hm? Oh, my tits? What about 'em?"

Isidro nodded, blood starting to leak from his nose. Well, she was technically indecent from the waist up by human standards. Harry had noticed it too, but he wasn't about to openly stare and ogle like Isidro was doing and it had nothing to do with the fact that both Schierke and Casca were right there. It did not seem like the merrow girl minded Isidro staring at her exposed chest, she wasn't flaunting it, but she wasn't really making an effort either and made no move to discipline the boy. That was up to Casca.

"Enough of that," Casca said, irate as she pulled Isidro back by the ear.

"Hey! Ow! Ow ow ow! That freaking hurts!" Isidro complained at the pain he was feeling and no surprise as to why. While Casca had always had a firm grip thanks to wielding a sword, it hurt even worse considering Casca had donned the armor that had been made for her by the goblins.

In the sunlight, the armor would appear almost white in color but when in the dark would seem to gradually get darker. The real color was something of a silvery grey, a charm put in place was responsible for the sudden changes to the actual color itself. The design was of a plated mail, but was much less bulky than a standard knight's design and was more form fitted with separations between the plats to allow for more pivots and bending motions and making it more lightweight. Sirius had assurance from the goblins that any normal attack by a lesser blade or something not as strong as goblin steel wouldn't even make a dent and leave the wearer feeling nothing but a slight bump.

Sensing that Isidro had learned his lesson - for now, at least, they were able to divert their attention back to the merrow girl, with Casca making sure to cover Isidro's eyes.

"We're sorry for our companion," Schierke said to the other girl. "He tends to be a bit insensitive at first. We hope that he didn't offend you too badly."

The merrow tilted her head. "Offend me? For what? Clothes only weigh you down in the water and that's where I came from."

"Well, yes, but he really had no right to stare at you like that," Schierke said with a flustered face.

Like I said, can't really be helped with no clothes and all." She smiled like that explained everything.

It was rare to see Schierke speechless, but this was one of those times. Even Casca and Farnese didn't look like they had anything to say about it either. Even if they did, Harry doubted that it would make much difference to this girl who seemed far too carefree to worry about her appearance.

The silence was eventually broken by the mounted Skull Knight. "Where is your clan, merrow? One so young does not survive on its own in these waters."

Only now did she seem to become aware of Skull Knight. "You have a bit of a weird smell about you. It smells a bit like the cave back on my island. I can call the others if you want to speak with them." She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. At least, no sound that Harry could hear. She closed her mouth. "My names Isma by the way, my mum and the others should be here any minute."

From all around the ship, splashes of water were shooting up, revealing more merrow people, but none were armed which seemed to somewhat put Guts to ease but not fully. One merrow, in particular, swam over close the ship and looked up at the assembled crew.

"Greetings. I see that you have caught the attention of my daughter."

More like she caught ours, Harry thought as it was true. Isma had approached them first.

Skull Knight moved his horse over toward the rail. "The currents have changed here, why do you remain?"

If Isma's mother was bothered by seeing someone like Skull Knight she did not show it at all on her rather youthful face. With how long he had been around, Harry suspected he had other contacts aside from Flora from over the years.

"The Sea God has escaped, this is true. It is beyond even the full might of us merrows and our songs. The best we can do is to act as guides now, steering wayward vessels away from where the beast consumes creatures of the ocean. Although, not many ships have passed by as of late. The last one was a ship from the island north of here."

At that, Roderick's eyes widened. "Lith." He ran to the rail. "You speak of the Island of Lith, correct?"

The merrow nodded. "Yes, that is the name of the island. We only caught words of why so many humans left so suddenly. Much like what is happening in the sea is happening on land. Beasts and monsters long thought to have been gone have returned. The humans spoke of finding a safe haven somewhere on the mainland."

Yeah, only one real spot that they could go.

"That is the destination of these humans as well," Skull Knight told her. "But those souls will find only an imitation."

"Not exactly compelling," Puck said, still appearing sad over not having Becchi anymore.

"Why seek such a place if you know what dangers may lie ahead?" the merrow asked, interested in what they would say.

"We're not planning on staying there, lady," Guts called down to her. Talking to a fish woman hardly seemed the strangest thing he had done in his life. "If something doesn't get done about it, things like your little Sea God are only going to get worse."

"The Struggler speaks the truth. The blessings that you give need not apply to vessels. Provide safe passage and I will deal with your own affairs."

The merrows looked stunned, like fish gapping for water which seemed an accurate comparison. "You talk of killing the World Eater alone? How?"

Skull Knights hand rested on the hilt of his blade. "Even gods can be killed from within."

The following expression was one that matched that of her daughter's and Harry knew that safe passage was assured.

A/N: Happy Holidays! The return to the mainland happens next and some familiar faces return. Thank you for reading.


	65. Chapter 65

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Ever since the first interaction with the merrows, Harry noticed a change in the ship's captain, Roderick. It was nothing to do with any major personality changes, he was still the all-smiles, good-natured man as before. They were more surface-level changes that seemed to be taking place. While Roderick still put on his usual ever-present smile, the corners of his mouth seemed to be twitching like a second instinct was fighting to take hold over his expressions.

He was also taking the helmsman's duties as they sailed. His fingers would tap against the wood of the wheel as he kept them on the course and every now and again he would tap his foot against the deck in a small sign of anxiety.

It was a side to their captain that Harry had not seen much of and it had Harry worried. While Roderick was a seasoned man of the sea, the threat of something as ancient as the Sea God roaming the waters freely was enough to make any sailor feel the cold sting of fear.

"Captain?" Harry approached the helm where Roderick steered. He didn't seem to notice him until he had spoken.

"Hm? Oh, hello Mate. Magnifico chasing you around again with all his talk of money?"

"He did earlier," Harry recalled nearly as soon as he had woken up. "He was complaining that I could have at least withdrawn my savings before we were suddenly transported back here."

Roderick offered a small laugh at that. "Yes, that does sound like my friend. Known him for years and he hardly seems to have changed. But I like to think there's hope for him. Money can't be all there is for him."

"If you say so."

Harry seriously doubted that. That was practically all Magnifico ever talked about. Well, that and complaining how dangerous something was. He was an odd one to their small little group, but he did have skills that had helped them out when negotiating. Aside from that, he was relatively impassive about all other activities. If it wasn't for his blase attitude about things, he could actually be useful in getting into Falconia without suspicion. The son of a prestigious banking family, that would be someone who Neo-Griffith would love to have on his side to strengthen his own standing.

But that was thinking and hoping for way too much, Harry knew. As opportunistic as Magnifico was to try and get into Harry's good graces - and financial backing, he was far too concerned for his own sense of being.

There was a moment of silence between the two of them that was eventually broken by Roderick. "This has been pretty exciting, you know?"

"What has?"

"All of this!" Roderick spared a hand from the wheel to gesture over the deck as well as the open sea. "Just how many people can claim to have been to an entirely new world, meet merrows, and be engaged to a witch in the making?"

"I think that last one only applies to you."

"True," Roderick looked happy about that. "I should consider myself lucky then. A little motivation never hurt."

"Looking to study magic yourself?" Harry asked but doubted that was the case.

"I'll stick to what I know." His hand patted the wheel. "I meant it would be beneficial for a wife to know how to turn me into any animal of her choosing if I become unfaithful."

"Right."

Roderick could probably tell from the tone of his voice that Harry was mildly offended by that. Farnese was his student, after all. "I jest, I jest. Farnese is a rather magical girl." Harry rolled his eyes at that one. "But my womanizing days are behind me, I assure you." His voice had lost a bit of the jovial tone and sounded more serious.

"Good to know then. I doubt that your lord father would want a dolphin for a son if you did something to upset her."

"A dolphin?" Roderick seemed to play with that idea in his head. "I don't know, dolphins are notoriously smart but if she was feeling merciful, I'd entertain the idea of a shark. Besides men and whales, no creature alive could- er, well you get what I mean."

Yeah, Harry understood. Roderick's mind was back to thinking about the Sea God. Honestly, Harry didn't blame him.

He doubted that the Sea God was an actual deity like the Greek and Roman myths of Poseidon and Neptune. It was just a legendary sea monster that grew too big to be content with preying on smaller fish. So, if anything, it would be better compared to sea beasts like the Kraken or Leviathan of mythology. Harry wasn't too polished in his own world's myths, but he had a general knowledge of them such as Jonah and the whale and how that ended. Thinking about that made Harry wonder what the Sea God actually looked like. It was large enough to fit under an entire island after all. He would hazard a guess and say it would be similar to a shark, maybe like the ancient megalodon during the time of the dinosaurs.

Roderick's eyes traveled down to the bow of his ship and the corner of his mouth twisted up in amusement. "Although I think Isidro would be inclined to keep bothering your good friend Schierke in the hopes that he might get turned into a fish of any kind."

Sure enough, down by the rail near the bow, Isidro was in the middle of a very animated discussion with the young merrow girl from the other day. She was leaning over the side of the rail, her tail lightly waving from side to side before she would drop back down into the water before launching herself back out and up to the side again where she resumed her conversation with Isidro.

From the looks of it, they both seemed to be getting along quite well. Harry was both happy and concerned. Happy because someone actually seemed to be up to the task of actually tolerating Isidro and enjoying it. But concerned that Isidro might accidentally say something offensive and offend their merrow guides. At Skull Knight's request, they were granting them safe passage on the sea, but it would prove useless if the Sea God came their way.

Normally Harry wouldn't do this to listen in on a conversation, but given how loose-lipped Isidro could be sometimes, he was willing to make an exception. So, via thought transference, he was able to hear what exactly what was being said.

"So then what happened?" the excited voice of Isma asked with anticipation.

"Well then this guy, Father Mozgoose I think his name was, yeah, he grew wings out of his back and tried flying off with my now-teacher Casca. But before he could fly out of there, I jumped from the side of the tower and burnt his wings with my trusty Salamander Dagger!" Isidro proudly displayed the glowing dagger for the merrow girl to see.

"Wow! And you did all of this just after you met up with them?" Isma sounded curious which only prompted Isidro to keep on talking.

"Yeah, I wanted to make a strong first impression. We got into all sorts of crazy happenings, but I really don't want to bore you or anything. What about you?" he actually seemed to want to know more about her.

"You kidding?" Isma asked, sounding disbelieving. "I can tell you my entire story in just a few sentences. I want to hear more about these monsters you were talking about and this other world."

"Oh, uh, alright. Well we met Schierke-,"

"-The cute girl with the green hair!" Isma interjected to show she had been paying attention.

"Not really sure about cute, but yeah. We met her and her teacher in this cursed forest. Well, it wasn't really cursed, but it kinda was but we cured it by killing a bunch of trolls."

"I thought that trolls were shy and lived under bridges," Isma said.

"Not these ones. They were all hairy and teethy and smelled like rotten meat."

"Teethy?" Isma repeated.

"Uh... yeah. You know, they had big teeth." He tried his best to come up with a good excuse.

"Oh. I get it."

Seeing his cover work, Isidro went back on topic of describing the journey so far to the blue-haired girl. Harry found that Isidro exaggerated a lot, especially where he fits into all of it considering that in Isidro's version of things, he was already a master of his craft and was the major turning point of several battles. It was also around that point that Harry decided to mentally exit the conversation and just go down there in person.

As Harry left the helm, he took one last look back at Roderick who had gone back to tapping his fingers against the wheel with the same smile plastered onto his face. When Harry was out of earshot, he went over to the one person who could perhaps get Roderick to open up a bit more.

Farnese was seated off to the starboard side with Serpico kneeling in front of her as they both examined something. "Ah, hello Harry." Serpico greeted with a polite smile. "I would call it a coincidence. Lady Farnese has been looking for a final inspection of her staff."

That was new news. "You finished?" Harry asked, amazed that she had completed it in such a short amount of time.

"I did have two very skilled mages helping me," Farnese replied modestly. "Would you care to see?" Farnese presented the completed staff to him for his approval.

"You shouldn't downplay yourself, let's have a look."

Whereas his and Schierke's showed the signs of worn usage, Farnese's was a fresh flower in comparison. The wood was made from the masthead at the front of the ship, giving it a sea-salty smell along with its fresh and sleek look. A layer of polish had been applied as well, making the already impossibly smooth wood look and feel like it was its own type. Harry suspected Serpico's calm hand had something to do with smoothing it out and making such precise cuts such as the top which looked like the wood had taken on the appearance of a living flame design.

"Well?" Farnese moved closer to him, eager to hear his reply.

"This is far nicer than anything I could have ever come up with," Harry honestly admitted recalling all his previous failures before he had completed his original staff. And even before Slan had destroyed his back in the troll cave, it hadn't been anywhere as nice as this one was.

"Now you're the one downplaying yourself," Farnese smiled bashfully at the praise from one of her teachers.

"A teacher should follow his own advice," Serpico sided with Farnese's assessment.

"And that makes me a hypocrite, I know," Harry handed her back her staff. "You'll have to show Schierke later. She'll want to test you out with it, see what spells you can cast and how to safely astral project now." He could already picture the look on her face once Farnese showed her. "There is one more thing though if you were up to it."

"Hm. What would that be?" Farnese asked. "I'm confident I followed all your instructions on how to make it and-,"

"No, it isn't about that," Harry said so she would not think she had done anything wrong - quite the opposite really. "I was wondering if you could talk with Roderick."

"Talk with him about what?" she asked.

"Just... maybe try to reassure him, I guess. I don't know if you've noticed it, but ever since he found out about the Sea God, he hasn't exactly been how he usually is. It's like he's putting on a mask to try and appear confident." For the unspoken obvious reason, Harry thought she would be able to relate to that.

"I have noticed a change in our good captain as well," Serpico agreed. "Betrothal agreement aside, the captain has shown in his own way that he does value what you think of him."

True. He did let her carve off a piece of his ship to make her staff. Harry didn't know many captains who would do that. Well, he didn't really know many captains at all, but the sentiment was still there.

"If you believe that he could use the company then I would be willing to see what I could do." She gave a light smile but one that held traces of uncertainty. But if Farnese gave her word then Harry trusted that she would keep it.

"Thank you." He gave a nod to both of the blondes before walking over to where Isidro was still talking with Isma.

The blue-haired merrow seemed to notice him sooner than Isidro and raised an arm to bid him welcome. Harry kept his eyes locked on the merrow's joyful face as she was still bare of any clothes. She didn't seem to mind it and neither did Isidro, but that was something that made them different - one of many things.

"Oh hey!" Isma exclaimed, happy with the additional company. "You're Harry right?"

"Yeah, that's me." He saw her tail swing lightly about as she leaned over the side of the rail.

"That's funny. You don't really look all that hairy to me."

That earned a laugh from Isidro and a vacant expression on Harry's behalf. Are all merrows like this? he couldn't help but wonder.

"Isidro was just telling me about all the adventures you guys had gotten into along the way," Isma filled him in on what they had been talking about much to Isidro's nervousness.

"Well..." Isidro rubbed the back of his head. "I might have exaggerated a lot of that stuff. You know, for dramatic purposes and all that."

Isma tilted her head. "So does that mean you didn't fight a hundred dark wizards at that Hogwash place?"

"Y-yeah, that wasn't exactly true," Isidro honestly admitted. "It was more like fifty. And my nose was broken too; did I mention that?"

"Tis true!" Puck flew over. "I can vouch for the whole thing."

"Aw, you didn't have to make that up," Isma told the rusty-haired boy. "You've still had more excitement in just one week than I have my entire life. I love hearing about all of this even if some of it is made up."

"Well being a merrow can't be all that boring, can it?" Harry asked. From the other merrows who were swimming alongside the ship, they all seemed pretty joyful.

"Oh, no, it's actually pretty exciting!" Isma confirmed. "It was before I found out I was one that was the boring part."

"Before you found out?" Harry parroted her words.

"Oh yeah! I didn't even know I was one until a few months ago." Isma said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was evident on Isidro's face that even she had not mentioned this to him yet. "Uh, you didn't know you were half a fish until a few months ago? Did you ever stop and look below your waist?"

Puck was the only one who didn't seem confused by it. "You're half and half, aren't you?"

"Well, of course, she's half and half," Isidro said. "Just look at her."

Puck was shaking his tiny head. "No. What I meant was one of her parents was a merrow and the other was a human."

"Yeah! That's exactly it!" Isma exclaimed.

"Humans can do that?" Harry asked Puck. "They can have kids with magical creatures?" Harry recalled the trolls that had been abducting women from Enoch Village to forcefully breed them into giving birth into more baby trolls that ate the mother out from the inside before bursting free.

"Of course, it's rare, but it can still happen. When they do have a kid, their inhuman side is usually hidden away until it comes out at a certain point or activates. But you wouldn't even be able to tell, for the most part, they'd look just like every other human."

Isma nodded her head. "Yup! Me ma's the one who was speaking with your bony friend over there yesterday." On the other side of the bow, Skull Knight was as still as a statue. He probably heard Isma mention him, but he made no indication to offer a response. "And since I'm part human, my legs will be real legs if I get dry or go on land."

"So were you just living with your dad then?" Isidro asked.

"Kinda." Isma made a wavy hand gesture. "When I was old enough to be on my own, he got me my own hut far away from the other people of the village."

"Why?" Harry asked. "He just expected you to live on your own?"

"Well he did teach me all he knew about fishing," Isma added. "But aside from that, it was just me. I guess he did that because he was worried for me. Before I knew the Sea God was real, the other islanders kinda worshiped the old legend about it and kinda viewed creatures like merrows to be bad for trapping it in the cave."

"So what happened to everyone else on the island?" Harry wanted to know.

"Not really sure," Isma admitted. "One day this huge burst of white light came rushing by and I felt this sort of change in the island. Whenever I saw a villager on my way back home, it was like something was off about their eyes, like they were all part of the same being. Weird, right?"

"Their belief in the Sea God was too powerful for their own minds," Skull Knight finally spoke. "Right now they have already become a part of the Sea God itself, fueling its enormity and hunger."

"You, ah, know that from experience?" Isidro nervously asked referring to the time of Gaiseric.

"Many ships and men were lost in sea expansions. Survivors told tales of the beast controlling entire ships that it conquered with its body. But this would have an advantage now over then. Cannons had not graced the Kingdom of Gaiseric."

"And you have us too!" Isma lightened the mood. "My ma told me us merrows have power with our voices. It was our song that put the Sea God in the cave the first time."

"So if you sang a song right now you could put me to sleep?" Isidro asked. "Not to say you're a bad singer or anything! You have a nice voice already so you probably have a really nice singing voice too!" he waved his hands like he thought he had offended her or something.

"I really don't know," Isma shrugged. "I've never really used the power of my voice yet since joining the other merrows once the Sea God got free. My ma says that it's a powerful gift and should be handled with care."

Harry found it a comforting thought that Isma was having some sort of guidance with her newfound powers. Before finding Flora and Schierke he had been a clueless novice with barely any control or idea over the full extent of what he was capable of doing. Plus Isma did seem a little too much like Isidro in certain regards and being less ignorant could really make a world of difference in knowing the limits and the full extent of what she could do.

"Anyway," Isma rolled her head, "that's all I really got for my story, keep telling me about yours!"

"Ah, well, if you really insist," Isidro rubbed at the back of his head once more in seeming modesty at the fact that this girl wanted to continue to hear about their travels.

Found the first person you want to spread your growing legend with? Harry asked via thought transference. The merrows seem friendly enough to take it at face value.

'C'mon man!' Isidro communed back to him. 'I'm not even thinking about that!'

Uh-huh.

'Hey! Even if I was you got no right to judge me! Guts has Casca, you and Schierke are happily weird together, and Farnese is engaged to Roderick. Besides, she actually is pretty awesome herself and she likes hearing my talk. Should I repeat that? She likes hearing me talk!'

"C'mon!" Isma bobbed her head. "Tell me another crazy thing that happened!" Harry didn't bother to offer a mental rebuttal to Isidro's last statement as it was being proven true at this very minute.

"Alright!" Isidro quickly agreed with vigor. "What about the time when my teacher Casca and I killed like four giants in under an hour. That's when she got that fancy sword that she has now."

Harry rolled in eyes without discretion although he doubted that they would have cared if they had noticed. Yeah, they're getting on a little too well.

As Harry supervised the two free-spirited individuals, Farnese watched them from the back by the helm where her betrothed still steered, following the path the merrows were guiding them. He greeted her with a friendly smile, but Farnese could see what Harry had been talking about. The smile seemed only surface level to the ship's captain and his eyes didn't quite have the same confident shine that they used to hold.

"Lovely to see you, Farnese," Roderick greeted.

"Might I join you up here for a moment?" she asked, observing his reaction.

"Of course. No need to ask for such a thing."

Nodding, Farnese stood to his side to join him. She could tell he was clearly nervous and agitated about their travel across the sea now but that couldn't just be the only thing that was bothering him. The idea of coming across the Sea God had them all on edge and it wasn't as though Roderick hadn't become acquainted with encountering weird and supernatural happenings since joining up with all of them. No. This was something different entirely.

It was nervousness for sure, but this seemed far more general or, at least, more personal.

"Has my brother been up to see you as of late?" Farnese began with a tentative question to break the ice of silence between the pair of them.

"That he has," Roderick nodded. "He wanted to know how soon we'd be making landfall. It seems he's the most frightened by the concept of the Sea God, but if the land is really as horrible as it was described, I doubt he'll find much solace there. But in the case of your young mentor, Magnifico seems to have momentarily forgotten about the large sums of gold he has in his family name."

"How do you fair with the idea of this Sea God?" Farnese asked. "With magic, Guts, the merrows, and a being such as the Skull Knight, I'm confident that we would be able to defeat such a foe."

"Oh, I've no doubt about that," Roderick earnestly replied. "I suppose the idea that scares me the most is the fact that the Sea God has been swimming around since the time we've been at that Hogwarts castle. All that time for the best to devour as much food as it could."

His words sent a spark of recognition through Farnese. What he had been saying before about the land and his confession of concern just now coupled with their general location, she was starting to understand what his real worry here was.

"You worry for your people back on Lith as well." Farnese didn't really bother to say that as a question. The look on Roderick's face was confirmation enough on that front.

"The people of Lith's true and best strength lies in our naval power," Roderick evenly stated. "Back in the time of warring empires, Lith possessed the strongest fleet but were little more than raiders and pirates. When Emperor Gaiseric's fleet invaded, he was stated to only have conquered by way of land tactics coupled with an unorthodox naval strategy." Farnese couldn't see fully, but from down on the bow it looked like a certain helm was looking their way.

Roderick continued. "For centuries the name Gaiseric was considered an omen for the cause of our defeat, but once Lith's enlightened age came about, the name gained a more positive look. Scholars said that before Lith was conquered our ancestors were as treacherous as they came and that we owed our new civilization to Gaiseric's tactics."

"That sounds highly controversial," Farnese spoke.

"Oh, it was. Many who said that were drowned. That was the way of things until a previous King of Lith decided those people might have had the right idea. Since his rule, Lith adopted some tactics used against them during that time and it even became commonplace to have the name Eric included in many names in tribute to the Emperor Gaiseric." He paused. "What I mean to say is that those tactics have never failed against enemy ships and soldiers. But, we aren't just dealing with humans anymore."

"There is a chance that many of your people would have gone to the mainland if Lith was plagued by monsters," Farnese tried to offer some sense of comfort. "Your family could be among them."

"It is possible. But with the Sea God in these waters, I don't know if any ships might have been spared. Unless I go myself, I'll never really know."

"So, you mean to sail back to Lith once we reach the mainland?"

There was no imminent response from the captain as he eyed which direction the merrows were swimming. "I suppose that doesn't paint me in the most selfless of lights then, does it? But if you so choose, it does mean your status as Farnese de Vandimion, doesn't it?"

"I'm afraid that I don't understand."

"Well, from the way I see it, I'll be back in Lith looking for my family or other survivors. And you'll be with the rest of your companions." His eyes briefly shined with cunning mischief. "I've no delusions about this betrothal of ours. It began as nothing short of a business arrangement by my best friend; my ship for travel to an island out to sea for your hand in marriage. Given our little sidetrack, we never did arrive at our intended destination, did we? By my honorable standards, I have not exactly held up my end of the bargain."

"Roderick, are you actually saying-,"

"If that's what you want it to mean," Roderick told her. "I can't make that decision for you. If you want to continue with the rest, I won't and can't fault you for that. But I would consider myself a damn lucky man if you want to follow in your brother's plan by your own fruition."

Farnese really had no idea what to say to that. A fluttering feeling began to take root in the pit of her stomach. He was offering her freedom. She didn't think she would be tied down if she did end up marrying Roderick, far from it. He had been nothing but courteous and encouraging about her and her studies in becoming a full-fledged witch. Marrying Roderick would be a huge step up from any other member of the nobility who would no doubt frown upon having a witch for a wife. It also didn't help that many, if not all, the nobles are living in the demon city of Falconia.

"That's... Roderick, I-,"

"You don't have to decide right now," Roderick sensed her hesitation. "It isn't exactly fair to spring that on you so unexpected. But I guess that's just the gentlemen in me."

"Well, uh, thank you, Roderick. That... that actually does mean quite a lot. You certainly do have a silver tongue about you."

The previous look of confidence briefly ignited back in Roderick's eyes. "Believe me when I say, I've been told."

Guts did not have to be a man of the sea to know something was out of the ordinary. Call it paranoia, call it whatever you want, but he felt uneasy being on board the Sea Horse at this moment. The sky was only partly cloudy and the waves lapping against the side of the ship were nothing short of being ordinary. The wind even seemed to be on their side since arriving back.

But that feeling - that tingle on the back of his neck that made his hair stand on end did not dissipate.

He glanced around at some of the crew on deck, observing their reactions as well. They were all going about their daily tasks as per usual, but there were a certain banter and chatter that was absent now more than any previous occurrence. These were men who had spent their entire lives either on an island or sailing out at sea. If their instincts were telling them there was something off, he was heavily inclined to believe them.

Passing by Serpico, Guts said, "Head up to the crow's nest, will ya? See if you can spot anything."

The blonde man must have also felt the discomfort in the air. "Of course." A breeze seemed to follow in his wake as Serpico ascended to the top of the center mast.

Guts cast a glance out over the side of the ship down to where their merrow escort was. The half-fish half-human beings were. They were still swimming close by, but they seemed much less sporadic and light-hearted than they had been previously. Occasionally when they would pop up out of the water, they would remain afloat there instead of submerging right away. Something had them on edge and Guts had a pretty guess as to what.

As he was gazing out at the water, he spotted another thing out of the ordinary. There looked to be a small wave coming in toward the stern of the ship. It seemed different from the other bouts of small waves that lapped against the hull. This one seemed more like a ripple of sorts. Like something that would happen if someone dropped a stone into a pond, or when a frog jumped out of the water onto a lilypad.

He made his way down towards the bow. "Hey, Bonehead, You know what's coming our way?"

"Why ask a question to which you know the answer?"

"Guts," Schierke approached where the rest of their group was assembled at the bow, "there's a new source of od that's fast approaching."

Isidro looked over the rail to where Isma had joint the rest of her merrow brethren. "H-hey, if you can grow legs when you're not in the water, want to actually come up here for a bit?"

The girl who had been all smiles and jokes since her appearance seemed to be lacking in both at the moment. "I don't really think that would do much good at the moment."

"Captain!" Serpico's usually even voice yelled down from the top of the center mast. "We've spotted something coming in from the stern!"

The ripple-like wave Guts had spotted moments earlier happened again, this time in a more abundant state. These waves were strong enough to actually feel like they were the cause of something else in the water.

"Keep us in favor of the wind!" Roderick ordered out. "Everyone keeps to their stations and have all cannons loaded and ready to fire! Bosun, fetch a spyglass."

A spyglass would not be necessary. All Guts had to do was lean over the side of the rail to see what looked to be a giant wave heading in their direction. The rest of the dark water seemed to part like a curtain as the wave shape made a beeline for their ship.

All the merrows were surfaced now and were eyeing the incoming shape with worry. "We will use our songs to disorientate the beast," Isma's mother called up to them. "We will not be able to kill it, but we can buy you enough time to gather some more distance." She submerged herself, her merrow brethren following in her wake.

"You're actually going after that thing?!" Isidro asked Isma who was the last to submerge.

"Don't you worry about me," she told him. "I've been a fast swimmer since before finding out about all of this. You try not to fall overboard." Her blue hair dipped down into the water, her form was just barely visible before she dropped to a deeper depth in pursuit of the rest of the merrows. Their shapes were merely dark blurs racing off through the water toward their yet unseen foe.

"Keep us in the winds favor!" Roderick ordered. "Value our speed over our strength!" There was nothing wrong with the strategy when against an enemy fleet or a pirate ship, but this was an actual monster of the sea and an ancient one at that. Human tactics did not mix with pure instinct honed after hundreds of years.

The Sea Horse did manage to put more distance between where the wave had appeared, special thanks to Serpico who was using his influence over the wind to strengthen the sails. The merrows also seemed to be putting in their effort as well from underneath the waves. The sea seemed much more at ease than before, despite the clear signs of nervousness from everyone on board. Their singing song must be doing something to weaken their pursuer.

"Keep her steady!" Roderick handed control of the wheel back over the helmsman. "Mr. Serpico, try focusing your effort on the other sails as well. Too much stress on one will detract over time." Via his Sylph cloak, Serpico was able to glide between the roping to traverse between the ship's masts.

There seemed to be a collective holding of breath as they continued to put more distance between them and where the Sea God was distracted by the swarming merrows.

Stillness. An eerie silence seemed to fallen over their spot on the ocean. Not even the ocean seemed to know if it wanted to stay still or explode into a sudden violent storm.

It seemed to decide on the latter.

With a sudden Fwopsslsh! a giant burst of salt water suddenly shot up into the air, far too large and violent to have been caused by a whale coming up for air. Then came the wave again. The giant ripple was back on the move, charging straight toward their ship.

"We're being charged, Captain!" the first mate cried out.

"Keep the focus on our speed!" Roderick ordered. "With the rate it's traveling, we won't be able to land a decent shot on it. We'll be even more screwed if we wast a volley for the beast to submerge completely."

But despite the best efforts of Serpico's manipulation over the wind, the wave seemed to match their speed.

"We'll be needing more wind!" the first mate announced seeing the shape creep ever closer.

"Know any wind spells?" Harry asked his godfather.

Sirius looked a bit insulted despite the looming presence of danger. "I might not use magic the same as you, but I still graduated Hogwarts, you know. Just tell me where you want me to be."

"Take the one by the helm. Serpico has the center mast, Schierke and I can handle up front here."

Nodding in affirmation, Sirius went off to assist where needed and the two students of Flora made ready to call upon the power of the Spirit King of the Wind for assistance.

They never got that far.

A violent lurch rocked the entirety of the Sea Horse causing someone like Guts to even stumble from the force of the impact. The impact also cost them a sudden loss of speed as well since it felt as though the entire ship had been lifted up out of the water for a brief second or two before coming crashing down sending a wave of seawater spraying up onto the deck, sparing no one.

"What's the word from below?" Roderick demanded. "Do we have a hull breach?"

"Isidro, out of the way!" Casca had her sword out and pushed the young boy out of the way of the dark shape that had been creeping up from the side of the bow from behind him.

It was serpentine in appearance with a greenish-grey coloration to its fish scales and was at least as wide as a grown man. The head of the monster resembled the palm of a hand with eight appendages stemming out from the side. In the middle was the "face" with two orange eyes that swirled with malice and a round, narrow mouth that was filled with rows of pointed teeth.

Casca's sword was a blur as it cut into the side of the monster, nearly cutting it into two separate pieces. Dark blood squirted out as the top half remained attached to the main body by a small sliver of slippery meat as the monster thrashed around in pain.

Serpico floated down from the top of the mast and with a swish of his sword, a slash cut across the air, severing the two halves fully. With a gush of blood, the head half flew free and dropped down onto the deck where it continued to flop and writhe around in seeming pain.

"Gnh!" Isidro yanked his foot away as the head came close to touching him. He pulled out his Salamander Dagger and used the flaming blade to pierce through the head. The beast stopped squirming as Isidro pulled his blade free and kicked it over the side of the deck and back into the water where it made a splash. Isidro stared out over the side where he watched the severed half float and bob, unmoving.

He threw his arms above his head and gave a cry of victory. "Yeeehhaaa! Yeah! That's what I'm talking about! We just killed the Sea God. Man, I sure hope Isma saw that from underwater."

That couldn't be it. Guts knew that couldn't be it.

The thing that they had just cut in half now was a beast to be sure, but it was nowhere close to being as large as whatever could have made that wave or that splash from before. This had to be some sort of lesser beast. One look over to the Skull Knight told him he was on the right thought pattern.

"Struggler," Skull Knight addressed him. "How proficient have you become with that armor?"

"I have partial control when Schierke is on me in her astral form," Guts answered the question.

"So you have made progression. You and the Witch should prepare then. I will offer my guidance as well."

Before Guts could process the idea that Skull Knight was going to offer additional insight into the armor, he understood the need for the warning.

From both port and starboard sides, tentacle shapes like the one that had been killed before shot up from the depths and attached themselves to the hull by sinking their teeth into it and using the finger-like appendages to get a firm grip. The hull creaked and groaned under the strain that was put on it and Guts feared that they meant to crush the ship between them.

Dragonslayer was in his hands in an instant and Guts wasted no time in cleaving through the nearest tentacle that was within his sword's massive reach. For some of the lower ones, Guts equipped his repeating crossbow and started firing volleys down at them.

Serpico appeared at his side and cut at the air with the Sylph Sword and blades of air cut down some of the more pesky ones that refused to let go even after being struck multiple times by his crossbow bolts. Elsewhere on the deck, everyone else seemed to be pulling their weight into fighting back against the invading tentacles.

Harry and Schierke were putting forth an offensive/defensive combination of fire and water magic, Sirius was moving around the deck using spells that either got the tentacles that were latched onto the ship to instantly release or a spell that made a cut across the scaley hide. If a tentacle attempted to pop up and snag someone when their back was turned, Casca would rush over and cut it with her sword and getting the sleeves of her armor dark with spilled blood. Even the stout Sir Azan was wading his way back and forth across the deck, slamming his ax down onto any that latched there.

"Hi Ho!" Sir Azan yelled at one point. "For what might does the sea hold over those who reside on land?" the question was left unanswered as he swung his ax down and cut the head off of one.

Even the ordinary members of the crew had gathered a few swords and spears which they used to stab at ones that were trying to wrap around the masts. Their weapons were effective to a degree, but they weren't doing enough. And that was where Skull Knight came into play.

His sword was a blur, even for someone like Guts who watched how dozens of warriors had fought during battles. The horse he rode seemed to know exactly where to go without even being urged to do so. It made massive leaps into the air, granting Skull Knight the opportunity he needed to cut the invading tentacles into tiny ribbons.

It became clear that even though the tentacles were still trying to latch on, they weren't trying to outright crush the ship. Rather, they were attempting to pull it back.

For the second time that day, another huge wall of water was blasted into the sky, dousing those present on the deck with more seawater. Guts looked and thought a giant bubble of some sort had risen to the surface, but the shape that he was seeing was far too solid to be any sort of bubble and smelled far too horrid.

It was round, almost a perfect sphere with a dark coloration that was so black that it might have actually been a navy blue. And it was wide; wide enough to have fit under a small island and to shake the foundations when it moved. There were no eyes, none that Guts could see on this side of its enormity, just a smooth polish surface that had a split where the dark color became a more yellowish-white to signal the start of a chin or an underbelly. The split was wide about the quarter of the body itself which turned out to be the maw that was filled with pointed teeth the size of boulders. As it slightly closed the gaping maw, Guts saw stems protruding from the chin and made the connection between them and the tentacles. But the worst thing about the beast was the smell.

Even for someone like Guts whose senses were starting to fade, he knew that this thing smelled bad. He had never really been too keen on fish smell but this was something else entirely. Dozens of dead fish washed ashore on a beach in the middle of the hottest day of the summer wouldn't even come close to matching the smell that came from the monster or even when it opened its maw wide and let its rancid breath free.

This was the true Sea God.

"And so our foe has breached," Skull Knight's voice was the same as ever.

"What are your orders, Captain?!" the first mate asked of Roderick.

"Helmsman, turn us to starboard side!" Roderick ordered. "Once we have a clear shot fire all starboard cannons!" Guts felt the ship begin to turn to the right as they lined up the shot. "Fire!"

Baboom!Baboom!Baboom!

Smoke and fire filled the air, distracting everyone's smell from the stench of ancient fish as each and every cannon fired off. Luckily, they had a very wide and open target. The shots all struck true, some finding soft spots on the massive hide and others just bouncing off and splashing into the sea. More than a few shot straight into the massive gaping maw, but that seemed to have the most minimal effects. The Sea God had swallowed enough to not be bothered by a few small objects going down its gullet. That didn't mean that it didn't get the beast agitated.

The Sea God opened its gigantic maw and the foul stench from before became even more prominent. "Wrrrrrrrghhhhh!"

More of the lighter underbelly was exposed as the Sea God seemed to almost rise partly from the water before it came crashing back down until only the top portion was visible. By doing so, it sent out a massive wave which slammed into the side of the Sea Horse and threatened to tip the ship over and capsize it. Many clanking and cluttering was heard from below deck and it wouldn't surprise Guts if everything that wasn't nailed down was scattered all over the place.

"Cannons will serve well as distractions, provided no direct interference will occur." Skull Knight looked right at Guts. "There is but one sure way to defeat a beast of this size. You know of the manner in which I speak, Struggler."

Yeah, he had a pretty good idea. "Schierke," Guts called to the green-haired witch. "Are you ready to help me with this thing?"

"If you're serious about using it, I'll access my astral body and help ease your burden," Schierke nodded in affirmation.

"We'll keep your body safe," Casca assured the green-haired witch. "And Guts, don't lose yourself." Schierke was closing her eyes as she took a seat on the deck as the ship rock to the side as the Sea God opened its wide maw once again and began swallowing torrents of water, trying to draw the Sea Horse in with it.

"Do you feel it, Struggler?" Skull Knight asked him. "Do you feel the fury inside of you? Do you feel the burning of your blood, the beast ready to go for the kill?"

'Yield to me,' Guts heard the voice speak from inside his head.

"Yeah, I hear it." The beast wanted to be set free.

"Listen to it."

"What? You want me to lose control?"

"That anger is just a facet of your whole, Struggler. It is made of only anger and desperation. If it were so strong, it would have overpowered you long before today. Is that the only thing that binds you, Struggler? Rage makes you stronger, but it only through your desire to kill? I am here before as a face of the rage to continue to survive, to persevere."

'He is naught but a fool,' the beast growled inside of him. 'You kill and I kill. That is all we have ever done. There is no plan for you, no dream, you exist to be the end for others who have mattered. You, an unwanted bastard, a motherless freak, you enjoy the feeling of the kill because it is all you know.'

"I call you Struggler, so what will you do? There is no time for hesitation. You have always chosen. So choose."

'You will yield. You're body and senses are fading already. That is me. You grow weaker without me to guide your-,'

Shut up!

'Guts!' he could hear Schierke's voice like she was speaking directly into his ear if he were to offer to carry her on his back. 'What happened? I was calling to you but I couldn't find your od. I thought you had been consumed!'

Me? No. I was just putting a dog on a chain, no need to get worried.

'The armor... it feels different.'

Guts noticed the same thing as well. Before, no matter if he had some control or not, he could always feel the beast urging him on from the darkest corner of his mind. Skull Knight's words and Schierke's voice were the only things he was concentrating on at the moment. But he had other thoughts on his mind as well. For every mocking insult, the beast had spoken to him, he had felt compelled to prove it wrong.

He killed, yes, but to live. Guts could find value in those who had wanted to live in battle as well even if they did die. The dream he thought he would find turned out to be right in front of him the whole time, his life was valued enough by Griffith, enough to warrant a branding. He might have never known who his mother was, but the child he had with Casca, that would be different. He knew the armor might claim him at some point, only being a matter of when and not if seemingly. But until that actually happened, he was the one in control.

Not the Godhand, not causality, and certainly not some mutt. Just him.

"You remain yourself," Skull Knight observed. "Gaiseric had assistance as well before he was able to better understand the armor. Think of yourself as a wild stallion and the young witch as the one to reign you in. She will hand the reigns to the owner eventually until then, feel the control you have. You will need it." His glowing sockets sought out the rest of the crew. "The Sea God's body will be aware of our presence. Keep its attention drawn out here."

The Sea God opened its mighty maw again, swallowing more of the sea and dragging the ship ever closer. Skull Knight swallowed his sword and pulled the blade out covered in the familiar behelit designs. His slash cut the air vertically and his horse galloped through with Guts following behind to a space inside of the belly of the beast.

"Can we get one of the lifeboats lowered down?" Harry began strategizing as Guts and the Skull Knight disappeared.

"You'll be capsized for sure in a boat that small!" the first mate argued.

"What do you hope to accomplish?" Roderick asked, seemingly more open-minded to the plan.

"If we make a sail and attach it to the lifeboat, I can sail around to distract the Sea God away from the Sea Horse. Even if this ship is bigger, it'll be bound to go after the thing doing more damage to it."

"You're not going it alone!" Casca reprimanded him and would have said more if not for a timely interruption.

"I'll go with him as well," Serpico volunteered. "If there's a sail, you could use the wind on your side no matter what direction you go in."

"Count me as a second," Sirius trotted over. "More magic means more damage, right?"

"Teacher, what about me?" Farnese sked. "What do you need me to do?"

"Do you remember the protection spell of the Four Kings?" Harry asked.

"Of course. It was one of the first you and Schierke showed me how to do."

Harry nodded. "Then I'll need you to do that. You have your staff now so it should be no problem if you stick to what we showed you."

"J-just me?" Farnese appeared nervous in the face of a trial by fire and Harry hated to have her do it so soon, but it would be stronger if she remained within the cast barrier around the ship. Since the Sea God was a supernatural creature, it would not be able to penetrate it with its physical body. What had him worried was that wave attack that it used that nearly knocked the ship over.

"I know it must seem overwhelming, Farnese, but magic is going to have to be used to help protect the ship."

"B-but I-,"

"You won't be alone," Casca assured her similar to how she did Schierke. "I put my trust in you as Elaine, trust that I can help return the favor now."

"Well if we're going to do this, we'll have to do it fast," Sirius gestured to the Sea God which seemed to just be bobbing on the surface emitting a low rumbling sound from within. Had it already discovered Guts and Skull Knight from within?

With some spare lining and wood from around the ship, Sirius magically crafted a makeshift sail which he then attached to one of the lifeboats. Serpico cut the ropes attaching them once they were a safe distance above the water and then got to work on crafting up a breeze strong enough to get their boat moving.

They circled around the stern of the ship, keeping eyes on the Sea God and Harry searching for its od in case one of its many tentacles decided to come popping up at an unexpected moment. A bright white light caught Harry's attention aimed back toward the Sea Horse.

A circular pillar of white and golden light seemed to be touching down on the deck before flickering a bit and fanning out to extend to all contours of the much larger vessel.

"Lady Farnese has pulled through with the spell?" Serpico asked, his voice hopeful.

"Yeah, for now," Harry answered. "It's her first time doing it alone so it'll be a bit weak, but she seems to have gotten it." He would have to properly congratulate her once they got back. Schierke would no doubt be filled with praise for their pupil as well. He also hoped that Schierke did not have a sense of smell while helping Guts with his armor. Harry had caught more than a whiff of that monster's breath and it had made him want to vomit over the side.

Serpico kept up the breeze, easily carrying them on a path around the side of the Sea God and away from its wide maw. If they strayed even a little too close, they'd risk getting eaten alive.

Sirius readied his wand as they further traversed along the side of the Sea God. "Just tell me when you're ready to do this."

"Serpico, can you take us a bit farther?" Harry asked. "If this thing can turn as fast as it can swim, we're in trouble." With a pull of a rope and a swish of his Sylph equipment, they sailed a bit further away. "Here." With a nod over to Sirius, they each cast their respective spells.

Sirius fired off quick bouts of the bombarda which sounded like miniature cannons firing off as they struck the side of the Sea God while Harry was focusing more on the astral aspect of his spell. He was calling the power of the Elemental King of Water for this one. The Sea God was just an overgrown fish compared to something that had actual control over the water, but even still, he wasn't about to drown a fish, not with Guts still inside somewhere.

No. He had to do something that would prevent the Sea God from moving completely and through water, he sought to freeze it.

The power of the water was in no short abundance here and with his will, Harry could feel a power emanating from his staff. The emotion and desire he was feeling for the spell. As he exhaled, Harry felt he could almost see his own breath in the air the dark water surface seemed to grow a bit lighter, a circular ring of ice started to form and creep toward the gargantuan Sea God.

Normal ice would normally stop at a certain point or shatter and crack when coming into contact with a much larger object, but this ice sheet kept expanding and growing larger, cutting into the Sea God's side and continuing to press itself further along until dark blood started to leak out from it. The Sea God roared in pain and frustration at feeling the cold chill of the ice that continued to cut deeper along the entire circumference of its body.

Smoke filled the air again as the cannons from the Sea Horse fired another volley at the enormous monster.

Feeling fear for perhaps the first time in its existence, the Sea God desperately tried to move the only tentacle appendages it had at its disposal - those that weren't frozen in or under the ice. With the tentacles, the Sea God rapidly beat at the water around it, trying to either sink its attackers or even shatter the ice which at this point had grown to a mass that prevented the fish from going back under completely.

The waves caused by the splashing were large enough to nearly capsize their own boat. Sirus would have fallen overboard if a pair of hands did not shoot up from the water to push him back up.

"Sorry for the delay," the merrow that was Isma's mother addressed them. "But we had to scatter due to the Sea God's charge. Although-," she eyed the current state of the Sea God, "-you look to have set it up just right for us."

From all across the water, more merrows began to surface and as a collective unit, opened their mouths and let out a sound. It was not a sound that Harry could hear himself, but one that he could feel - like a vibration all throughout his body, giving him a serene sense of bliss. It seemed to have a more negative impact on the Sea God.

The monster reacted like it was doing everything in its power to resist being put into a trance. It was roaring and trying its best to trash about, but its tentacles seemed to be going limp. The Sea God was failing.

Bathump! Bathump! Bathump!

That was the sound that assaulted Guts' ears upon exit of the Skull Knight's portal. They were somewhere inside the Sea God, that much was evident by the smell alone. It was a cavernous chamber with fleshy lining over the thick walls. And with that constant rhythmic beating, he had a pretty good idea as to where they were.

Just past a wall of flesh, Guts could discern the outline of a massive shape that was as big as a grown man and three times as wide. The heart of the beast.

Schierke, you still there?

'I'm here. How're you feeling this time?'

Better than before. I'll still have hell to pay for when this is done though.

"This way, Struggler." Skull Knight was already on the move toward the wall which he cut to pieces with two swings of his sword. Guts' enhanced speed found him matching pace with the Skull Knight even on horseback.

The chamber they entered now was even more cavernous than the one previous and this one had variations of veins and arteries lining the walls which were as wide as a child's arm. There in the center of the chamber was the heart. A twisted mass of blues and purples and black, pulsating with a loud beat that made Guts glad that he couldn't feel pain because he was sure he would be bleeding from his ears if he didn't have his armor equipped.

"Continue on. I will deal with these pests."

The natural defenses that the Skull Knight had mentioned were rising from the fleshy floor of the chamber. They were similar to the multitude of tentacles on the outside, but these each seemed to have a unique aquatic animal for a head. There were sharks, whales, hagfish, and eels. Perhaps the Sea God integrated them into its body instead of digesting them. Whatever the case, they all seemed to share one goal; protect the heart.

They launched out and Skull Knight was quick to knock some to the side with his shield and sever the heads of the others with his sword. Guts' armored feet kicked off from the ground and launched him forward toward the heart, Dragonslayer held firmly in front of him.

Bathump!

A shockwave force knocked him back before his sword could strike true.

To keep from being pushed back further, Guts instead drove the blade down into the fleshy floor and he felt a shudder go out through the entire body of the monster. He picked himself back up and launched forward again. He was met with the same result as last time.

Bits of membrane and blood coated the gauntlets and boots of his armor as Guts forced himself to stop before he could be sent flying any further. Damn heart!

'Guts! You might not feel pain, but that doesn't mean that it isn't there. Charging this thing isn't going to work.' Schierke's voice was a calming presence at his growing frustration.

You're right, I know. Just trying to figure out a way to do this.

'Why didn't the Skull Knight just do it? He wouldn't need to worry about destroying his own body.'

No. He wouldn't do that. He thought back to what Skull Knight had said. It was his choice, his struggle. He would help where needed, but what mattered was that he finds the strength to do it himself. That's what it had always boiled down to even since he was a kid. He could have the most powerful ally on the globe but that didn't guarantee anything if he wasn't going to aim to be better himself. The Sea God stood in their way, it was theirs to kill.

Guts eyed the pulsating heart from his distance. He was here to kill. That's what he was good at. That's all he's ever known. He raised Dragonslayer horizontally.

You're od... it feels... like your own.'

With his enhanced strength, Guts threw Dragonslayer with all his might, the throw timed between the beating of the heart.

A plethora of dark blood spewed out like a geyser as the heart was cut in two.

The whole cavern seemed to momentarily freeze in place before a fit of violent spasms took it over and the roof seemed ready to condense in on itself.

"So be it, even gods can fall." Skull Knight yanked his blade free and made ready to swallow it and pull out the behelit coated one as Guts rushed to pick up the fallen Dragonslayer. Blood started spraying from veins that were bursting and with a swish of a sword, Guts found the fleshy floor to be replaced with a water-soaked wooden deck.

"Guts!" he very vaguely heard his name being called as the feeling of having Schierke's essence on his back lessened and he felt weariness take over him. Before his vision faded, he caught sight of what looked to be a deflating Sea God covered in ice.

The rest of the journey to the mainland passed without event. The merrows continued acting as a guide although, with the Sea God out of the picture, there really wasn't much of a threat anymore. Harry suspected it was more out of respect than anything else for killing the deadly predator. Isidro was elated to see that Isma had survived and instantly went into detail about how he had tied up three of the Sea God's tentacles with nothing but a ball of yarn with Puck nodding his head and supporting all of his claims.

For the next few days, Guts was ordered to stay in his cot and recover from the wounds he had sustained. Compared to the usual, these weren't all too bad. He would take his time answering questions as he claimed it was like there was a constant ringing in his left ear. It was yet another side effect of bearing the Berserker Armor. Even with Skull Knight's advice on how to better activate and control it, there still seemed no curse for the effects that it had on the body.

Casca was at his bedside near constantly either berating him or spending time with him as he recovered. But mostly berating him. With the ringing in his ear, Guts probably didn't mind all too much.

The day after, Skull Knight made it known that he was leaving. "The merrows are a valuable ally to have. The Sea God may be dead, but other smaller threats that may owe alliegence to the Godhand could remain."

"Is that where you're going?" Casca asked. "To hunt more monsters?"

"You are all arriving at the crux of your journey. To achieve what you wish to accomplish, you will need more allies. The witch Flora came from an island rife with magic. If there are still those there that call her friend, I would have them come to your aid."

"Elfheim!" Puck squelled. "Make sure to mention my name too. I'm a pretty big deal back there."

Skull Knight didn't seem to acknowledge the blue chestnut.

"Land ho!" the man in the crow's nest called out one morning at the sight of the brown sand beach that marked the southwestern shore of the continent.

"Oh thank heavens!" Magnifico happily sobbed into his sleeve. "Take no offense Roderick, but I much prefer land over this ship of yours."

Roderick gave his friend a playful pat on the back. "You've still to earn your sea legs. So there's always next time." Magnifico groaned but held a slight trace of a smile as he climbed down into the life boat that would take them ashore.

"Hate to say it, but I kinda agree with the ponce on this one," Ivalera whispered to Schierke whom Roderick offered a hand to for the lifeboat.

"It was a pleasure having you aboard, Miss Witch. I'll be sure to spread the word on Lith that some of the more traditional practices have far more truth than they appear."

"You really don't have to do that," Schierke told him. "People will believe what they want to, and it'll take time to open up the idea of magic."

"Perhaps. But if they learn that magic helped kill the most ferocious sea monster of legend, I think anyone from Lith will be inclined to listen then."

Serpico gave a polite bow after offering a hand to Sir Azan. "Thank you for your hospitality, Captain."

"Still soft-spoken," Roderick shook his head. "With those wind items of yours, we could use you in the Lith navy one day."

Serpico gave a wary smile. "Maybe if we meet again someday. But thank you for the offer."

Harry was next to bit farewell. "Well, Mate, having you as a passenger has to have led to the single strangest trip of my entire sailing career. And for that, I thank you." Roderick offered a hand to shake and Harry took it.

"Took me by surprise to," Harry shot a look over at Sirius who whistled to himself and climbed down to the waiting boat. "You turned out to be a lot cooler than I ever thought you would be."

"I shall take that as a compliment."

Isidro offered a wave and a "Sorry for thinking of you as a jerk before we met," before going back and talking with Isma. "You sure you don't want to come ashore with us?"

"I'd love to, but there's still a lot I want to know about being a merrow before I come on land. I hope you can understand that."

"Me? Pfft! I'm like the most understanding one here. One we win this thing, I'll be sure to come back to this spot and tell you all about how I helped save the day!"

"That sounds amazing!" Isma exclaimed as she planted a small kiss to the side of Isidro's face. "I'm going to hold you to that, ya know!"

"Uhhh, uh-huh, sure, yeah, totally," Isidro rambled out.

"Does he need some elf dust?" Puck asked. "Did his brain stop?"

"It can't stop if it never started," Ivalera said dryly.

"Chief," Roderick addressed Guts next. "Miss Casca." He extended a hand. "May your journey bring good fortune."

Guts eyed it and gave a firm shake. "Thanks."

Casca shook as well. "You're alright, Roderick."

The captain shrugged. "I do aim to please."

That just left-, "Farnese."

Said girl walked over and stood before Roderick and the ladder leading down. "You've made your decision?"

Farnese nodded. "I am... truly sorry."

"I'm not surprised. Far be it for me to take you away from where you belong."

"You could still come with us if you choose," Farnese offered.

"Tempting, but... a prince has his duties to his people." He took her hand. "Just know that I would have considered myself a very lucky man to be married to a lovely witch." He kissed her knuckles before releasing her hold. "You have good people with you."

Before she climbed down, Farnese said, "Roderick." He turned. "When this is all over with... maybe our paths will meet again."

The Sailing Prince gave a true smile. "Then that is a day I look forward to indeed!"

With a two finger salute, Roderick bid them farewell as his ship sailed proudly out to sea.

Harry really had no idea what Roderick and his crew might find when they return to Lith, but if it was anything like how it was on the mainland, they were in for a very rude awakening.

Shortly after arriving on land, they were attacked by a creature that resembled a walking tree with a mouth filled with pointed wooden teeth. A fire spell made short work of it but it didn't stop there. There was two ogres just an hour walk from there which Guts, Serpico, and Casca were able to bring down. Then there were the bugs. They weren't pixies or elves like Puck or Ivalera, they were actual giant insects that crawled among the trees and tried picking off Isidro and Schierke when their backs were turned. And that was only on the first day.

They spent several more grueling days of traveling and fighting monsters of all different shapes and sizes, barely getting any sleep in the process. Harry was reminded of the days before he got the rune drawn over his brand and the sleepless nights he had had then. They each took watch every night in shifts and it didn't matter what time of night, something always happened.

All sorts of magical creatures were now roaming freely in Midland, some kept to themselves and avoided them like a unicorn Farnese had spotted, or others tried to eat them on sight like a giant toad near a stream. But really, that wasn't the most unsettling aspect of all of this. It was the villages.

Most of them looked mostly intact with only minimal signs of damage. But they were completely empty, devoid of life. The homes they looked in had meals set at tables, laundry in a wash, toys scattered across the floor. It really was like everyone had just left all of a sudden.

Falconia was to blame for that, but the idea that a lone city was the only civilization for all of humanity on the continent seemed way too far-fetched. But, that was where all the evidence was pointing.

"Is it worth checking out then?" Sirius asked Harry as they climbed a wooded slope on the side of a mountain. "Do you think these people of yours are still here?"

"Rickert has always been resourceful," Harry told the other wizard. "If anyone could have found a way to survive out of the city, it'd be Rickert."

The journey that had taken days on foot was nearing its end as Godo's old forge and mine was just over the next ridge.

"Erica will be excited to see that you can talk," Guts said to Casca as they neared the final climb up.

"And Rickert?"

Of course he will. He'll be wanting to see your sword and armor, see if he can try and replicate it."

"These were made by goblins."

Guts shrugged. "Won't stop him from trying."

But as they neared the Hill of Swords, it was apparent that no one had been tending to it for some time now. The damage done from their one fight with Zodd was still very evident from the dozens of broken swords lying around on the ground. The spot where the apostle had rammed into the mine was still there as well with no signs of having been patched up. It was deserted.

Did that mean that Rickert and Erica were in Falconia already? Or... had a different fate brought about their disappearance.

"Gneeghee!" there was a cackle as from the hole in the mine two hairy trolls emerged.

Everyone got their weapons ready and just as Guts was about to go and cleave them in half - wheeeooosfff!

Two metal disks soared through the air slicing through the tops of the trolls head and leaving them to drop dead to the ground.

"My, it would seem my patience has been rewarded," a soft accented voice spoke. "I was beginning to think that no one was going to show up. But that blacksmith boy we took in was insistent that a group of wanders would show up here someday." A man wearing the attire of someone from the hot climate of the east revealed himself. "I was hoping it wouldn't be the same people who have caused me so much stress. Yet sure enough, even when you're not here, my life is still somehow on the line. And as loathe as I am to admit it, the Bakiraka clan extends its hand to you."

"Hello to you too," Harry said in mild annoyance. "Silat."

A/N: Happy New Year everyone. Only a few more chapters left until the finale. Thank you for reading.


	66. Chapter 66

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

"My, I'm surprised to see that you still remember me," the Kushan man said in mock surprise. "Frankly, I'm surprised to see you alive at all given your suicidal tendencies. Although..." Silat's obsidian eyes traveled across their entire group. "You seem to have picked up some new acquaintances since we last met."

"You're still sticking to yourself then?" Harry asked. "Can't be. You wouldn't just be out here without a reason. Rickert told you we might be here."

"Insisting is a more fitting word," Silat lightly tracked his way over. "Him and that little girl that follows him around all the time." So Erica was alive too. "I've been risking my life coming out to this rock regularly for the past couple of weeks now. They usually end with me having to fight for my life."

"Hey!" Isidro suddenly pointed an accusing finger at Silat. "You're that dirty Kushan guy!"

"Silat is my name, boy," his dark eyes narrowed. "And given the small state of your mind, I'm surprised you actually remember me at all."

Ivalera couldn't help but snicker at the remark which seemed to have gone completely over Isidro's head giving it all the more validation. "To be fair, I didn't recognize him," Puck mentioned as well.

"Figures," the pink elf gave a roll of her eyes.

"You've gotten stealthier," Guts greeted the Kushan assassin. "I barely heard you coming that time." Harry figured that could also be from his most recent usage of the Berserker Armor inside of the Sea God and the ringing he must be feeling in his one ear, but it was far better to make Silat more assured of his own skill. Given his prideful nature, stroking the ego wouldn't hurt their cause in this case.

Silat cast his narrowed gaze over to Guts now, eyeing him from head to toe. "Ah, Guts. You still have that impracticality of a weapon and... new armor as well. Encounter much stress on your travels?" Silat made a subtle gesture toward the white patch of hair above Guts' right brow.

"You would know if you had been there," Guts said back. "You manage to gain favor with your emperor after we parted ways?"

"If that was your idea of a jape, the humor is lost on me," Silat folded his arms. "Even with one eye, you can still see the state the world is in right now. As it stands, I really don't feel like going over current events with you."

"So why not just answer us one question then?" Casca began. "Where is Rickert?"

The Bakiraka assassin gave no answer right away. He seemed like he was studying her more than the question that she asked. "Well, this is new. Last I saw of you, you were a babbling mess no more coherent than a newborn child. Yet here you stand now in full armor complete with a sword." Silat took in her look. "Good. I would hate to think that my effort to rescue you from that cursed tower were in vain." Looks were thrown Silat's way, mainly confused ones. "Do not get me wrong, I harbor no feelings of camaraderie for our brief time spent. Part of it is mainly due to the visible Kushan ancestry that she shares."

Sirius seemed to find something familiar with that comment and whispered to Harry, "That sounds like something my mother would say."

If Silat heard that, he never addressed it. "To answer your question, the blacksmith known as Rickert of the Hawks is still very much alive - and unharmed," Silat added that last bit seeing the way Casca was eyeing him. "I came across him and the girl when they were staying at an inn within the city of Falconia. I saw the city for what it was due to my pursuit of an estranged Bakiraka member who has pledged his allegiance to the Hawk of Light. Once he realized the truth as well, we were forced to flee the city."

"So where is he?" Guts then demanded.

Silat's eyes flashed back over to Guts. "The only place that even has the most remote chance at staying hidden; the Bakiraka hideout."

"I thought your clan had no place to go," Harry scrutinized Silat's answer. "That's why you fought for the King of Midland, that's why you went back to Emperor Ganishka, you were always trying to get a pass or a pardon for what your clan had done in the past."

"I suppose I should consider myself grateful that someone actually paid attention to that," Silat mumbled to himself. "Yes, we were exiles, still are due to the fact that there is only one safe city left. Our hideout is just that, a hideout. Frankly, it is a risk for me to even be out here on the whim of your comrade."

"I can't imagine that this hideout of yours is close," Casca guessed. "How've you been able to come here without seriously risking your life?"

Silat's eyes briefly drifted over toward Harry ever so slightly. "You're not the only one in the company of a sorcerer. Tell me, have you ever heard of the name Daiba? He certainly knows you."

Memories surfaced of Harry's duel with the ancient Kushan sorcerer as they attempted to escape Vritannis. He also remembered cutting off one of his hands causing the older wizard to abandon the duel. "I remember him alright."

Silat only gave a small, "hm" before eyeing them again. "As old and disgraced as he might be, Kushan blood still pumps in his veins so he has a spot amongst us." Silat lowered the cowl that hid the lower half of his face and brought a few fingers to his lips. "Wheeeee!" Silat whistled.

From the air came the beating sounds of large, leathery wings. It was followed by a shrill cry. "Wrrkkkaaa!"

Tension filled them as a monstrous sort of airborne creature descended down toward them. The skin was pink and leathery. The head was that of a featherless bird but with razor sharp teeth poking out from the side of the beak. To Harry, it looked like a depiction of the prehistoric pteranodon. The winged creature nipped at Silat's hand as he reached into his pouch and threw it a piece of raw meat.

"Weapons away, please," Silat asked of them. "Daiba has found a way to magically tame these beasts to his will and I rather not have to explain to him that one of them died."

"That... sounds like a sort of warging," Schierke thought out loud as the winged creature eyed them warily like a hawk.

"You would certainly know better than I," Silat grumbled as he moved to mount the creature on the back.

"You're ditching us already?" Isidro asked in indignance. "We haven't even done anything dangerous yet."

"I thought you were here because Rickert asked you to search for us," Harry added before Isidro could say something that might offend Silat further. "Weren't you planning on taking us to see him?"

With narrowed eyes, Silat said, "By all means, if you believe that you all can fit on the back, I openly invite you to try it." His voice was heavy with sarcastic mockery. "No? Well, then I suggest that you wait here while I return with a few others that Daiba has under his influence. That is unless you plan on fighting for your lives the entire way there."

"How long will that take?" Guts asked.

"Longer if you plan on holding me up with useless chatter," Silat said as he made ready to depart. "The hut is clear for the time being. If you seek temporary shelter, do so. Just be ready for when they come again - this place is a nesting ground for those hairy beasts." Silat dug his knees into the side of the winged animal and with a shrill cry, it took off once again.

As soon as he was sure that Silat had left, Magnifico spoke up.

"Are you truly sure this is wise? The Bakiraka are notorious for being murderous outlaws. Not to mention it was their Emperor who was invading just a few months ago! Not just Midland mind you, Chuder as well. Every western nation was threatened by their army."

Sir Azan still had his face covered with his helm, but the doubt in his voice was evident enough. "While his actions may be seen as noble, the Bakiraka have a history of only valuing self-preservation. He could have just left us here believing us to be dead weight."

"With due respect, aren't we all concerned for our own beings?" Farnese asked. "Magnifico," her brother stiffened, "the entire time you were with us on the trip you complained what was best for you. Even my betrothal was a way to further your own stance within the family business."

"Y-yes, well, I at least came with all of you, didn't I?" he asked rhetorically. "I gave up safety with my best friend for this nightmare." There was that as well as the fact he was terrified to run into another sea beast like the Sea God again.

"Silat isn't the problem," Casca told him. "I don't doubt that he isn't a murderer or a hypocrite. If he does end up betraying us, at least it is to be expected and we'd be ready for it. He at least was telling the truth about the outside world being filled with all sorts of dangers." Some blood still clung to her boots from a nasty encounter. "And since he is self-preserving, we at least know he'd value safety in numbers and he isn't about to turn away people he sees as being useful."

"I still say he sounds like a Slytherin," Sirius said. "And if he is like those snakes, your assessment is pretty spot on. You all seem to know how to handle him better though so I'll follow your lead." He adopted a sly grin. "But if you need someone to discreetly hit him with a jinx, I'm your best bet."

"Well it would be best to wait for him to return then," Serpico brought them back on track.

Magnifico still didn't seem too convinced. "If we are to wait, I'll do it inside of that hut - ramshackle as it is." He looked around at the sky nervously like he was expecting something to come swooping down and snatch him in its talons.

"We could benefit from a little bit of rest," Schierke added. "There's no telling when Silat might be back. I doubt that he does mean us harm, but... just to be safe, I suppose."

There didn't seem to be any argument to be made so they followed suit into Godo's old home. Harry noticed that the old blacksmith's gravestone was still standing at least. That at the very least gave him a sense of satisfaction that no monster had trampled or defiled it since the world suddenly changed for the worst.

The inside of the forge house was practically the same as it had been before; the key difference being it was far less warm with the fire having died out, and no Erica running around playfully as the sound of metal on metal filled the air. It seemed like any number of homes they had passed on their way here, barren.

"I'll check the upstairs, make sure there aren't any more of those little bastards hiding up there," Guts said as he lumbered up the stairs to where the bedroom was, the stairs creaked and groaned from his steps. Harry heard no beastly cry of pain or the sound of metal splintering wood so it was safe to assume that the house was clear of threats for the moment.

Making his way over to the kitchen, Harry set his bag down as he spotted a worn piece of parchment lying off to the side of the table as if it had fallen off. Picking it up, Harry saw that it was a note.

Guts or Harry,

If you're actually reading this, Erica and I left the house. Things have been getting pretty strange here lately, not all at once, but it has gotten to the point where I can't keep Erica safe if we stay here.

The smaller ones aren't so hard to deal with, a few explosives and they're on their way again. I made sure that Erica has some on hand if she ever goes out to collect water or firewood and that she knows how to use them. Luckily, she hasn't had to rely on them.

I don't know how the rest of the world is doing right now ever since that wave of white blasted across the land, but I don't think we'll ever expect more business out here this far out into the mountains. If any person does show up, I don't think they'd have the courtesy of doing business and might just take to try and rob us blind. I'm taking what gold we can carry, but Erica made sure to hide a fair amount of silver inside one of her dolls - the one with red yarn for hair. Not sure what good it would do, but it's yours if you want it same with any weapons that are in the shed, though I can't imagine Guts parting with his sword any time soon.

We're all packed and ready to go here and thinking of trying to find any members of the Midland army, try and see if they managed to set any defenses up. If not, maybe we'll try the capital. Haven't been there since our Hawk days, but if the war with the Kushan is finished, it might be our safest bet.

You two just keep surviving anyway that you can and I hope that we can all meet up again one of these days. Erica really misses you all.

Best,

Rickert.

"Find anything lurking in the pantry?" Sirius' question tore his attention away from the spare piece of parchment.

"Well, I'm still alive, that seems like a good answer," Harry responded.

"Think I might help myself to a sword lying around here," Sirius said offhandedly. "Seems pretty fitting, don't you think?"

Raising a brow, Harry asked, "Have you ever held a sword before?"

"Held one? Sure! The Black family has dozens of antiques. Have I actually used one? Nope. But I also learned a long time ago that it isn't what you do, but how cool you can look while doing it."

"Who said that?" Harry asked and Sirius smirked.

"Well, your father mainly. You've never seen it played, but Quidditch is kind of a big deal back in practically all the magical world. When we were in school, your father was the single greatest seeker Hogwarts ever had. The attention got to his head at times," Sirius paused. "Well, practically all of the time. He used to show off quite a bit, doing different stunts and all the likes. Moony and I always thought he was doing it to get your mother's attention. It didn't work."

"If it didn't work how am I... well, here?" Harry asked, a bit curious as to how his parents actually did up together. He still had the photo book Sirius had given him so he did at least have faces to put when imagining them.

"Let's just say James wised up is all," Sirius said with teasing nostalgia. "Wanting to please your mother had quite a bit to do with it. When she saw him actually helping others instead of showing off, she decided to give him a chance - good thing too. We actually made bets to see if they would hold up or if Lily would shoot him down."

"And how are you holding up?" Harry suddenly asked.

"With being here and getting involved in all of this?" Sirius asked to which Harry nodded. "Bit confused, to be honest. The memories you showed before help fill in some of the gaps, but being here is looking far different from the muggle world back home, just more of how medieval England used to look. Can't say our magical ancestors ever had to worry about dealing with a giant fish called a Sea God - or even went against beings with the power of God on their side though. Or handle people who can turn into monsters at a moments notice." Sirius saw the look that he was getting. "That doesn't mean that I regret my choice. I'm still good for my magic and anything you or the two girls want to learn, I'll happily show you."

"Do you think that'll be enough?" Harry asked him. "Voldemort and some of his followers are here as well, waiting in Falconia, maybe doing some training as well. Even if our magic is stronger, they still have more."

"And I reckon our local dragon slayer will be too preoccupied with a few other fights to just kick them to the curb this time," Sirius inferred. "Good to know you're at least thinking of that fact."

"We still don't even have a plan yet," Harry confessed, a bit relieved to say that fact out loud. It was something that they all already knew but hardly ever openly admitted. It felt good to say.

Sirius gave a light shrug. "I can't imagine it'll be as easy as just knocking on the front gates and hoping that whoever will let you into the if they know your faces."

"Maybe not all of us," Harry muttered, a thought coming to his head. "Farnese and Magnifico are still the children of a well-respected noble and they haven't been at the forefront of many fights like someone like Guts." Not to mention neither Farnese, her brother, or Serpico were marked with the Brand of Sacrifice. "And you too, no one here even knows you exist or that you have magic. If you all somehow got in under the guise of wanting to attend the wedding, we'd have some shot, wouldn't we?"

"You sound like your mother," Sirius said with the ghost of a smile on his face. "But I don't think your pupil's brother is much of a fighter. A good actor maybe, but that would just leave three of us in a city full of demonic persons wanting to probably kill and eat us. I might not sound my age when I say this, but I'd feel better knowing if we could get some more help out of that."

"Unless we find a way to somehow convince Silat to help us out," Harry offered. "But knowing him, that'd be doubtful."

"Yeah, about that," Sirius acquired an inquisitive tone, "what exactly is the deal with him anyway? Your memory showed snippets of him before and I heard the word assassin being thrown around when he was here. You'd obviously know better than I would."

"Well he is from a clan of assassins, yes," Harry recounted what he knew of the foreign people. "Some time ago, one of their ancestors killed someone they shouldn't have and their entire people were banished and made to find a new home elsewhere. Silat kind of flip-flops on where his stance lies, really doing whatever is most convenient for him."

"Ah, so they're a bit like hit wizards," Sirius said out loud.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Basically like what you described," Sirius told him. "Wizard bounty hunters of a sort. Not really the most professional of careers, but it is convenient for some. Your father and I used to entertain the idea if we couldn't become Aurors. James insisted his cloak was the perfect tool for a job. Had it in his family for generations and it still held up. Surprising considering most invisibility cloaks only last a few years before showing signs of use."

"There's something special about the cloak?" Harry asked at the new topic. He rustled through his bag until he felt the soft, smoothness of the liquidity fabric. He had never encountered an invisibility cloak before so he had no idea how long they were supposed to last, but if this really had been a family heirloom so to speak, there had to be something about it.

"We had our thoughts," Sirius smiled in nostalgia. "None of them were probably right, but there's no denying the magic in that old cloak."

"So if there was really was something out of the ordinary about this cloak, do you think... it would be enough to sneak into a demon-infested city as well without being noticed?"

"I've never faced these apostles as you have, but, I would put my faith into what I do know. And what I know," he pointed to the cloak in Harry's hands, "is that we were only noticed when we wanted to be."

Harry felt a surge of gratitude toward the now deceased Hogwarts headmaster for returning this cloak to him when he did. All Harry had before were loose concepts of how things could have gone, but one thing was for certain, Falcoia was enemy territory and fighting there would not be in their favor. Stealth and discretion wee their allies for this and infiltrating the city just became all the easier.

It was possible for the likes of Sirius, Serpico, and the two Vandimions to be allowed entry into Falconia. It was even more likely that they would be able to get entry to the palace if they were there for the wedding which was still only a few months away. And if he had the cloak, he would be able to enter as well. With an appropriate amount of time, he could even locate Charlotte when she was alone and get her out of there before the wedding. At that point, Neo-Griffith would know for certain and he would come for them. He would come to where they were. If he did that, they could gain the advantage.

Harry was not going to try and lie to himself and give hope where he knew there was none, but if they could actually pull something like that off, they had a sliver of a chance.

It was very early next morning when the sound of wings flapping could be heard. Taking a peek out of the window, a somewhat welcoming sight greeted them.

Making true of his word, Silat had indeed returned, this time with a few more of the same beasts which were tied to his own with enough slack on the ropes so that each one had space for their wingspan to reach full length. They landed a bit awkwardly as some tried to nuzzle out of the restraints tied around their necks, but to no avail.

"Rest well, I take it?" Silat asked sounding a bit irritated. He had probably gotten little to no sleep on his trip there and back.

"We're all set and ready to go," Harry told him, picking up on his irritable mood. "No need to keep holding up here." He said that but still cast a glance over to where Godo's grave was and past the damaged mine to the horizon of the Hill of Swords. The light from the morning sun really did cast a soft glow up on this side of the mountain.

"Then let us be off already." Silat's cowl covered it, but Harry thought he saw his jaw move to try and stifle a yawn. "No more than four on each one."

Farnese, Serpico, Magnifico, and Sir Azan took one. Magnifico cowered away from the beasts beady gaze as he quickly mounted after Serpico, hanging onto the other man's waist despite not taking off yet much to Serpico's confusion. Siz Azan took a bit longer to mount up. "A beast from afar but a majestic animal from up close. I put my faith in you, winged stallion."

"I do not think it can understand you, Sir," Farnese said as she helped him climb up.

Guts, Casca, Isidro, and Puck took another one. The beast gave an indignant squawk at the additional weight that came with the Dragonslayer and Berserker Armor.

"So we're actually about to fly?" Isidro asked, excitement lacing his every word. "Guess I'll know what it feels like now, Puck."

"Savor it while you can," the blue elf advised. "Unless you have wings, this is a one-time thing." He fluttered his wings for emphasis.

"He's actually right for once," Ivalera sat on the brim of Schierke's hat as she, Harry, and Sirius mounted the same one Silat occupied. It would be better if they had someone riding with the Kushan just to be safe.

"Thankfully," Schierke said as she moved one hand from Harry's waist to hold her hat in place.

"We haven't even taken off yet," Harry told her, mildly amused by her reaction. Strangely, he was not as nervous as he thought he would be. Maybe seeing the reactions of people like Schierke and Magnifico helped to subconsciously put his mind at ease.

"I'm just preparing for the worst," Schierke bit the inside of her lip as she scooted closer to him. "Are you saying you're not nervous?"

"Somebody has to keep a level head," Harry told her.

Sirius laughed at that. "I think it has a bit more to do than just that."

"Meaning?" Harry asked as Silat used the reigns to get the beast into a formation.

"Flying is just in the Potter blood."

Harry didn't get a chance to ask what that meant as the ground below them grew faint as the beast gave a few beats of its wings to fully take off from the ground and into the air.

He squinted at first at the feeling of the air hitting his face, but the glasses helped to lessen the stinging feeling. Once the wings fully expanded and they began to level out, Harry opened his eyes fully and took in the full scenery before him. They were well above the treetops, not touching the clouds, but save from any dangers that awaited them on the ground. Every small turn or dip they made, Harry felt a growing smile begin to etch its way onto his face. When the creature started to bank to the right suddenly, Harry found he wasn't too surprised by it, he actually kind of anticipated it happening like he could feel the inner workings beneath him.

"Enjoying yourself?" Sirius asked with a smile, his longer hair whipping about his face but he did not seem to care.

"That makes one of us at least!" Schierke said as her grip on Harry tightened.

From the other winged beasts, Isidro had his mouth open like he was swallowing the air whole while Guts seemed entirely unamused by his antics.

Magnifico was in a state similar to Schierke was to him; gripping to the person in front of him which happened to be Serpico. The blonde youth had experience with winds Sylphs already so this was probably not too different from what he usually feels. He even sent a small gesture over their way to let them know they were all hanging on fine. For the most part.

"Annoying brat will catch bugs like that," Silat also spotted Isidro's display.

"You actually sound like you care," Harry said to the Kushan.

"I sound hopeful," Silat corrected.

For all of his bad attitude, Harry chose to overlook it. They would have to deal with the irritable Kushan once they landed. For now, he wanted to savor the feeling of flying.

"So flying runs in the Potter blood?" Harry asked.

"And apparently so does having no regard for safety!" Schierke clung to him tighter.

"Ha!" Sirius gave a mirthful laugh. "You know, Harry, you really are like-,"

...

"-like your mother."

"You think so?"

"Without a doubt in my mind."

Sir Laban smiled at the young woman in front of him. The queen's chambers were a hub of activity at the moment, a multitude of handmaidens and ladies in waiting fluttered about the place as they offered up different jewelry for Charlotte's approval. Despite the wedding still being a ways away, the Queen had was putting all her spare time into making sure everything was going just right. Her dress was already hand-made from what Laban had heard but she refused to let anybody see it until her wedding day.

Today was more focused on deciding what piece of jewelry she wanted to wear. She apparently wanted something to compliment her eyes, but not too flashy that it would distract from everything else. and if it was a necklace, it couldn't be too heavy as she didn't want to feel like her neck was being weighted down. It didn't make much sense to Laban, but it was everything to Queen Charlotte at the moment and so it was important to him.

That was why he had seen fit to present her with an heirloom from her mother's side of the family. It had not always been in his possession, but when Emperor Ganishka too the capital, he had managed to get a hold of it as he helped evacuate the city of its civilian population. The necklace was a simple silver chain with a sapphire in the center. Nothing too flashy and held sentimental value as well.

"I... recall my mother wearing this when I was very young," Charlotte brought a finger to the jewel in the center.

"She wore it on her own wedding day as well," Laban added. "It was before Owen and I were made into knights, but I still remember that day. Either way, it belongs to you."

A gentle smile graced the Queen's lips. "Thank you. I do believe I have made up my mind." She turned to the other ladies present. "You may all keep the ones you have presented to me."

If they weren't in the presence of their royal highness, Laban had no doubt in his mind that the entire room would be filled with ecstatic squealing so loud he would have bled from his ears.

"What real use is jewelry to me when I am about to already so blessed as it is?" Charlotte rhetorically asked as the girls took their pick of which piece they wanted.

"Are you sure you want to give them away like that?" Anna asked her friend the Queen.

"That includes you, Anna," Charlotte told her closest friend.

The blonde handmaiden seemed a loss for words. "M-me? W-well, I could never take advantage of your friendship like that. Although... Elize is not here to choose, I might just grab one for her. Or two, she is a sweet girl."

Laban and Charlotte smiled at the blonde girl's mannerism as she started looking through the boxes that had formerly been presented.

"Thank you once again, Sir, or, is do you prefer General Laban? That is your rank in Griffith's army, isn't it?"

It is," at least for the human side of the army, "but you have always known me as 'Sir Laban.' It makes no difference to me."

"Did you know my mother well then?"

"Not directly, no," Laban admitted. "But from what I always saw of her, she was the type of queen who made those around her want to do and be good. I see much of her in you."

"Do you think I would ever be able to see her then?" Charlotte asked. "When Griffith and the medium girl, Sonia do those summonings, citizens who have lost those they care about are able to briefly see a specter of that person. When they first did it, I hoped my mother would show up, but I did not see her. I thought I saw... someone I did not know. Maybe it was someone from the old King's side of the family."

Laban had seen some of those "miracles" himself. No ghost or spirit ever came to him, but it did help those who did get a sense of closure to what has happened.

"Perhaps," Laban entertained the idea. "Maybe he will have the medium Sonia put in a request for you as a wedding present."

"That would be a gift I would cherish," Charlotte admitted. "Griffith has been rather secretive of what he wants from the wedding. When I ask him he smiles and says that a dream is the best gift he can have and he is glad that I am a part of it."

"Well, that certainly is romantic of him." Cryptic as well, but when has Griffith even been normal? "Just so long as he values you for who you are, that is all any of us Midlanders can hope to ask of him from this union."

"Oh, I have no doubt that he will," Charlotte said a little too quickly. "The only thing I can hope for myself is to understand him as a person. When I first met him, I actually thought he was of nobility. I want to know how he did it all." She sounded like she wanted to believe that it held all the answers. "I shouldn't have doubt, but he is an enigma at times. I want-," she paused. " To not rely on his strength for my own." Her eyes were focused on the floor as if remembering something.

"Your Highness?" Laban asked in concern.

"Oh! It was just something that Z- someone told me before. I was just remembering it." Her cheerful demeanor vanished for a split-second before the warmth of her smile returned.

Laban had an idea of what she meant by that but would not push the topic if she did not want to. Queen Charlotte's nature was a contrast to some others who populated the city and he would rather she stay that way. But if she did want to embrace some facets of reality about herself, that was her choice to make.

"Begging your pardon, your Highness, but may I take my leave?" Laban asked. "Minister Foss was wanting to acquire my signature on a few documents for military resources."

"But of course," she easily granted his request. "Minister Foss always seems so stressed as of recently, I don't know why, but I fear the pressure is starting to get to him."

"A good a guess as any," Laban agreed. Although he suspected it had more to do with working directly under Griffith, a man of common birth. As safe as their city was, some still held onto past prejudices but were far more cautious about what they said now. With a bow of his head, "Farewell, your Highness."

"My, you're all holding up quite well. Far better than the last time." The soft voice of the cloaked Rakshas carried throughout the fighting pit. The shrouded apostle seemed to almost morph into the shadows nearing the edge as his multitude of opponents took their aim at him again.

Shouts and blasts of light all blasted their way toward the fully cloaked figure, decimating a large chunk of the wall as they did so. As the dust settled, a bone white mask could be seen lying on the ground without a body present.

That was until the shadows molded once again and Rakshas appeared on the opposite end of where he had been before, his cloak still intact. "Good. You have coordinated attacks down without uttering a word. Now focus on watching where your enemy will be, not where they are. Snakes are slippery like that."

Voldemort could sneer at the comment as he watched his Death Eaters be put through the wringer with their power. For some of his pseudo-apostles like Bellatrix, they were being told not to rely on their newfound power too much as their opponent had similar abilities and far more practice with using it. For those Death Eaters who didn't, they were being told to better manage their magic and adapt to new methods of fighting.

It was stupid in his opinion. What was the meaning of power if one didn't use it?

There were those in Slytherin who boasted of their family heritage and status, but how much did they truly know? Even the most ancient noble house was not exempt from the disgrace of having lesser blood mixed in somewhere down the line. It devastated him when he had learned of his father and what a waste he was. His ancestor, Salazar Slytherin had the drive for power however, he had understood what it all meant. He had taken fate by his own hand and sought to make Hogwarts and the rest of the magical community what it ought to be.

To deny them their power now was frankly just an insult. The Godhand disguised his power, but that was all for his own plan and ambition. And to add further insult, Voldemort suspected Rakshas was not even taking the sparring match down below very seriously at all. It was more like he was just toying around for his own amusement than anything else.

While Voldemort didn't think highly of some of these other War Demons, he at least thought they would put forth more of an effort. His thoughts drifted back to that cursed Black Swordsman and the way he had fought. He moved like a true demon, more so than what Rakshas was throwing at his servants right now. Voldemort brought a hand up to where his recently acquired scar was on his forehead. His followers should be learning how to fight that. If for nothing else, they could make for useful distractions before Voldemort finished him off before moving on and killing Potter after.

Most of the War Demons were absent for the time being. Apparently, the hunter they had amongst their ranks had secured a very desired kill and they were now clamoring to get a piece of the flesh before it was all gone. Disgusting animals. While he was among their ranks as well, he was still from a culture where poise and sophistication were valued. He would not deny he was a monster, he was just of a different breed.

His slit eyes drifted away from the fighting pit where Bella seemed to be getting especially worked up; her hair and magical aura twisting around her as she failed to hit the masked opponent. Instead, he chose to focus on the figure that was sharpening his sword to his left. Voldemort felt a sneer come across his face on instinct.

"Will you not be joining your followers?" the other apostle asked as he felt Voldemort's stare on his hulking form.

"When a proper challenge presents itself to me, I will happily oblige," Voldemort said as evenly as he could.

He continued running a whetstone across his massive blade. "I do not fight for sport. If I enter that ring with an opponent, only one will leave. Think carefully about what you want."

The reply was reminiscent of a Gryffindor attitude. "You presume much," Voldemort seethed out. "We are both here under the Godhand's guidance, are we not? Does that not make us loosely acquainted allies?"

He briefly paused in his pattern. "Serving under the same banner does not make an ally. In war, mercenaries switch sides on a whim. Yesterday's comrade is then tomorrow's enemy."

"You should be cautious of who you say that to," Voldemort felt himself gain an upper hand of sorts. "Others might think that sounds like a wavering conviction."

That almost seemed enough to warrant a cruel, toothy grin. "And coming from the mouth of a fledgling it would mean nothing. The Godhand is the strongest there is. I can admire that sole facet about him. And you should as well."

"What is there not to admire about power?" Voldemort rhetorically asked. "And so long as it is wielded the right way, it does not matter how it is obtained." I always find a way. A true Slytherin always finds a way.

"Hm." The War Demon Captain rose from his stoop. "Ambition can lead you to high places, just don't get torn in two over how high."

He left and Voldemort scowled as he left. Telling a Slytherin not to be ambitious was practically heresy. If given the chance, he knew exactly who he would dispose of if given the opportunity. That would lead a captain position open, not that he really cared about what the Godhand member really had planned. But it was still far better to keep his enemy close. A real snake in the grass.

It was a little past midday when Harry felt them start to descend from their altitude. The clouds had thinned out tremendously the farther they had flown, implying that they had entered a climate that was arider than the usual grassy regions that Midland consisted of. Looking over the side, Harry was able to spot a single river, but the surrounding landscape was brown, dry, and barren.

He doubted they had flown that far east in such a short amount of time. If anything, they were probably near the border of Midland's southeastern region. The whole landscape held traces of familiarity about it. Farther ahead there was a cliffside that faced the direction the river was in and Harry was able to spot a noticeable feature about the side of the cliff - namely the manmade structure that seemed to blend in and become part of the cliff itself.

"This... this Doldrey," Harry recognized the closer that they got to it.

Memories of the battle here started to surface. He and Casca had not been on the actual battlefield, they had been in the division that had infiltrated the fortress itself while Guts and Griffith had caused the distraction. It was also where he had had a brief conversation with Zodd who had been watching the battle unfold before he had given a warning about events to come.

Knowing what he did now, Harry would have taken that warning a bit closer to the heart than he had back then.

"It was Doldrey," Silat corrected as he had the winged beast make a steady descent for the innermost ramparts of the stronghold. "For the most 'impregnable fortress,' you Midlanders sure have a way of neglecting this place."

"We took this from Chuder, you know?" Harry didn't want the deeds of the past Hawks to be dusted under the rug and forgotten about.

"I meant after the war with that warmongering nation," Silat said, maybe in small to the look he was getting, not that he would admit that if it was true. "Emperor Ganishka's forces captured this easily enough without proper leadership stationed here. It seems he didn't even believe a garrison needed to be placed here. Then again, I don't think he believed that he would get turned into a giant tree, either."

Sirius cocked a brow. "Was that a joke on your end?" even if Sirius did not know the Kushan all that well, he could still appreciate a good joke when he heard one.

"Trees aren't funny the last I checked," Silat replied dryly. "Now hold on, we'll be landing soon."

"Oh thank magic!" Schierke let out a sigh of relief upon hearing that.

Ivalera smiled sadly at her human friend. "You powered through it."

"It wasn't that bad was it?" Harry cast a look over his shoulder at the purple protrusion that was now part of his back.

"Not all of us want to feel like they're about to die," Schierke said, clearly eager to get off already.

Her wish came true when the large, winged beast let out a loud screech before the body bucked a bit from the impact as it touched down on the inner battlements of the fortress. The two others followed closely behind them.

"A-ho ohh!" Magnifico all but cried as he willingly slipped off the side and onto the hard stone beneath. "We actually made it!"

"Some easier than others," Serpico lightly spoke as he rubbed at his ear. Magnifico must have screamed into it every ten minutes or so.

"Could I ask for your hand again?" Farnese asked as unlike Magnifico, Sir Azan seemed stuck to the back of the creature and Farnese tried to help him off. It had nothing to do with how much he enjoyed the flight; rather, he had just fallen asleep about half-way through and would not wake up.

One twist flick of his wrist and blade and a strong gust of wind lifted Sir Azan from his seat and carried him gently down to the ground.

"Bwa-huh? Ah, ah, ha!" Sir Azan guffawed as he finally woke. "Yes, truly an unforgettable ride! It was like entering a dream."

"Ah, stop trying to act cool," Isidro told the aged knight, still mounted on his. "Leave the dreaming for us youngsters, will ya? Besides you were passed out for most of it." He went to get off but found his foot tangled on one of the ropes to the saddle. "Uh, little help?"

"Now who was trying to act all cool?" Puck teasingly asked as he went about helping the boy get untangled.

"Doldrey, huh?" Guts' sole eye traveled down to the dry plain out beyond the walls as if he was recalling the battle that had taken place there those years ago. "Your people inside then?"

"Correct," Silat gave the winged creature a pat and let it fly off with its brethren closely following behind.

"Is it safe to let them off like that?" Sirius asked as he watched them fly up and away from the stronghold.

"Daiba has a strong connection with them. They will come back when summoned." Silat let it at that as he began leading the way down the stone stairs to the inside of the inner wall. Harry spotted a forge and almost expected to see Rickert there, but it was empty. No signs of activity were present.

Silat seemed to follow his gaze. "The one you call Rickert is inside as well. Credit where credit is due, a past Midland King actually knew how to properly plan properly. The inside fortress extends underground and is built with a small village intact for any civilians present to hide during an attack. It is complete with a forge as well as it is unsafe for him to work out here. If a dragon were to swoop down and nab him, we'd be out a pair of hands." He looked over his shoulder to give them a somewhat incredulous look. "You recaptured this fortress, shouldn't you know that?"

"We didn't exactly stay long after we did," Casca informed the assassin. "The Midland Standard Army came and occupied shortly after getting word of the victory."

"A wasted opportunity then," Silat commented as they neared a pair of doors built into the cliffside wall that Doldrey was built out of.

"I think he's just used to living underground and that's why he likes it," Isidro whispered to whoever would listen.

"I think you're used to believing that you can only be heard by those that you wish," Silat shot back making Isidro flinch.

We have thought transference, you know, Harry mentally spoke.

'Too little too late now,' Isidro responded back.

Once Silat was at the door, he gave a few light taps with his knuckles. When nothing happened, he began speaking in a strange yet oddly fluid language that Harry could only assume to be native to the Kushan. As fluid as it sounded, it also came off as a being a bit scratchy and dry, almost like he was hissing at the same time as he was talking to a snake. And as someone who talked to snakes before, Harry guessed that this is what it must have looked like to others.

There was a rumbling grinding noise as the door scraped against the hard stone ground as it began to open just wide enough for a large man covered in muscle and wearing a hooded shawl to poke his head out. "Young Master," he greeted as he saw Silat standing there. "You have returned safely?"

"I have, and so have our newest 'guests.'" He spoke it like it was the most polite word he could think of. The seemingly hollow eyes of the guard drifted toward all of them. "I cannot guarantee we will stay that way if we are left out in the open for too long." Silat's tone was implication enough.

"I beg your forgiveness, young Master." He pushed the door open fully for them all to enter into a dimly lit stone corridor beyond.

Once it was closed behind them, Harry squinted as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He had never really gotten the opportunity to explore Doldrey before and it didn't seem like he was missing out on much. A few side halls jutted out from where they were now, one had a spiral stone staircase at the end which led upwards, presumably to the lord's chambers and the actual higher end class accommodations.

"Mind if I give us a little light?" Sirius asked but didn't really wait for a response as the tip of his wand lit up with a small ball of white light.

The action was met with little regard from Harry and the rest, but Silat's bodyguard jumped in front of his master and readied himself into a defensive position.

"Not a fan?" Sirius asked although he didn't sound too concerned.

"You can relax," Silat said, putting his hand on his bodyguard's shoulder and giving a squeeze with added pressure. "Do we not have one wizard in our company already?"

"My apologies, young Master." He relaxed and bowed his head.

"So you've said," Silat lessened his grip. His eyes darted back over to the rest of them. "Daiba might be a powerful sorcerer, but do expect skepticism if anyone sees you doing that."

Sirius was going to respond, probably with a witty comment, but Schierke intercepted before that could happen. "We understand. The last thing we want is to startle any of your people. Just know that magic can be a powerful ally as well."

Silat seemed to regard her with a tint of acknowledgment. "I would hope so. But there is no need to remind me of what magic is capable of if that was your intention." He looked over to Harry. "But enough talk about that for now. Our destination lies beneath."

They followed closely behind Silat as he and his bodyguard went further down the darkened corridor with only Sirius' wand providing light for their walk. After passing a few more branching corridors, it began to feel like they were starting to walk down a slope of sorts. The air was getting a bit cooler as well, confirming that they were indeed underground. At the end of the hall, two sources of light were visible and Sirius dimmed his wand as they neared the pair of torches next to a heavy iron door.

The bodyguard gave a resonating knock which carried through the otherwise empty hall.

Then there was the sound of a lock being undone and the door slowly swung open to reveal a second bodyguard dressed identically to the first. "Welcome back, young Master Silat. Was your-,"

"My trip was fine but my patience is thinning," Silat interjected the greeting. The bodyguard looked down almost dejectedly. "Now, would be so kind as to allow us entry?"

No verbal response was given as the door opened fully for them to enter.

Beyond was the layout of what could simply be described as an underground village. Silat had not been exaggerating at all it seemed. People wearing clothing befitting of the desert were milling about. What women were present were wearing light hoods over their heads to keep the sun off, but had them pulled down seeing as the only source of light came from the torches. Harry was even surprised to see a few Midland women and men present as well, maybe by choice or not. Some had adapted to wearing the lighter clothing, mainly the women, while the men stuck to basic breeches and tunics and even thrown together pieces of plate armor.

"You don't just have Kushan," Casca noticed same as him.

"Some came from neighboring villages as we relocated here," Silat explained. "With the war over, does it really matter who lives where anymore so long as its safe." A group of kids ran past, some Kushan, others not. "Besides, Midland women seem to enjoy a change in lifestyle and so forth." Harry heard him mumble something like 'slave-driving woman.'

"So where's the forge then?" Guts asked, looking for perhaps some smoke rising.

Silat was about to point in the direction before an ear-piercing scream rang out.

"Guuuttttsssss!"

Faster than the wind, a light blur broke away from one of the groups of kids to run directly at them, jump and attach itself to Guts' armor covered leg by wrapping its arms around it.

Guts looked down at the small shape staring back up at him with large, innocent eyes. "You get taller, Erica?"

The young maid nodded her head vigorously, the hood she had on her fair-colored hair nearly falling off with her movement as she seemed to be wearing a combination of Midland and Kushan clothing. It would have normally looked ridiculous on anyone else, but Erica seems to have pulled it off.

"Uh-huh! Uh-huh! I did! But I'm still not as tall as you or my brother or even-!" Erica detached from Guts' leg as she ran toward Harry now. "Harry!"

It was impossible for him not to smile. "Hey, Eric-of!" Erica dove at him, her head colliding with his lower abdomen, making him falter, but Erica seemed completely fine.

"You're back too!" she exclaimed as she began tugging at his sleeve. "Where've you been all this time?"

"We've-,"

"Brother and I have been here!" Erica bounced on the balls of her feet. "They actually have some kids here too! Do you like my outfit?"

"It looks very nice on you, Erica."

It was not Harry who spoke and Erica turned her attention over to who had. "Cas...ca?"

She gave a small smile. "Guts was right, you did get a bit taller."

Harry felt the weight of Erica's small arms leave him as she instead rushed over to the swordswoman, her smile getting even bigger with every step that she took. "Casca! You're talking!" She latched herself around Casca's waist only muttering a faint "ow" as her head bumped with her armor.

Casca held steady and patted the young girl on the top of her head. "It's nice to officially get to meet you, Erica."

"You're actually talking," Erica nudged her head further into the armor, not caring if it hurt. "You have a really nice voice."

Silat watched from the corner of his eye, irritated they had been stopped but not daring to interrupt Erica. Maybe the young girl had been making everyone in the Bakiraka camp a softie.

"Bit of a rushed reunion, but not mine to judge," Silat finally spoke. "The girl's brother is currently in the forge over there." He pointed to a sheltered roof. "I'd lead the way, but hours of flying back and forth require a bit of rejuvenation in-between."

Erica was eager to bounce at the opportunity, finally separating herself from Casca. "Oh! I can take them there, mister Silat!"

Silat shrugged. "Do as you want, girl, just don't disrupt the others." He left before anyone could see his mouth turn upward as he put his cowl back in place.

Erica nodded enthusiastically, grabbing Guts' large finger in her small hand and leading them through makeshift roads lined with clay homes and shops.

"The laughter of a pure-hearted maiden, is there anything as pure as that?" Azan asked sounding like he was misty-eyed as Erica led them.

Some Midlanders gave their group a curious stare as they walked by, particularly Guts' sword and the three mages with their staffs. The stares generated from the Kushan inhabitants were far more suspicious. They whispered in their foreign tongue as they stared but they quickly went back to what they were doing before as Erica waved at them.

Sirius chuckled. "So it seems assassins are afraid to get on the bad side of a little girl. How old is she, nine?"

"I'm eleven!" Erica said with a smile, hearing everything he said.

Puck fluttered over. "I don't know, she seems she can be pretty scary if she wants to be."

Erica opened her mouth to show her teeth. "I have fangs!" she pointed to her canines.

Magnifico made a face. "Quite an energetic little thing, isn't she?"

"I think it's quite refreshing," Serpico smiled down to the young girl.

"I'm so glad you're all back!" Erica exclaimed for the umpteenth time. "I have so many questions for all of you! Where did you all go? How'd you heal Casca? Where did you get those sets of armor? Papa didn't have those back at the forge." Before any of them could even properly answer one of her questions, she held up a hand to silence them. "Wait! Don't tell me. Wait until we see my brother."

One of the groups of kids rushed past, stopping only when they saw Erica. "Erica!" some of them cried.

"Hi, Rana! Hi, Sanji!" Erica greeted back.

Having been living up in the mountains her whole life, Harry was happy to see Erica managed to make friends easily given her personality. He also noticed that while the two Kushan girls seemed incredibly at ease around Erica, their stares told a different tale when they saw who she was with. And it was not distrust. Instead, it was akin to admiration.

"Erica!" they exclaimed. "That huge sword, is that the one you told us about? The one your papa made?" getting past just saying a name, they seemed to have a good understanding of language outside of their own as well. If they were full Bakiraka kids, they probably would have to know other languages seeing as they would have been constantly moving around.

"It sure is!" Erica nodded. "And this is everyone too."

Their wide, volcanic black eyes widened. "Then he really fought a horned beast outside your house?"

"Those are magic staffs?"

"Sure are. But you can talk to them later." Erica stated. "They have to meet with my brother first. He knows them better than I do."

They both nodded obediently as they rushed off.

"You might still be a pipsqueak, but you matured," Guts noted how she had spoken with an underlining authority. "Keep that up and Rickert won't have to scare any of the boys away from you when you grow up."

And like a flick of a switch, Erica's expression turned into a confused smile. "Huh? What do you mean?"

"Nothing you need to worry about. Just lead the way."

"Aye!" Erica saluted as she marched on toward the sheltered forging area.

The shelter was built like a funnel of sorts with the shaft going up to the ceiling where the smoke would supposedly go so it wasn't clouding up the entire underground. The walls were pretty much open with the exception of one that held the smelter and the opposite end where a black curtain had been draped to make a makeshift door for the privacy of sorts. But with two additional walls missing, Harry was able to spot the sole occupant before even entering.

He had his head low, not seeing their approach, but Harry was able to take in some of the details about him. His blonde hair had grown longer, a fact he consolidated for by tying it back but left a few locks loose at the side of his head. On his chin, he seemed to have started to grow out some stubble, but the rest of his face was left clean-shaven. Rickert also seemed to have filled out a bit more as well, no longer exactly as scrawny as he had been when they first met. Then again, neither was Harry.

Rickert was seated at a grindstone as he sharpened the edge to a curved Kushan-made sword. He ran his finger across it to test the quality of the steel once he was done and let out an "Ah!" as he accidentally pricked his finger on the curve.

"Brother! Brother!" Erica ran through the curtain.

Rickert sat up straight and licked at his newest cut. "Don't worry about it, Erica. It's just a scratch."

"No that's not it at all."

Rickert let out a dry humorful sigh. "Wow. Way to show your concern."

She pouted. "Take a break and turn around! You'll see what I mean."

Shaking his head, Rickert said, "Fine, I'll humor you, but just know that even the tiniest cuts can-," he was cut off by a resonating clang! as the sword he had been holding fell from his grip at the sight of the people standing in the threshold of his workspace.

His eyes were wide, but still, not blinking as they swam over all of them but always being drawn back to three of them in particular. "G-Guts... you're actually back."

The swordsman in question tilted his head slightly. "And you're still working a forge. Gotta say it seems to suit you."

Rickert walked on shaky legs over to them. All the while, Erica bounced lightly on her feet as her eyes went from Rickert to the rest of them.

"And... Harry." Rickert stood up a straighter as he made his way over to him and held out a hand marred with various callouses. "It's... really - wow it is good to see you just about now." Harry gripped the extended hand and gave a firm shake as he felt the blisters from the other boy's palm. "You look so different."

"Me?" Harry asked. "What about you? Facial and long hair?"

"It's more of a whisp," Erica teasingly interjected.

Rickert felt his own chin like he was unaware of himself. "I guess I do look different. But I guess appearances don't really matter when you don't really know anyone here."

Erica seemed to take offense to that. "The girls here all think you're cute."

"You would know, wouldn't you, Miss Popular," Rickert teased back.

"I don't know, I think there's plenty of truth to her words." The voice alone was enough to make Rickert do a double take on who had just spoken.

He had seen her with everyone else, sure. But hearing her voice again for the first time in so long made him truly look at her this time. His mind just now seemed to process her new look and the fact she was no longer wearing those brown rags she had been before.

"Cas...ca?"

She tilted her head up a notch. "You too? Am I shrinking?"

Rickert seemed to forget about everything else as he weakly managed to walk over to his superior and loosely wrap his arms around her. His chin rested on the shoulder of her armor.

"This is... you're really... th-this..." words seemed to be failing him so he finally just settled with, "this is fine armor."

It was enough for him and it was enough for Casca. But it wasn't enough for Erica.

"Huuuuh?" she tilted her head to an almost impossible angle. "That's all you say, brother? I bawled my eyes out!"

"Oh I want to, believe me, I do," Rickert fully admitted. "I just... if I do, I think I might wake up."

"This isn't a dream, Rickert," Casca laid a hand on his shoulder. "I would know if it was."

"How?" Rickert's eyes scanned hers for any deceit.

Casca took a look over to Guts and to the mages as well. "We're not bothering you from work, are we?"

"If you were, I wouldn't care."

"Good. Because a lot happened."

The pensieve seemed to weigh heavy in Harry's bag. "I have a way that might save us a fair bit of time if you're up for it."

"A new trick of yours?" Rickert asked, eyeing what Harry was pulling out.

"Uh? Is that magic?" Erica pointed to the basin with swirling contents.

"A type of it. Let's just say you'll see instead of listening and-,"

"Let's do it!" Erica was more than eager to participate. "You will too, won't you, brother?"

It was impossible to say no to that face. "Just tell us what to do."

"So, wait, hold on - can you run that by me just one more time?"

Neville knew Luna by reputation to be one of the quirkiest and patient students attending Hogwarts, but he had a feeling even she had a limit to just how patient she could be sometimes. The days following Professor Dumbledore's death were some of the gloomiest Hogwarts had ever seen. Professor McGonagall had assumed the title of Acting Headmistress and made preparations for the funeral which would be held later today. Seeing an opportunity after breakfast, Neville had pulled Luna aside to an empty classroom to continue the conversation they had been discussing since that night.

"I'm sorry if I'm coming across as being a bit slow on the uptake, but just...how?"

Much to his relief, the blonde Ravenclaw smiled. "That's alright, Neville. You're one of the few people who does talk to me so I don't mind the conversation." That was sure a relief. "Besides," Luna continued, "frustration is something I find myself lacking so I'm glad I got to experience it through a friend."

Yeah, definitely quirky.

"Although, I do get a bit frustrated when Sonia doesn't listen to what I have to say." And just like that, they were back to the topic at hand.

"And Sonia-," Neville found it hard not to add in 'you're imaginary friend,' when he now knew that was completely false. "She's the one who is a medium under that Griffith guy-,"

"The one we saw that night by the lake," Luna nodded. "That was him."

A shiver went down his spine at the memory of it. Although the white-clad figure had done nothing to either of them beside abandon a dark-haired child, Neville got the impression he could have done unspeakable acts from how polite he had seemed but had a pair of dead eyes.

"And this Griffith character can turn into a monster like those... war demons?" with a title like that, it didn't leave much implication to what it was trying to hide. According to Luna who had heard from Sonia, the war demons included; a wolfish hunter, a shining centaur-like knight, a mighty crystal dragon, a cloaked shadow, and a lionel-chimera warrior as captains.

"I don't even know what he really is," Luna admitted, sounding more serious than he had ever heard. "Whatever it is, he's more powerful than all of them. He's just good at hiding it."

Good at hiding it?

Neville had been able to tell there was something off about him the second he laid eyes on him. "And Sonia believes he's just a normal human even though you told her otherwise?"

Luna adopted a different sort of dreamy expression. "She believes he's something beyond a normal human, but I don't think she really knows what to really think of him either. I suppose it's that way for everybody living in Falconia. They were being invaded and they looked for a savior to lead them. Griffith came and gave that to them. Now he has a city, an army, a fiance," poor girl, Neville thought, "and pretty much everything."

So, he was starting to get a better picture now. Part of it came down to power, as it had with wizards like Grindelwald and even Voldemort. But it seemed more than that as well. From what Luna had described of this paradisal city, it seemed to offer a safe haven to whoever no matter of any previous standing status. That hardly seemed the actions of a villain, but having seen this "Griffith" in person, Neville wasn't so sure on that either.

"Alright..." he nodded to assure himself that he understood. "And what about this... Skull Knight? Is he one of those war demons?"

Luna seemed to ponder that question. "Sonia never mentioned him whatsoever. But, no, I don't think so." She seemed to know what he was going to ask so she continued. "Why else would he have talked to him so disrespectfully?"

Yeah, that was a fair a point as any. "And, you think he'll be back? Him or Griffith?"

"I think anything is possible," Luna replied, sounding more like her normal dreamy self. "I believe that I'll get to see Sonia, but I don't know how yet. I believe that what separates our world from theirs doesn't make us different where it truly matters. Things just feel like they're all merging toward one point in time."

"I... don't follow." What was she talking about now? He had been struggling to wrap his head around some of the more bizarre aspects of this other world and kingdom were known as Midland, but it at least then Luna had been upfront and straight with her answers. Now, it just seemed like she was talking in a riddle.

His lackluster reply was met with a smile. "That's alright, Neville. I don't really know what it means either."

"Oh. That, uh, helps. I guess."

Her smile grew. "I'm glad I could help you understand then."

Luna made her way to skip out of the empty classroom when Neville halted her with a final, "Wait!"

"Yes?" Luna craned her neck backward to look at the Gryffindor.

"Have you told anyone else about this? I don't just mean students, teachers, too?"

"Well, of course, I have," Luna gave a closed-eyed smile. "You're just the first to actually believe it."

He felt a twang of sympathy for the Ravenclaw girl. "Well, if you wanted, I could tell some other people too." Neville knew he wasn't the most popular student by any means, people still took him more seriously than the girl considered to be a loon. He still did have those he considered friends like Susan Bones whose auntie was close with his gran. The Weasley twins could be surprisingly understanding when they weren't goofing off - which they usually were. Then there was even the Slytherin Tracey Davis who was always a bit aloof when it came to what she actually wanted but still talked to him - even if it was in secret.

"That's kind of you to offer," Luna said not saying no. "They might think you're as loony as I am."

"You're not-," she cut him off.

"That's alright. The most interesting people are the ones who aren't normal." And it was on that note that Luna exited the empty classroom.

It wasn't until after lunch that the flocks of witches and wizards start to gather at Hogwarts. This was the day that Dumbledore was to be laid to rest on Hogwarts grounds as was his wish. As the passing of the most powerful wizard of the time, it was to be no small turnout. Rows of chairs had been conjured up by Professors McGonagall and Flitwick out near the lake, ending with a raised alter where a white marble casket was present.

The entire school was open to attending, students and faculty alike. Then there were the journalists like Rita Skeeter with her sharp outfit and quick notes quill out and scribbling down the answers to various questions she was asking guests.

Parents of students were attending as well. Neville spotted the likes of Seamus' mother, the entire Weasley clan with their bright red hair, The Greengrass parents were talking in quiet, respectful tones to their two daughters. Tracey and her parents were next to them, having a small conversation of their own. She would occasionally glance in his direction, but never approached him.

Luna's father was present as well and he and his daughter practiced some hand motions together that Neville could only process as being some sort of gesture to grant safe passage for a soul. He didn't really know, but it seemed like something Luna would do.

He saw Susan hugging her aunt before the older Bones left to take her seat at a higher row than her niece. Susan left to sit next to Terry and Earnie.

Even Malfoy and his mother were in attendance. The two of them had been spared too harsh a punishment as Lucius claimed only he had to do with Voldemort's plan when he was questioned in Azkaban. All their assets were seized, however, and Draco had been absent from school since. They were actually in attendance with a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange but held no hints of evil in her eyes. It seemed Narcissa had gone to live with her sister Andromeda Tonks since having her home claimed by the Ministry.

Andromeda's Auror daughter was seated just ahead of her mother. Her hair was in a state of changing between pure black and a rainy blue as reflective of her metamorphagus emotions. She was, strangely enough, sitting next to Professor Lupin of all people with her head resting on his shoulder. The professor looked more than a bit uncomfortable at her actions but didn't make a move to try and move out of it.

To their left sat Mad-Eye Moody - the real Mad-Eye Moody. The grizzled ex-Auror looked even more paranoid than ever before. His electric blue eye was spinning around in its socket, gazing over each and every attendant.

A few well-known authors were in attendance as well. Well, they looked like they could be authors as Dumbledore did have a number of books written about him. But there were also people from Hogsmeade village in attendance as well. Then there were the various wizards from the ICW as seen by the type of robes they wore to reflect their cultural status. And seated closest to the casket was members of the Mugwamp, the school governors, and Minister of Magic himself.

Fudge had the decency to look sad. It was somewhat common knowledge that he and Dumbledore had been at odds on several topics, but at the end of the day, Fudge could still rely on the older wizard's advice for guidance - if he wasn't being bribed otherwise, of course.

The one who made no show to hide her evident anger was the Minister's secretary and former Hogwarts High Inquisitor.

Neville could say he was a bit pleased to see Umbridge looking so frustrated. No one liked the woman be it, student or teacher, except maybe Filch. If Neville had to guess, it all had to do with Umbridge viewing Dumbledore as having one-uped her one last time even after death.

It was well known by now that the night Harry Potter and company disappeared as mysteriously as they had arrived, Umbridge had set out to take them into custody now that Dumbledore was gone. This backfired massively as a huge tidal wave of water had completely decimated their boats and left them treading water in the Black Lake. But the biggest tragedy of that had been that the Creevy brothers had not gotten a picture of it. That would have been something every student could have come to enjoy.

There was just one other person that Neville was concerned about, and she was sitting beside him with her vulture hat and stuffed handbag.

"I swear, the season seems to think that it's summer," his gran complained. "I might be the one dying next."

"Gran! Don't say that!" Neville whisper-shouted to his caretaker.

"Well it's true," she affirmed as she pulled her wand out to conjure up a hand fan. "Besides, I've known Dumbledore longer than you have and I don't think he'd be opposed to a little humor at his funeral. The presiding mage certainly didn't know him very well."

The speaker was an old wizard who Neville did not know. He had an ancient voice and was using words like "prestigious, magnificent, honorary," as he described Dumbledore. These were words being used to describe a man whose opening speech one year had consisted of the words, "nitwit and blubber." Maybe his gran was on to something.

A few more speakers came up after the first and said a few words, but none seemed to have any sort of real meaning that Dumbledore always tried to project to the people of Hogwarts. They seemed more intent on praising the man that they thought Dumbledore was rather than who he really was.

An image of that Griffith character flashed to his mind after all Luna had told him.

It was unfair to think that way. Dumbledore was nothing like that. People just... believed what they wanted to believe.

Many tears were shed and the ceremony concluded as Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes flew overhead. His song had been that of lament.

Gran had insisted that she stay around to talk to some of her old associates and Neville stood by her side as she did so. He would have continued to do so if he had not been distracted by a sudden hand on his shoulder.

"Huh? Luna?" he said as the Ravenclaw approached him. He didn't know how Luna shows grief, but the dreamy expression was replaced by a more serious one.

"Can you come with me for a moment?" she asked. "It's about what we talked about earlier."

Oh. That's why she looked so serious.

"If it's okay with my gran, I-,"

"You don't need my permission for this, Neville," the old witch said from beside him. "What kind of friend would you be if you didn't spend time with them. Go on."

Luna led him by the hand away from the crowded funeral guests, but not toward the castle. She instead led him down toward Hagrid's hut and to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Luna, what is it?" Neville asked as Luna began to enter the forest. "Why are we going in there?"

"I had a feeling." Well, that was assuring. "I felt it before. It was the same as that time, it has to be." She led him a bit deeper.

"Feeling? Do you mean that-?"

Clop clop.

The sound of hooves put Neville on alert. He thought it was a centaur at first. They were known to be extremely territorial and despised humans coming on their land. But this was different. There was a sudden chill to the air and a pair of glowing eyes could be easily seen as they approached.

The rider was as imposing as he had been before. His helm gave away no expression as to what he was thinking or feeling. Actually, Neville wondered if there was an actual body underneath. He didn't hear the rattling of bones from the inside, but aside from the eyes, the rest appeared so hollow.

"You sensed me coming, Seer?"

Luna nodded as she was addressed. She did so calmly as if giving the answer to a question from a normal teacher. Neville was a little less composed.

"Y-you're back."

"Indeed. You are present again as well." Those glowing eyes regarded him. "It matters not. Unlike our previous meeting, I do not come with a choice - rather, a warning."

This was starting to resemble a story from the Tales of Beedle the Bard.

"Your world has long remained sheltered, undisturbed by those of the Hand. But when cornered, any animal will lash out violently. I have an understanding of what my cohorts plan on doing to kill what is transcendental. It will not come without repercussions."

"I don't really understand," Luna said. That was reason enough to worry. Luna was supposed to know all about this crazy stuff going on.

The Skull Knight gazed down upon her. "The seasons here are near identical to those below. The months of summer, how far away are they?" it was his turn to ask a question.

"June is close," Luna answered. "The first day of summer happens that month. July comes next and is usually the hottest." She said that like she wasn't talking to a giant suit of armor on a skeletal horse. "And August usually marks the beginning of summer ending."

Skull Knight pondered that information. "Then it will be around your second of August. That is the day the last of Gaiseric's blood will join a union with the Wings of Darkness. If all else fails, if my cohorts are unsuccessful in their endeavor, your world will be that of a turbulent violent whirlwind from the sacrifice. Those who survive will find your lives complete subject to causality and their forces. Be warned."

He spoke with such conviction that Neville dared not say otherwise. It sounded no different from what Voldemort would have made of the muggle world. "And... you want us to stop it?" The glowing gaze shifted over to him.

"If you want to live, you will be prepared. Warn those who are close and prepare. This fight is not your own, but you will feel the ripples. Once the water has been disturbed, it will take time to settle. And my cohorts have jumped from the pond."

A/N: Sorry about the delay. Been busy lately. Big choices are on the horizon. Thank you for reading.


	67. Chapter 67

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

It took roughly three and a half hours to properly explain everything about their adventure to Rickert and Erica - and that was including showing them the full events with the pensieve. It must have been even longer for them to process since the time spent looking into the basin was far greater than time passing outside of it like Harry, Schierke, and Farnese knew from experience.

Rickert had dozens of questions to be sure, ranging from "why didn't you ever mention you came from some other world?" or, "just how advance are people from where you came from?" all sorts of information a mind like his would want to know about.

Erica, on the other hand, seemed to have a more simplistic mindset. Her standard question usually consisted of, "there's a school for magic? What kind of spells can you do? Can you fly? Can you turn into an animal? Can I learn magic too?"

Looks like we might be having a new student soon, Harry mentally conveyed to Schierke after Erica had finished with her barrage of questions.

'She'll have to wait then,' the green-haired witch replied back. 'If we ever start up a school of our own, she can be the first to enroll though.'

"One question at a time," Guts had to quiet the two of them down. "My ears are still ringing and you're not helping with how fast you're talking."

Rickert's expression adopted a more understanding one. "Oh, right, sorry." He sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "Erica."

The young maid simply pouted. "Yeah. Sorry. Guess I just got a little excited."

Yeah, that was fair enough. What else could they expect from a little kid who was always trying to look on the bright side of things?

"That's okay, Erica," Harry told the young girl. "But as you just witnessed - yes, there is a school of magic out there. I don't know all about it either, but I know some of the fields like transfiguration, charms, runes, potions, stuff like that."

Erica nodded, understanding his response but still curious for more. "And he's from the magic school?" she pointed a dainty finger over in Sirius' direction. The long-haired wizard barely flinched at having the attention put on him. Given his mischevious antics, he was probably used to people suddenly pointing at him.

"Yeah. He uh, came back with us to try and help out. I'm sure he'd be better able to answer some of your questions about Hogwarts."

Erica giggled at the name and Sirius sent a somewhat proud glance in his direction. Perhaps pride in being able to pass a curious kid along to avoid answering questions himself.

"Okay! But, Harry," it seemed she wasn't quite done with him just yet, "did you know we were going to have a lot to ask you? Is that why you brought this bowl thing?"

"Anyone would have lots of questions, Erica," Harry told her. "I figured it would help fill in most of the gaps of when we were last together and up until now. It worked with Casca so, might as well put it to how it was supposed to be used. And... just so I could remember as well." Once again, Harry had excluded the memory of that day, the vial still tuckered away safely in his bag. Rickert could probably make sense of it even if he was thoroughly repulsed, but there was no way he'd ever let Erica see that.

Erica tilted her head. "But... you're not forgetful. What do you need to remember?"

"Erica," Rickert sternly interjected. "That's a pretty personal question. You shouldn't go and bring up and unpleasant feelings when we've only just regrouped."

The young girl frowned but held a trace of regret on her face. "Right. Sorry, Harry."

"That's okay," Harry said. "Not everything I need to remember has to be bad, you know. I guess I would just want to remember some of the good times, too." He offered up a light smile for the girl. "Does that sound like a good answer?"

"Uh-huh!" she nodded. "I do have one more question though."

"You can't keep the pensieve," Harry told her seeing her eyes go down to the basin.

Erica looked flabbergasted. "Did you read my mind?"

"I didn't have to."

She cutely pouted. "That's no fun."

"What about you two?" Guts then asked. "What sort of trouble have you been getting in while we were away?"

At that, Rickert looked a bit sheepish. "Well, nothing as crazy as traversing a dreamscape, going to a world full of magic, or even fighting a giant sea monster."

"You're just being modest, brother," Erica pulled at his arm. "What about all those things that you made? Or what about traveling around looking for a safe place to stay? Or what about escaping the city and fighting off a cloaked shadow?"

That was more than enough to catch Isidro's interest. "Yeah! What about all that? What kind of things did you make? Anything that explodes?"

Rickert tried tuning him out. "It did get out of hand for sure. It would probably just seem a minor inconvenience to you all though."

"You still survived it though," Casca pointed out to the smith. "We've been away far too long, why not just humor us, please?"

Rickert knew from past experience there was no refusing her when she wanted to know so he caved in. "Alright. You win. If you found the note back at the forge, you can already fill in some of the blanks for yourself. It just got too risky living out there when it seemed we would be in danger every day. So, we just packed what we needed and got out of there."

"Mainly his inventions," Erica popped in. Rickert gave a bashful nod.

"Been tinkering a lot then?" Guts inquired.

"A fair amount, but that's not really important right now. We met up with a few survivors and I offered my craftsmanship to them in exchange for a ride in their wagon. We were going to... Falconia," he observed their faces before continuing. "We were saved just before getting to the city. This hunter, he turned into some sort of man-wolf hybrid." An apostle. "But there were other knights there too, they all seemed human though."

"And were they freaking out that this hunter turned into some sort of hairy beast?" Sirius asked more for himself than anything.

"There were some who looked a little apprehensive, but aside from a few looks, they seemed completely at ease around him. That actually describes the entire populace of Falconia pretty accurately though. I know and they know that there are different non-humans living in the city, yet nobody really complains if their the ones keeping them safe. Anyway, we found a place to stay at an inn and I took an apprenticeship with a local blacksmith. One day while I was working there, a knight stopped by saying that... Griffith wanted to meet with me." He paused again to observe all of them, mainly the three other Hawks.

"And what did he want?" Guts asked. His voice was even, but it wasn't hard to tell it seemed like it was being balanced on the edge of a knife.

"...Just to talk," Rickert answered. "He invited me to the palace. He seemed like he wanted to extend an offer to join up with him again. Needless to say, I refused."

Erica nodded. "And didn't you hit him, too?"

"Well, uh..."

"You hit him?" Casca asked.

"...I slapped him. Yeah."

There seemed to be a collective silence upon hearing Rickert's answer. He was by no means weak, but he was nowhere near the level of some of the others when it came to encountering dangerous beings. And given his former admiration of the Hawks leader, it was surprising he would take such an extreme measure just to say no.

"Hn." Guts made the noise as if he was trying to hide back a laugh or even a smirk at the mental image of someone actually laying their hand on Neo-Griffith's flawless skin.

"You think its funny?" Rickert asked, not missing the reaction.

"No," Harry answered for the swordsman. "It sounds pretty awesome is all."

"Awesome isn't the word I would use," Casca advised.

"I would!" Isidro countered. "This is the guy we're trying to take down and here we find out he just got the back of someone's hand. Sounds pretty awesome to me! What was it like? Did he like bleed shadows or something when you hit him?"

"I didn't even break the skin," Rickert looked a bit bashful. Maybe he wished he could have done more.

"Still, a worthy feat for one not even practiced in the ancient form of elf dimension style," Puck gave a nod of approval.

Ivalera rolled her eyes. "Boys."

"You seem to be missing the point," Casca spoke up again. "He didn't take that lying down, did he? That's why you had to leave the city, right?"

Rickert's previous bashful expression hardened. "He seemed... he seemed to accept my answer actually. It didn't really come as any big surprise. If anything, I felt he was only extending that invitation to me out of past courtesy, like it was something he thought he would do but never believed it would go anywhere. And... you're right. Because of what I did, I ended up putting a target on myself and had to get out of there."

"He put a price on your head," Serpico concluded.

"how despicable!" Sir Azan grumbled from inside his helm. "There is no honor in an assassination. A proper duel would have been far more practical."

Harry could agree to that, but Sir Azan should really keep his opinion of assassins to himself considering the clan that took them in was based in the very same craft. And Harry doubted anyone from the Bakiraka would think twice about slipping something into his next drink if they heard him insulting them.

"There was a contract out for me, but I don't think it was Griffith," Rickert went on.

"Who was it then?" Guts then asked.

"It would have to be Sir Locus, the Moonlight Knight." Rickert had a face of concentration. "He came across as being... devout, to say the least."

"Moonlight Knight?" Sirius repeated. "With a name like that he's probably all show if he's getting someone else to do his dirty work."

Serpico shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Sir Locus is renowned as being the best lance in a century. He declared for neither Midland or Chuder during the war, but it seems he has found his calling at last."

"Sir Locus?" Magnifico asked, surprised.

"You know him?" Harry asked.

"I know of him," the elder Vandimion sibling replied. "My father held a tourney once for my brother's birthday once. Sir Locus was one of the jousters. He unseated every competitor and took the prize of five thousand gold. Don't you remember that, Farnese?"

"If it was for a birthday that wasn't mine, I probably wasn't in attendance," she admitted sounding a bit ashamed of her past actions. "I heard plenty about it after, though."

"I never would have pegged him for being an apostle," Serpico contemplated. "Anyone who met him talked about how he was a bit elusive but always remained formal. Bit of a step above what we're used to dealing with."

"Anyway," Rickert spoke again, "he sent another... apostle after us - at least, I think it was. I can't think of how else to describe him, but he wasn't human. Turns out he used to be a Bakiraka himself. Silat called him Rakshas."

"And what did this one turn into?" Sirius asked. It couldn't hurt to know what some of the apostles were capable of.

"He was just covered in this cloak," Rickert said. "He could almost blend into shadows and move without making a noise. He was pretty vulnerable to fire though."

"And then there was the bug girl!" Erica interjected.

"Bug girl?" Schierke inquired.

"Uh-huh! As we were escaping, this bug girl flew after us. She looked like a kid a bit older than me. She had green skin and wings and big bug-eyes."

Erica's description felt like a cold slap across the face for Harry. Rosine, he recalled the name of the disturbed girl from the Misty Valley. He had not been doing her any sort of kindness when he had sparred her from being executed by Guts, but it did not mean he did not want her to suffer for what she had done. It had all been about letting her know that her life was over even if she got to live, a sort of justice almost for all the lives she had ruined for her selfishness and for the hell Guts and Casca had to endure as well. But... he would be lying to himself if he didn't secretly wish for a sliver of gratitude from the girl apostle. She had apparently come from a home situation that had been similar to what he had had with Vernon Dursley in that they were both viewed as unwanted in the house. It was selfish of him, but if someone like Rosine could have changed, he would have considered it his accomplishment.

Harry almost didn't want to look over at Guts to see what he thought of that information. Harry owed a lot of what he knew how to survive based on Guts, but the whole Misty Valley situation was the one time he felt they truly disagreed on how something should be handled.

Puck, who had been present as well, seemed to sense Harry's distress. "Well, bugs come by the dozens! A whole bunch of apostles probably look that way."

"I thought she was going to impale me with her stinger," Rickert continued on. "She had the speed to outpace us, but she pulled away. I don't know why, but I'm not about to start regretting it."

Now that actually came as a genuine surprise. Had Rosine actually done it because she had believed she had changed or was it just something else? Chancing a look over at Guts, Harry saw that the swordsman had a slight shadow handing over his brow. Perhaps he was thinking along the same line as Harry. Killing her then would have been an easy option, but if it meant that Rickert and Erica were able to live, Harry imagined that there was a begrudging sort of gratitude, the kind that would go completely unspoken for as long as he lived.

"And you've been out here ever since, yeah?" Harry asked, finishing the story Rickert had been retelling.

"Pretty much." Rickert ran a hand through his blonde locks. "Like I said, extreme, but not nearly as dangerous as what all of you have been through."

"Your modesty can honestly get annoying at times," Casca lightly scolded with hints of a smirk.

"Eh?" Rickert tilted his head.

"She's right," Harry agreed with the Hawks commander. "You slapped the most powerful man in this world and flat-out rejected him in front of his supporters. That's one way to show him he isn't as all-powerful as he likes to believe." Not to mention one of the only ways to get a victory over the one who pretended to be perfect.

"Seriously, don't sell yourself short," Guts chimed in as well. "I'll be wanting to take a look at what you've been making in your downtime."

"Ye-yeah, of course!" Rickert turned a light shade of red.

"Also," Guts continued, "the city, Falconia, what else can you tell us about it?"

"Huh? You mean like what kind of people live there, how big is it, how many-?"

"All of it," Guts simplified before Rickert could list off more. "Every little detail, no matter how small. From how many people and soldiers to the cracks in the streets."

Rickert was thinking it over when his face adopted a look of surprise. "Wait, Guts, you're... planning on going there?"

Guts let the silence speak for itself.

The blacksmith's attention was now darting between Harry and Casca. "The both of you too?"

"Us too," Sirius gave a closed-eyed smile accompanied by a casual wave as he referred to the rest of them.

Whatever words Rickert wanted to say, they seemed unable to come out as intended. By the end of his gaping, he seemed to have settled on just one. "Why?"

"Rickert-," Harry began, trying to explain things to his friend, but Rickert wasn't finished yet.

"No, I know why. I've felt something similar myself, but just... why would you go there just to get at him? If you really want to get at him for all he did, going there is a pretty good way of ending up dead. Not to say that you all aren't strong," he glanced at Guts. "But even someone like me can understand that it's suicide."

"And you'd be right." Surprisingly, it was Guts who agreed.

"Huh?" Even Rickert seemed surprised to hear that come out of Guts. "Then, why would you-,"

"To screw him over," Guts said, sounding much like how he always did. "Think back, what's the one thing Griffith always wanted, the one thing that keeps him going even now?"

Rickert's answer was a quick one. "To have his own kingdom one day. To be king."

"And has he gotten that yet?" Guts asked the true question.

"He has it all in everything but official name. He just has to..." realization seemed to draw upon the young blacksmith as he realized why they had been asking. "You're talking about abducting the Queen?"

"Or it would be more like saving an unaware victim," Sirius put a spin on the perspective that earned a few looks. "Well it is true, isn't it?" And it was. After the wedding, Charlotte would be used as a sacrifice to fully merge all layers together as one.

"True or not, do you have any idea how crazy that all sounds?!" Rickert demanded. "You can't just walk or fight your way up to the palace, break in and then take one of the most important people in the whole city."

Serpico seemed to share a similar sentiment. "Our new acquaintance does raise more than a few valid points. Perhaps hearing what you have planned so far will put some of those doubts to rest." Harry would take that as a go-ahead to start. He had talked with Sirius a bit about this, but now he would be able to hear what everyone else thought as well.

"You're right, Rickert," Harry admitted to the blacksmith. "Either one of those options would just end in one or more, or even all of us getting killed. That's why it'll be much safer if we're just allowed in as anyone else."

Puck looked especially confused. "Uh, doesn't the big bad know you by face? And what about your brands? Wouldn't he feel that you're close by?"

"Huh. You actually asked a decent question for once." Ivalera looked mildly impressed.

"He knows all of us who have a brand, but he doesn't know about everyone else," Harry admitted. "I'm willing to bet that if the two youngest children of the Vandimion family showed up with two escorts, they'd have no choice but to let them inside the city."

"You mean you want me to go into a demon-infested city?" Magnifico's cowardice came through again.

"According to Rickert, the demons are there to protect regular humans."

"That still doesn't change the fact that they're there!" Magnifico seemed unconvinced.

"It seems risky to me as well, brother," Farnese agreed with her sibling. "However, I would hear Harry out first before giving a definitive answer. Besides, if we were to go to Falconia, we'd be treated with proper lodgings and necessities."

Bribery seemed to work in her favor as the fear written on Magnifico's face seemed to waver for a moment as the thought of a warm bed and hot meals as befitting his aristocratic status filled his head. He still appeared afraid, but certainly more open to suggestion now that he thought about his living situation.

"Serpico would be with you too, and Sirius as well. No one here knows who he is or that he has magic."

"Save for my deranged cousin and any other Death Eater she's there with," Sirius reminded them of the fact that Voldemort was supposedly here as well.

"Yeah, speaking of which, Rickert, when you were in Falconia, you didn't see any people wearing robes or carrying wands, did you?" Harry asked.

"I would have remembered if I had," Rickert answered. "He's got wizards under him too?"

"He must be keeping them somewhere else away from the rest of the people," Schierke guessed. "People are still going to be skeptical of magic after hundreds of years of prosecuting people who they thought practiced it."

"Now that actually does sound like a place I saw," Rickert mentioned but looked none too happy about it. "Behind the palace, there's this giant dome. The only way to get to it is by this bridge. Sir Locus called it Pandemonium. It's a place where the city's demons can gather to... let out their aggression." Safest bet was that Voldemort and his Death Eaters were there as well if he hated non-magical people as much as he had been told about the wizard.

"All the more reason to have at least two other mages in the city as well."

"You mean to go yourself?" Schierke asked but she didn't sound too surprised.

"That does seem a bit reckless," Farnese agreed. "You were just saying how it was important that those who are relatively unknown enter. You once served under Griffith and you carry that brand. How does putting yourself in danger benefit this plan of yours?"

To answer that, Harry pulled the invisibility cloak out from his bag. "This old cloak apparently has a lot of uses to it. If I'm wearing it, the magic that's inside of it could cover up the presence of my brand as well."

"It 'could,' meaning that it might not," Casca pointed out the flaw. "It would also mean that you'd have to be wearing that the entire time. Besides, if it just masks your presence by sight, people could still hear you or even bump into you."

Sirius seemed to have a partial answer to Casca's points. "He could always put a silencing charm on his boots to cancel out any noise they would make. But just his boots. If he happens to kick a pebble or step on a loose floorboard, that's the only way someone would hear him. As for the bumping part... he'd just have to be aware of his surroundings. Or mutter confundus charms under his breath."

"Makes sense to me," Isidro seemed swayed by the logic. "I wouldn't have thought of it like that." A collective thought of, That doesn't surprise me, was shared. "But as cool as that cloak is, you really want to be wearing it for days on end? I mean, I'm all for wearing the same clothes day after day, but if you're sleeping and accidentally roll out of it, wouldn't that be a problem?"

Ivalera blinked twice. "Alright, what did him and Puck drink to make them start asking good questions?"

"I don't plan on wearing it for days," Harry countered. "The less time we spend in Falconia, the better and we don't want to arise suspicion before we're sure we're ready. So, we would just for a later date before the wedding before we actually put it into motion."

"How soon before?" Guts seemed like he already knew, he just wanted him to say it out loud.

"At least a day or so before."

"A day?!" Rickert, Schierke, and Isidro all exclaimed.

"That's insane!"

"We're pressed for time, but that is just hasty!"

"You want us to slack around and train until then?"

Harry raised his hands in protest. "Look, I know it sounds insane-,"

"It is insane," Ivalera interjected.

"-But if Farnese and the others will be entering the city under the pretense of also attending the wedding, it's safer to spend less time as needed." He hoped he was talking sense. It felt that way to him, but this wasn't a time to sound uncertain. He wasn't necessarily trying to convince himself of it. They had time, sure, but having an idea of what they ought to do was something that was needed. Looking at some of their faces, he saw he was making sense to some of them. Guts, Casca, and Rickert still looked skeptical.

"Hm," Sir Azan pondered, stroking the feather on his helm. "You have given thought to this ploy, but assuming you and the young Vandimions do get inside the palace, how do you intend to find the Queen, and for that matter, how do you intend to get her out of there? A chivalrous plan is vain if no escape or retreat is thought out first."

"Well, the Queen will probably be in the queen's chambers," Harry guessed with some confidence. As for how he would actually get her out, that was another matter entirely. It wasn't like he could just waltz in and walk out with her. He doubted the cloak could hide two people under it, especially if he had to end up dragging her along. Nothing inconspicuous about a pair of legs being dragged by some invisible force through the hall of the palace.

"I don't mean to brag, but I have more than some experience with getting out of a tight situation," Sirius got a mischevious look in his eyes.

"And what would that be?" Casca asked, curious as well.

"You all remember how we got to Diagon Alley that one day?" Sirius rhetorically asked.

"That portkey thing?" Isidro asked. "How does that... oohhh. I get it now."

"My point exactly," Sirius said. "A single touch from our portkey and they'll be back, er, well, wherever we set the return destination to being."

"And it'll be active for as long as we need it?" Guts then asked. Clearly, the idea of an untraceable escape route pleased him some and put some of his doubt to rest.

"This isn't a Ministry registered portkey, so it will have some more free range to it," Sirius elaborated. "Portkeys can be activated by a simple touch, or some can be activated by key triggers. One of the downsides is that since this is a magical means of travel, muggles won't be able to use it themselves, they will have to have a wizard with them for the use. Aside from that, it will probably only have one charge to it if it isn't set to expire at a certain time."

"So, you just turn, I don't know, her hairbrush into a portkey and whisk her away?" Isidro had tried to follow the train of thought.

"He just said it wouldn't work on people without magic," Schierke reminded him before looking at Harry with concern. "That would mean you would have to already have a portkey on hand and ready to go."

"Two portkeys," Harry stated. "One for Farnese, Serpico, Sirius, and Magnifico." If he decided to go, of course. "If we do succeed and get the Queen, it's only a matter of time before Neo-Griffith figures out what happened and roots out what happened. By then, I would have to use thought transference to let everyone else know to activate their portkey to get out of there." Reaching into his bag once more, Harry pulled out the two knight figurines he had. The wooden one that was a gift from the now-named Gaiseric child stayed in its place. "I figured these might come in handy as our portkeys."

"Those figures you've been carrying around with you?" Farnese observed the pieces of plastic in his hand.

"I'm open to any other suggestions," Harry didn't want to look or sound embarrassed. "Just the first thing I thought of is all." He didn't say anything else after that, but he silently looked over to both Guts and Casca, hoping to hear some input from them at least.

Casca noticed and spoke up. "You do realize that if you succeed in doing that, he'll come for us. And he will find us."

"You're right," Harry affirmed. "But he'd be out of Falconia. We at least have a chance of fighting him when he doesn't have the home field advantage. And... there's another reason for that as well."

"And what would that be?" Casca questioned.

Harry thought it over in his head again before saying it out loud. "Fighting him in Falconia or somewhere else, it isn't going to matter."

"Wow. Way to sound optimistic." Isidro deadpanned.

"What I mean is that he has the power of a god on his side," Harry continued. "Even with Dragonslayer and the Berserker Armor, he could just heal any injury he sustained or crush anyone with a clench of his fingers. But with power like that, he has to draw it from somewhere. Schierke, where's the one place in the astral worlds that can supply that kind of power?"

Her large eyes got even bigger at what he was implying. "You-you're actually talking about journeying to the Abyss?" she rubbed at her forehead. "Of all the crazy things you've said so far, that has to be the craziest one yet. You know every mage who tried astral projecting there never made it back, don't you?"

"I didn't forget about that detail, no," Harry sent her an understanding look. She was worried and had every right to be. What he was proposing was something that had never before been successful. "But unlike those other mages, we have something that they don't; a direct connection to a deeper layer."

"Are you talking about that huge tree?" it was Rickert who asked. He might have a very minimal idea of how magic worked, but even he could see what Harry was getting at.

"Exactly. If we astral project near or even directly next to one of the roots, we'd probably have a better chance of cutting off whatever is in the Abyss from giving them their power." Any other part of his plan so far was open to change, but this was something essential. There was no killing Neo-Griffith without it.

"There is a flaw with that as well," Serpico cautioned. "The tree is in Falconia, the very same place you'd be trying to get out of. Not to mention you would have to have some protection for your physical bodies."

"Unless you're banking on Griffith leaving the city first," Guts began to put it together. "If he discovers his bride missing, his first thought would be us and he'd launch an all-out campaign against us. Falconia would be unguarded, save for a few. Also meaning we'd be fighting a full-powered god until you do whatever it is you plan to do with your magic."

There was no denying that that did seem the safest way of ensuring traversing the astral worlds. "Yeah. That would be a part of it."

"Well, you're certainly not going to be doing it alone!" Schierke stated. "No one mage has ever done it, and I'm not about to let you just let yourself die like the others. Besides, having two mages doing the same spell is always more effective."

"What about three?" Farnese then asked.

"Lady Farnese?" Serpico looked concerned.

"I may still be learning, but even I have been taught the same method as they are discussing. If needed, I'd be willing to perform this alongside both of my teachers, so long as they would have me." That fierce look she had when Harry first saw her seemed to rekindle in her sapphire irises.

"C-come now! You must be joking!" Magnifico sputtered. "I may not know much about all this nonsense, but even I can see a folly plan. What would father say if he found out you had perished? Oh, what would mother say?!" he continued to babble on annoyingly and Harry almost wanted to stop him when he realized something; this was about the only time where Magnifico had shown any sort of sibling compassion toward Farnese.

The man who had been prepared to sell her in marriage for personal gain was now fretting over if she would die out of pure concern. Magnifico might not have even been aware of it himself. So, for the time being, Harry wouldn't say a thing about it and just let him get it out of his system.

"Magnifico!" Farnese raised her voice to get him to stop at last. "As... touching as that was, this is just something that I have to do. You know that I was always an ungrateful child, throwing tantrums, lashing out, never actually appreciating what I actually had since I believed I truly had nothing. Now, I do have something. I do have a choice to actually give where I am needed."

Her brother was effectively shut up. Never before had Farnese come out and admitted to him or anyone in the family, save for Serpico, what she had actually felt. He couldn't relate directly to what she felt, he had also taken much for granted as well, never satisfied with what he had and always wanting more. During the entire time they had spent on the boat, he had never really taken the time to see how much his younger sister had changed. The girl before him now was his sister in name only.

"Regardless, we still have an idea of what has to be done," Casca spoke up again.

"You agree with it?" Harry asked.

"I agree with parts of it, but that doesn't mean that we don't still have to hammer out some of the finer details," Casca explained. "Rickert, I know this is probably sudden for you, but would you mind arranging us to meet with Silat as soon as you could?" Yeah, they were going to need more than just a handful of people if they were going to fight an army of apostles.

"It is sudden," Rickert agreed. "I thought that we'd just all hunker down together and try and survive as is. That would have been so much easier." He looked apprehensive as he reached into his pocket to fish something out. It was the old sword and wing design from the original Hawks. He stared at it for a moment as if he were reminding himself of those days. "But when have we ever taken the easy route?" he pocketed it once more. "I'll see what I can do to have him meet with you all, just don't expect him to be completely compliant."

"No need to remind us," Isidro rolled his eyes as he thought about the assassin.

"Right, well, in the meantime, let me and Erica show you to some of the empty huts. They're made out of mud and clay so I hope a little dirt doesn't bother you." He said it as a joke but Magnifico looked like he had lost all of his money.

"Oh, what joy."

Guts did not particularly care for the assassin known as Silat. He didn't hate him by any means, but the man could benefit from a few hits on the head and not even those two goons he had nearby would be able to stop it from happening. Rickert had been true to his word and had managed to get Silat to meet with them properly so they might discuss what their next move was going to be. When Harry had begun to lay out the loose idea of a plan he had so far, the Bakiraka seemed to be having none of it.

"I know we naturally speak a different tongue, but I don't believe you're understanding me in your own," Silat crossed his slender arms. "You misunderstand why I agreed to bring you back here in the first place."

Even Rickert seemed unaware of that. "But, you said-,"

"I said I would grant your request if it was within my ability to do so," Silat lightly snapped at the smith. "I did so not out of any sense of personal attachment to you or your companions, but out of necessity."

"And here I was thinking you were starting to care about us," Harry sarcastically remarked.

"Don't misunderstand my actions as being anything less than for survival purposes," Silat elaborated.

"Won't you at least hear us out though?" Isidro lightly whined. "You fought with us that one time, you know we can handle ourselves."

"Precisely," Silat surprisingly agreed. "I know exactly how strong most of you are and that is the only reason why I agreed to our smith's request. Should the need arise or if this place is compromised, we would need your strength to defend ourselves - not to go and bring an army to our doorstep."

"And what if one of our mages said there was a way to actually beat that army and its leader?" Guts asked, dangling the verbal bait in front of Silat.

The Bakiraka did not look impressed with that question. "Suppose he does. Tell me, does he also have a way to spare the lives of all the non-warriors within this stronghold? Can he ensure that out of the three-hundred-sixty-seven people here that those who do not know how to fight will live through this war of yours?" he waited for an answer, looking pointedly at Harry. "Even fight has its casualties and my Bakiraka will not be among them."

"You mean to kick us out then?" Casca asked, her eyes beginning to narrow.

Silat eyed her armor and sword before answering. "I just said I would not have any Bakiraka blood spilled. If I were to even attempt that, you would fight back and most likely eradicate my forces. Then there would be no one around to keep the remaining members safe. What good would that do in the long run?"

"You have people here who aren't Bakiraka," Guts recalled the western people he had seen. "Some of them are knights or at least trained. Do you speak for them as well?"

"They have their own voices, but I'm willing to bet that their answer would be very similar," Silat scrutinized. "If for nothing else, they would accompany you just to sell you out to the White Hawk in hopes of trading their current living arrangement for a better one."

Guts knew that to be true as well. People would put themselves first, it had always been that way. It wasn't exactly their fault, this was just the reality that they lived in, and it was one he could understand more than anyone else.

"You do realize everyone outside of Falconia could and probably will die if we don't beat him?" Harry questioned the assassin.

"Or only those who stand in his way," Silat was not swayed. "If you truly seek my help, allow me to give some decent advice; learn to live with what you have and survive with what you need."

"Did you follow your own advice when you were constantly trying to get in different countries good graces?" Harry challenged the point.

Silat's two goons seemed insulted with the remark and flexed their finger dangerously. In turn, Guts made sure to move his cloak just enough for them to see the sharpened steel of Dragonslayer. The result was to be expected.

If Silat shared the same sentiment, he did well to hide it. "I don't seem to recall you having this much audacity when we last met," Silat examined him. "It is to be admired... but not to be confused for respect."

"So you're not going to help us at all?" Casca questioned.

"Giving you a place of shelter is far from what I would consider not helping," Silat argued. He spared a glance at both of his bodyguards who stood statue still. "The two of you may leave for a moment."

"Young Master," one began, but Silat was having none of it.

"Do it."

Bowing their heads, the two stalked out of Silat's hut, discreetly eyeing his guests to make sure they would not cause any problems. Guts figured they were just waiting outside the door or on top of the roof, but they still wouldn't be able to hear what they were talking about.

Silat lowered his cowl so his full face was exposed. "Between all of you and myself, I have very little love for that accursed city. Does that mean I would risk my life and the life of my fellow Bakiraka? Absolutely not. If the choice was your lives or the lives of my own, we all know which choice I would make."

"That's pretty cold," Puck slumped on Isidro's shoulder.

"That's called be a petty bastard," Isidro agreed with the elf which earned him a sharp glare from both Casca and Silat while Sirius suppressed a chuckle.

"But to paraphrase what I said earlier, life is unfair," Silat still eyed the mage, swordsman, and elf. "What we want is often inconsequential." He saw the looks on their faces and quickly clarified. "That does not mean that you have the aid of the Bakiraka."

"Mind explaining what it does mean?" Guts pushed. "And just say what you mean this time. I'm getting pretty tired of your constant dancing around like a street performer."

He saw a visible twitch above Silat's brow, but the Bakiraka bit back whatever retort he had saved up. "What I mean is that as foolhardy as this 'plan' of yours is, it is not without its benefits."

"Mister Silat, that seems a complete opposite of what you were just saying," Rickert added in, clearly surprised by his sudden change of heart.

"Words are often one thing, actions are another," Silat dismissed his surprise. "It is true I would rather sit back and let both sides deal with it themselves, but as young Harry so adamantly pointed out, I have a tendency to change on what is needed for my people."

"Meaning that you would want something from us in return?" Schierke asked, raising a brow.

"Perceptive, and yes, you would be correct." Silat's gaze seemed to lessen in hostility. "Time has passed, but still, the Bakiraka remain as outcasts. This 'plan' of yours, it involves taking down the current power and abducting the Queen, yes?"

"Loosely, yeah," Harry cautiously answered.

"You want to marry the Queen or something?" Guts followed up.

Silat narrowed his gaze at the both of them. "Western women are annoying. And have you given any thought as to what would happen to this country - no, this continent, if you do succeed on your quest? Have you given any thought at all as to how the world would change after the people see their to-be king killed? Who is left to take control? Who secures the people's safety after? Lith is an isolated island that has most likely already been ravaged by monsters. The Uterine Sea isles do not have the resources to sustain people for prolonged periods of time. As it stands, there is only one remaining monarch alive with a claim to a throne."

"You want the Queen's pardon," Casca concluded. "If we win, you'd be openly welcomed for the first time."

"Indeed, but that all depends on your 'plan' now, doesn't it?" Silat rhetorically asked. "And I guarantee you that the only way you would see any Bakiraka fighting on your side would be if we have complete assurance that you have found a way to defeat that army and leader. Until then," he pulled his cowl back up, "I suggest you work out some of the finer details."

He opened the door to the hut. "Now, if you excuse me, I'm betting my bodyguards are itching to join me at my side once more."

Taking that as an invitation to leave, they allowed the Bakiraka man time alone to himself once again.

"I stand by what I said the other day," Sirius began once they were a safe distance from the hut, "he would fit right in at Slytherin."

"Well, it isn't entirely his fault, is it?" Farnese asked him. "I mean, as unpleasant as he is, he is just trying to make sure none of his people die in vain for a war that isn't theirs. Surely there's honor in that."

"There is nothing wrong with it," Guts agreed. "But as he said, life is pretty unfair. The people here might not want to be a part of this fight or even this world - but they are. Running and hiding will only get them so far for so long." And it was something that Silat knew perfectly well. That had to be the absolute only reason why he was even considering going along and that was only until after most of the work had been done.

"A lot of people probably feel the same way," Rickert said to him to try and add consultation. "Some of Erica's friends, they talk about things like how long they're going to be here and when they'll be on the move again. The idea of actually being able to have a place to permanently settle down is a pretty big deal around here."

"So that draws our potential ally list up to about one," Harry muttered. "He mentioned something about how there are over three-hundred people living here. In the chance that we do actually get his support, how many of them are actually able and willing to fight?"

Rickert pondered the numbers. "For all the able bodies that are old enough, maybe half of that, maybe even two-hundred if everyone is willing."

Guts knew that that still wouldn't be enough in terms of an all-out field battle. A few apostles could lay waste to those numbers in just a few minutes. And that was banking on the idea that they all wouldn't just flee at the mere sight of what they were up against. Silat's words from before rang true in his head. Even he could admit when Silat was right.

"Well, we've been doing just fine with who we have now," Isidro and Puck tried to brighten their spirits. "Any help we do end up getting would just be like additional support."

"And would it be right to willingly expend our 'additional support' for something that may not even work?" Casca questioned the boy. To that, Isidro had no answer. "Sacrificing lives is one thing, making sure that their death had meaning is something else entirely." Even though the seal was still drawn around his brand, Guts felt a tiny prickle at her words.

"I believe that is all any of us can truly ask for," Serpico furthered. "As someone who has dedicated my life in service to another, knowing that I have succeeded in my goal is the most I could ever hope for."

Farnese smiled softly at her ever-present attendant. "You've done far more for me than you seem to realize. And you are right as well." The softness in her gaze lingered before faltering. "Teacher Harry, what exactly do you think lies in wait in the Abyss? You mentioned before cutting off the connection to that layer, but do you have any idea what to expect?"

What was down there? That was a question even Guts was asking himself as of late.

Based on what the had seen and heard first-hand, hordes of tortured souls maybe. Forms of previously slain apostles? When that Count had been unable to sacrifice his daughter, the Godhand had mentioned something about that being the resting place of apostles. He waited to see what the young wizard would say.

"I... really don't know myself." At least he was honest. "I was thinking a source of power maybe or something like a funnel or twister. Something to do with madness at least."

"Keep thinking about it," Guts advised. "If you're serious and crazy enough to actually want to go through with this just a few days before that wedding, you better put that mind to good use."

"Not to mention magic," Sirius added along. "From what I seem to recall, you both still quite haven't gotten a proper hold of your Patronus'."

"Do you think that that Voldemort character might have brought some of those dementor creatures with him?" Farnese asked with concern.

"It's possible," Sirius gave it thought. "But aside from just being able to act as a shield for unpleasant creatures, they're also capable of sending messages."

"Like thought transference?" Schierke then asked, curious by this new information.

"Not quite. It's more of a direct spoken message. No little mental conversations to be had, anyone can hear it if they're close by."

Guts took a moment to glance at the few strands of green hair that were tied around his and everyone else's finger. As reliable as thought transference was, the connection was broken if the hairs were to fall off or be removed. He understood that much about some of magic's usage. That charm could essentially be used as a back-up in case something ever happened and they needed to get in touch with anyone else.

"I take it you're both still interested in learning?" Sirius asked like he already knew the answer. It was, by no means, something that they'd miss out on.

Going over the motion yet again, Harry recited the words that now seemed etched to the inside of his skull. "Expecto patronum!"

More than just a few wisps of white smoke trailed in his staff's movement. It wasn't anything worthy of exceptional praise or something to spare a second glance at, but still enough to make some of the regular citizens of the underground village spooked.

Harry had figured that since the idea of magic and otherworldly creatures was now common knowledge and that the Bakiraka had a sorcerer as well in Daiba, magic would be a bit more accepted. Even so, that didn't stop a woman carrying a jug of water to drop her load in sheer shock of what she was seeing. He figured he got off easy seeing as that he still had his head and hadn't been burned at the stake. Silat had insisted after that they not perform magic in view of others, at least not without permission.

"Are you sure we're not being a bother, Rickert?" Schierke asked as they were allowed to practice in his forge. "It is a bit cramped in here."

"Not as cramped as the hut you're all being kept at," Rickert hammered some dents out of a metal plate. "Besides, some of what you're doing makes me feel slightly more at ease." The hut they were at had a minimal amount of rooms so they were often left bunking with others in the week they had been staying in the hidden village.

"That'll happen when you're in the presence of a positive force," Sirius watched, leaning against the support beams of the forge.

"Also you get to spend more time with us!" Erica added as she kicked her feet off the ground from the stool she sat on.

"There is that," Harry agreed, making the young girl smile.

"Shouldn't you be off with your friends somewhere?" Rickert asked his sister figure.

"They got chores to do," Erica rested her hand in her palm. "Besides, I want to see how magic works!"

"Awfully tolerant and open-minded of you," Sirius smiled as well. "Could use a bit more of that back home, to be honest."

"You seem strangely okay with a non-magical watching all of this stuff," Harry observed. He had gathered that Sirius really wasn't much for rules. And with a system as strict as the Ministry, it was a wonder how someone like him had managed to live in a society like that.

"A lot of Ministry laws are bollocks if you ask me," Sirius shrugged. "Besides, muggle girls that I knew always seemed rather eager to know how I pulled off some rather impossible tricks. I remember this one time I had with my motorcycle and this girl and, uh..." he looked at the innocent Erica staring at him with expectation. "You know, maybe that's a story for another time. But uh, your mother's sister was actually open to the idea of it at one point."

"Ha!" Harry couldn't stop the laugh from escaping, earning him the stares of everyone present. "Sorry, but, that was a joke, right?"

Sirius shook his head. "Knowing how she turned out and who she married, I'm not surprised she never told you. James and I didn't really know too much about Lily until they started dating, but she would talk about her sister quite often. She felt a bit out of place her first few years and even asked Dumbledore if he'd let her attend. I guess Petunia had also been sending letters of her own asking if she could come."

"And that's why she hated magic so much?" Harry asked. "She was just jealous?"

"I'd imagine it had a large part to do with it, but it didn't help that she later married someone so boring the idea of excitement seemed a foreign concept."

"I know it isn't my business to ask, but did Harry's mother ever try to reach out after?" Schierke seemed invested in the story.

"I'm pretty sure she and James only met with them one time after they were both married," Sirius said. "James was being, well... James and tried to show them how wonderful magic could be and... they weren't impressed."

"Did he do something bad?" Erica leaned forward in anticipation.

"Not really. He told me he made the lobster they were going to have for dinner do a tap dance, but that really isn't the point."

"Then what was?" Harry then asked. He had rarely spared any second thought to his relatives or why they were so afraid of anything out of the ordinary. Hearing this now... he wouldn't say he felt sorry for them or anything, it just gave him something to think about was all.

"He just tried to change their minds when they weren't ready for it yet," Sirius summarized. "Who knows, maybe Petunia could have been swayed over time but by her own accord. No one could change her mind for her except for her."

Harry mulled those words over in his head and was reminded of what Silat had said the other day. What was their plan if they actually did succeed against the Godhand? He was still going over revisions and improvements with his plan, mostly with Casca, but it seemed moot if he never bothered to think about the lasting impacts of what this would bring about.

Killing the Godhand, would that put a stop to any malicious spirits that might try and possess them if they didn't apply the seal to their brands? What would happen to the people of Falconia, the ones who lived blissful, ignorant lives to what Nro-Griffith actually was? And most importantly, what would happen to all of them?

By this point, living a normal life seemed so far out of the question that he would actually think himself to be dead if it turned out that way. There was always the possibility of doing what he and Schierke had talked about and try starting a magic school of their own. Judging by how excited Erica was at the concept of magic, they might already have a new pupil on the horizon.

Expecto patronum!"

But even so-

The white mist seemed to try and form something solid only to fall apart.

-it seemed far too optimistic an outcome.

"Looks like you had something there," Sirius gave a knowing nod.

"I didn't see anything," Harry said, a bit dejected, but not willing to give up in his endeavor.

"No, I saw something too," Schierke agreed with the wizard. "It looked like almost like a... well, I don't really know what."

"I thought it looked like a bunny," Erica stated. Harry didn't quite feel that was the case. According to Sirius, a Patronus, at least, a corporeal one, took on the appearance of an animal with some significance or traits of the caster. He felt no connection whatsoever to a bunny.

"What memory were you thinking of?" Sirius then asked.

"I thought a little about Petunia Dursley at first and how she might have had some decency if things had been a bit different. Then... it isn't exactly a memory, just something that hasn't happened yet. It's... more of a feeling than anything else."

"Clearly more than just a feeling," Sirius said with positivity. "Desire to act on a feeling, that isn't nothing. Keep trying, I'm sure you'll get it - both of you."

"Expecto patronum!" "Expecto patronum!" "Expecto Patronum!"

Those were the words that they both continued to repeat over and over, watching as the pure white mist would come out and try to take a form of its own. Those were the words Harry had come to memorize before he went to bed that night and every night after.

What would come after... he didn't know. He could guess and doubt himself, but he could change his mind.

In a passing couple of weeks, Rickert had dedicated his time to not only working at his forge but to also help in mapping out a diagram of what he recalled of Falconia on Guts request.

"The only way into the palace that I know of is the winding roadway at the very front," the blacksmith recalled. "I'd recommend that whoever goes there take a carriage or wagon. I wouldn't want to make that walk on foot."

Casca observed the layout design as well. "You said Silat had managed to sneak in. Any idea how he managed that?"

"He said that he climbed," Rickert said. "Not that I would recommend that. It's pretty high up."

"And this Pandemonium thing, there's only one way there too, yes?" Guts' mind went to the sanctuary for the War Demons.

"Yeah." Rickert sketched out a simple sketch of a bridge and a large sphere at the end. "The inside is basically designed like a fighting pit with a bunch of rows for spectators."

Sounded basic enough. He nodded and looked over to where the resident mages were practicing. "What about with you guys? Any ideas?" he asked knowing that in terms of large groups of apostles, magic seemed the easier way of dealing with them. It had already been decided that if they were going to sneak into Falconia, he would not be among those who went. And he agreed. Even Guts knew that he would have to use all his mental strength to keep himself from just trying to kill the Godhand on sight.

"I have 'em drawing up a few runes right now," Sirius answered. "Never thought Lily forcing me to take that class would come in handy, but... hindsight."

"Which runes might those be?" Serpico inquired as he examined his eagle feather blade.

"Purification runes," Schierke used her staff to draw some lines in the ground. "Apparently they have properties similar to that Patronus charm."

"Shouldn't be a problem for you then," Harry smiled at her. While still new to the concept, both of them had been hard at work practicing the charm. And while no definitive form had shown itself yet, Schierke got close to hers. Apparently, it bore a resemblance to an owl.

"Don't sell yourself short," Schierke lightly smiled back. "Even I can tell yours is starting to take on a shape of its own."

"And you believe it to be a bit too advanced for my level?" Farnese asked as she also practiced drawing the runes with her teachers.

"You're still able to practice some basic level spells," Sirius tried to lift her spirits. "Sometimes the most useful ones are the easiest."

He had also been teaching Harry some spells from his Hogwarts education on top of everything else. A silencing charm on his boots and he was unheard and unseen when he had that cloak of his. Since most of the plan was Harry's initial idea, it had already been decided that the would be one of the people to go to Falconia, albeit while invisible.

"Wait a minute," Schierke looked like she just had an epiphany. "Ugh! How didn't I think of this before? Guts, the ammunition for your cannon, may I see it please?"

Never having been steered wrong by the young witch, Guts handed her his ammunition bag. "Planning on making magic bombs?" he asked in a less serious tone.

Her reply was, "Exactly."

"Is she about to blow something up?" Isidro asked, taking a few tentative steps away from the witch. Puck fluttered over to her shoulder to see what she was doing. What she ended up doing was tracing a pattern on each shot with her staff. A faint purple glow followed after she was done. Watching her movements, she was inscribing the rune onto each shot.

"If these runes are inscribed with a more positive force, they'll be more effective against apostles," Schierke reasoned.

Harry seemed to get an idea as well. "It couldn't hurt to do the same thing with Sir. Azan's weapon. I mean, it just seems like all of us have some sort of magical weapon or another. It couldn't hurt to give him a bit of an advantage as well."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate the thought," Farnese said. "Last I saw of him, he was out by the well to collect some water."

"Wells?" Casca repeated but her voice sounded strangely distant as if her mind was elsewhere. "Wait. Rickert, do you know anything about the sewers in Falconia?"

"Not really," he admitted. "I know that they expand much of the city's underground, but I thought the plan was for a more formal entry, not sneaking in through the sewers."

"It is," Casca affirmed. "But if worst comes to worst and fighting breaks out inside the city, all the people living there are going to be caught in the middle of it. I just wanted to know if that's somewhere they would go in case they wanted to get to someplace safe - well, as safe as can be."

"I mean its possible," Rickert guessed. "When people see fighting that's beyond what they're used to, they tend to want to get to a safer place. There might be some who would just try to leave the city, but those clever enough would probably be on the same thought like you."

"Fighting in the city is the last thing we want, but when has life ever been fair?" Guts poke. He noticed Casca's look. "Not trying to sound like Silat or anything, but it is something we had to discuss. And one other thing too. What about the Voldemort guy in Falconia? Would he have a way to counter some of those runes you're making?"

"Wouldn't surprise me if he did," Sirius lightly grumbled. "He doesn't earn a title like the Dark Lord for nothing. I'll be sure to be discreet as possible when drawing the runes around the city. No demons or wizards will notice at first, but their presence will be more noticeable the longer in place."

"What exactly will these runes do to apostles?" Guts questioned. He wasn't complaining, he was just curious as to how this might affect the monstrous beings.

"It would most likely cause fatigue for some of the lesser ones if they're in close proximity to the rune and if you shot them with your cannon now, aside from causing extreme burning their wounds most likely will never heal or close," Sirius listed. "And for magical beings, consider it a nullifier for certain types of dark magic. It might not mean much to someone of Voldemort's strength, but I imagine some of his Death Eaters will find it hard to practice some of their favorite spells."

"So all the more important to try and place these runes in the palace if we do make it that close," Farnese stated.

"Speaking of which, Rickert, want to run that design by one more time?" Casca prodded for more information. She was determined, but not obsessing, not yet at least.

"I only saw some of the more general locations like the gardens to the top, some corridors, and the ceremony hall. Safe to bet that that's where the wedding will be held."

"And how far is that to the main entrance?"

"Not far at all. I made a few turns and we were practically there."

"And I'm guessing it's too much to hope you know any other rooms outside of what you saw?"

Rickert bit the inside of his cheek. "Sorry to disappoint."

"No. You're being a help, really," Casca insisted. "Anything, even if it might seem small can make a huge difference."

Seeing her like this, it was like she slipping back into her role as second-in-command. Well, it'd be more like first at this point, but still. But there was something he couldn't figure out about her right now though. That was if she was being driven by a sense of justice or revenge.

Guts knew what the latter felt like. There had been times he had tried to delude himself into believing that the apostles he had been killing had been retribution for the Hawks, but that was only a half-truth. He had done it because it made him feel good. He had been branded, cursed, left to die, but he had felt alive in those moments. And... it had driven him down a path so dark he was now plagued by a demonic voice inside his head that had been there long before he had gotten his armor.

He couldn't make Casca feel any sort of way she didn't want to. He'd have an easier time trying to dig out a mountain with his hand. She had always had better control over her emotions anyway, even when she acted irrationally. As personal as this upcoming fight was, he could at least believe that every kill she made would be one for the entire band.

"Still fiddling away at this mission of yours?"

Silat leaned against the threshold of their hut. His two boulder-like guards were nowhere to be seen, but they were probably watching their master from a distance.

"Actually come to help out?" Harry stopped his practice to address the Bakiraka.

"Merely to pose another question for you," Silat sounded like a sly cat. "Assuming you do make it into the city, where do you plan on staying? spending prolonged periods of time in that palace would surely prove-,"

"Just get to the point already," Guts interrupted.

Silat's eye twitched. "The question I pose to you is simple; how do you feel about whores?"

...

"So we'd be dragging more people into this then?" Casca asked a few nights later after Silat had proposed that question to them. This had been confirmed by Rickert, but apparently, the woman who had looked after Casca after she had run off was now the owner of an inn within Falconia. Guts rarely gave out praise to strangers, but Luca had a kind heart to her.

That being said, her life was probably going to be put in danger.

"She helped us out before," Guts said. "Besides, it's not we'd be asking her to take up arms and lead a rebellion in the streets. She'd just have to put up Harry and the others for a night or so."

"That's still dragging her into this," Casca argued. "And I'd prefer not to put someone I owe in danger."

"And if she had the choice herself, what would she choose?" Guts asked, knowing what the answer would be.

Casca frowned as she eyed him. She knew exactly what the other woman would choose as well. She folded up the layout Rickert had drawn up and sat on the bed of one of the hut's rooms. "I really do hate this."

They both said nothing. Not enjoying the type of silence that was between them, but neither making a move to speak and break it. Seeing that she wasn't going to cave, Guts quietly sighed and leaned Dragonslayer against the wall as he sat down next to her. The bed creaked with his additional weight but it would hold.

"I figure that it's about night outside right now." Living underground for about a month could distort a sense of time. "It's been about a month." He left the implication hang. Maybe a visit from him could brighten her spirit a little.

"You're probably right," Casca agreed. "I don't think he'll show up this time though."

"Do you not want to see him?" that was unlike her.

"I want to see him more than anything. I want to hear him talk again. I want him to not be tethered to..." her hand tightened near her heart making it look like she had cut her hand on thorns. "But he's smart. I know just from looking in his eyes." She seemed to let thoughts of him come back to her. "You remember the ultimatum that we were given?"

"Yeah." Stay away from Falconia and there wouldn't be any trouble. Let's see how long that lasts.

"If Gaiseric can feel where we are and he is somehow connected spiritually, it would mean that he would find out we're back. He'd come for us before we'd make our move." Her hand stayed over her heart. "I don't feel him."

"You make him sound like a smart kid."

"He is," she said annoyed.

Guts held her gaze. "Yeah. I guess he is."

After a moment of silence, she finally asked the question that was on her mind. "Do you... do you think killing him will kill Gaiseric too?"

"They're two different people." He wasn't sure if he said that for her benefit or for his. He had been unable to kill their child when it was born even though he desperately wanted to. But seeing what he had matured into, an actual person who looked at him with those eyes. How I used to look at Gambino. Guts wouldn't turn out like that. He had done cruel acts, he would never deny that, but to become like the man who had hurt him, helped shape the personality he had, he wouldn't make that leap fully.

"I know that," Casca said quietly. "But it would just be our luck, wouldn't it? We kill him but we still never win." It would be like that bastard to screw them over one last time.

"You chose the name Gaiseric to show defiance," Guts reminded her. "Maybe think a little more on that. Do you really think that kid would just do nothing if he had the chance? You said that he was smart."

He thought he saw a smile almost creep onto her face. He would have been fine with that.

Rickert was busy at the forge. Serpico and Sirius were overseeing some of the magic practice and Farnese was inscribing some more runes on Sir Azan's weapon. Magnifico was off somewhere doing something and Puck and Isidro were entertaining Erica. And here they were. It didn't happen at once, but what Casca had left unfinished aboard the Sea Horse those months ago was met with closure.

Harry sat on one of the cots as idly as he could. His staff was laid out across his lap and his bag was to his right. Every so often he would glance to his side to make sure it was still there. It wasn't like it was going to magically disappear on him - not unless Sirius played some kind of prank on him. Knowing full well what he would find, Harry opened the bag up to look at its contents.

The two figurines which would be made into portkeys, the wooden figure that kid Gaiseric had brought that one time, some ink and a quill for drawing runes, golem stones, the pensieve, and specific memory vial, and invisibility cloak. Everything was there and accounted for. He would still check again in a few minutes but that was to be expected. The waiting was almost over. Early in the morning, they would be heading to Falconia.

Time had passed by at an alarming rate but it had been time well spent. Harry was confident in the spells he had learned from Sirius' side of things, mainly the silencing and confundus charm. He had managed to produce a strong shield for the Patronus charm but had yet to fully manifest into an animal. The plan was as ready as it was ever going to be and everyone knew what part they had to play. They were ready for this, all of them. So why did he feel like his stomach was caving in on itself?

He had been in plenty of life-threatening situation before. Those situations usually found him though, but he had still made it out alive before usually always with some help and it wasn't like he would be doing this alone. He would have Farnese, Serpico, Sirius, Sir Azan, and even Magnifico with him in the city. The elder Vandimion sibling had apparently decided to come along if only to perhaps see if his family had made it to Falconia. Sir Azan would stay by his side to make sure he didn't accidentally blow their cover.

They had thought about that, prepared for it. They would be leaving in just a few hours time. He should sleep, get some rest.

Harry felt his hand start to shake as he checked the contents of his bag once more. Everything was still there and accounted for.

It would be best for everyone if he just got some sleep now. He'd be more a hindrance if he started to doze off once they were there.

But he could hear voices talking from just outside the room he was in. He recognized them as belonging to none of the people who would be leaving with him.

"-cares if what it looks like?" he heard Isidro ask.

"I do because I made it!" Schierke shot back. "I don't want you ruining it before he sees it!"

"How would I ruin it? It already looks like a stone!"

"Sh-shut up! I put effort into this!"

"Clearly not enough magic," Isidro countered.

"You... ugh! I'll give it to him myself."

The door creaked open and a familiar purple hat poked in. "Hey, Harry, are you - oh! You are awake."

"Yeah," Harry responded, resting his staff to the side of the cot. "What's going on out there?"

"I just... I made something and-,"

"Hey! I helped!" Isidro cut in.

"We made something and... can we come in and show you?"

Harry nodded and the two hustled inside. Schierke was holding something behind her back and Isidro kept stealing glances at it. "What'd you make?"

She presented him with... a cake?

It looked like one. It was smaller and in a square shape and looked to have some sort of coating on top with a number written on it.

"What's this for?"

Isidro seemed to think that was funny. "Wow. Told you he wouldn't care!"

Schierke refrained from insulting him and said. "Sirius told me what today would be where you're from so... happy birthday."

It was past midnight, or so he figured. Yeah, he would be fifteen today.

"I guess someone has to remember," Harry scooted over so the both of them could take a seat on the cot.

"Yeah," Isidro put his arms behind his head. "You are pretty lucky to have us remind you of stuff like this."

"You only heard that I was making a cake and wouldn't stop bugging me all day," Schierke told the other boy. She presented Harry with the baked good.

"This is nice, but you really didn't have to do this." He still cut a piece even if the sinking feeling was still in the pit of his stomach.

"No. But I wanted to." She took a small piece for herself and finally let Isidro have some. The other boy's portion consisted of pretty much the rest of it.

"Hey! This is pretty good!" Isidro said after his second piece. "How come you never used to cook for us before, Schierke?"

"You just insulted how it looked a minute ago," she reminded, "and Serpico was always kind enough to offer before anyone." Serpico was a good cook. "And besides, this was for a special occasion."

Harry spared a small smile. "Thanks. I'll be sure to do something for yours."

He said the words before he could think of the fact that none of them might not ever have any birthdays in the case that they failed.

Schierke spotted the look on his face but said, "I'll be sure to look forward to it. But for now," she brought the slice closer to his mouth, "please eat."

"Eah! Eet's elly ood!" Isidro choked out with his mouth filled with the food.

Harry took a bite.

It really was sweet.

The sun had barely started its rise when the group consisting of Harry, Farnese, Serpico, Sirius, Sir Azan, and Magnifico made ready to depart. Naturally, they were being seen on their way by the rest of their party plus Rickert, Erica, and Silat.

It was a very somber feeling to Harry. No one talked much, not even via thought transference. They all knew the consequences of their actions and they would rather let some things be unspoken. The only one who seemed keen on talking was Erica but even she lacked some of her usual enthusiasm.

"You will tell Miss Luca that I said hi, won't you?" the young girl asked as they walked through Doldrey. The sound of those winged beasts was the only noise to rival her voice at the moment.

"I'll be sure to remember to do that," Harry promised. It seemed like a trivial matter, but one that helped ease the nerves a little. Completing that task was just a side to the whole thing; complete one and they'd be on the right path.

Silat rolled his eyes. "Why you'd want to spend time talking to that woman is beyond me."

"Aren't you the one who recommend her?" Casca recalled.

"Perhaps I just aimed to make her work harder," Silat dismissed.

"Well, in that case, we'll be sure to let her know you said that," Sirius teased the man.

Silat made a dignified, "tch!" as he glared at the rising sun. "Anyway, given the city's distance from here, you should arrive a little after midday by flying. Just make sure to send them back. I hardly feel like catching - what is that?" His gaze was fixed on the sight of a lone figure beyond the battlements where they were and out on the dry field outside the stronghold.

Guts gave what could only be described as a dry laugh. "He picks now of all times to show up? What convenient timing on his end. Hey, open up the gates already."

"You know that... thing?" Silat's gaze hardly wavered from the rider that seemed to be staring straight back at him from outside the fortress.

"Just about the most powerful ally we have," Harry mentioned as the Skull Knight began riding toward the fortress as Serpico and Sir Azan opened the main gate for him to enter. He could have just used that sword to instantly appear but maybe he just wanted to act polite. Harry actually doubted that last part.

The Skull Knight rode up to them with surprising quietness. that factor combined with his appearance made Magnifico start to tremble and shake at his knees. Silat's almond-shaped eyes were wide in shock and he seemed to be in a frozen state of action of either reaching for his weapons or getting ready to run in the other direction.

"Struggler, Wizard," Skull Knight greeted with his usual tone as his glowing sockets took them all in. "Has the time, at last, come to at last move on the city of demons?"

"Don't you usually always know?" Guts asked him. "And why show up now if you already know the answer?"

"I only as much as I have been told or have guessed on my own. As for the latter of your inquiries, I have been traveling. I gave another warning to the wizards of the other side as well as attempting to rally more forces for your cause. Time moved differently in the place that I ventured. What was weeks and months for you was but a few days for me."

"That sounds like Elfheim alright," Puck said looking rather proud. "How was King Dannan?"

"The Elf King was sympathetic to your struggles. The people and creatures of that island are not warriors by nature, but they are not without their own means of defense. Should a call of arms be issued, their allegiance is yours."

Harry felt a huge weight lift off of his chest at the Skull Knight's words. Silat was a wildcard, but he believed he could depend on the Bakiraka if their safety was compromised; even more so now considering he had seen and heard what Skull Knight just said. Their plan was already laid out, but the prospect of additional support was something they could use regardless.

"How many?" Casca asked seriously. She had been in a rather mellow mood as of late but that seemed to have vanished now.

"A couple dozen magical creatures and a handful of mages as well." His answer was short and to the point. It was far from an army, but more magic could never hurt.

"So did you stop by just to tell us that?" Guts asked. "I'm not complaining or anything but these people," he jabbed a thumb over at Harry and the rest, "are running on time. Unless you'd care to help out with that." He didn't pose it as a question. That scared Magnifico even more.

"H-help from him?"

"It can be done," Skull Knight said and Magnifico fainted, only being caught by an unamused Serpico. "Just know, Wizard, they have taken measure to ensure I can only get within a certain distance of the city. I could only take you as far as the woods surrounding his city."

He looked over at those who would be accompanying him and judged his answer from their reactions. "Then we're ready."

It had always been hard to tell what emotion Skull Knight was feeling with his eyes being a constant glowing pulse, but his voice gave nothing away. "Very well then."

His jaw hinged open as Skull Knight tilted his head back and swallowed his sword up to the thorny hilt. When he pulled it free, it was a glowing mass of the behelit facial features. He made a downward slash in the air and a rippling portal merged into existence.

"For those who follow, now is the time."

Skull Knight waited for them and Harry's legs seemed to move on their own toward the pulsating portal. Before taking the final step through, he cast a look over his shoulder one last time to take in the faces of everyone they were leaving behind. He committed all of them to memory.

...

When they stepped through on the other side, they were in a lush, dense forest. The rising sun could barely be seen through the treetops. The smell of nature had never seemed stronger in Harry's opinion. He had been in these woods before when he was with the Hawks and being this close to the capital, things were never this undisturbed before.

"Your destination is north and west from this spot. You will spot the stones that limit my involvement as you near the city."

Farnese gave a gracious bow of her head. "Thank you. For everything that you've done." Serpico, Sirius, Sir Azan did so similarly to her. Magnifico was starting to come to. Harry met the glowing gaze and gave a nod of his head, never breaking contact with Skull Knight. He pulled his invisibility cloak out from his bag and made to drape it over himself when Skull Knight spoke again.

"That cloak is indeed special. You have the talisman drawn over your brand as well?" at Harry's nod, he continued. "To most, you will be nothing more than a specter, watching but never being seen. But so long as you bear that brand, he will not be fooled as easily."

Skull Knight pulled back the plate on his gauntlet and reached inside to pull out an all too familiar object. His, and many of the other's eyes widened. He held the green behelit between his armored fingers.

"I thought you said it wasn't mine," Harry recalled the Skull Knight's words from one of their previous encounters.

"Do you recall what else was said about this unholy trinket? A double-edged sword."

"Uh, a little late to be springing something like this on him, don't you think?" Sirius stepped up alongside Harry.

"The choice is his. If he accepts it or not, it will still come into play later. If for nothing else, it would fully mask his presence while under that cloak."

"Harry...?" Serpico tentatively asked. His eyes were on full alert as he waited. Farnese seemed to be in a similar state but her gaze was more firm. The choice was his.

"Guts was right. You really are a bonehead."

"Do you refuse?"

"I just want to know how much you know," Harry said to the Skull Knight. "You call it a double-edged sword and you know exactly what it does. Did you know about our plans to travel into the Abyss? When this activates, they're summoned. If we don't have anything to sacrifice... do I need to say more?"

Nobody spoke. All eyes were on Skull Knight and how he would answer. Of all the times to be shady, he just had to pick today.

The green egg dropped to the ground as Skull Knight released it from his grasp. He turned his mount around in the opposite direction.

"Do as you will, Wizard. Just know that it is more close-knit than you believe. What was once started over a thousand years ago, the same cycle as always, paths will come to a close. Be it by your hand, mine, or some obscure, the cycle cannot continue."

Harry stayed rooted to the ground, his body only responding by controlling his breathing. He already knew there was nothing worth him sacrificing. The lives of his companions, he wouldn't be like Griffith that day. Guts wouldn't be like Griffith, no one would. They all had their own hopes and ambitions, their dreams they were willing to see to fruition. But this was not the sacrifice he would make for it.

Skull Knight called it a double-edged sword. Maybe he was right. If there was a sacrifice to be made if someone had to break that cycle, he could at least go fighting and cursing his way into that Abyss. Vassel or not, he knew by now that causality would be against him no matter what he chose.

He bent down to where it had fallen.

The least he could do was make sure no one else had to make that same choice.

"Young man," Sir Azan sounded startled. "Are you seriously considering taking that trinket?" No one else said anything directly, but he could see the uncertainty on their faces.

"I'm not doing it for me," Harry said as his finger brushed against the surface of the egg. Much to his relief and shock, neither of the eyes opened. "But these things only have power so long as you believe you want something out of them, so long as you're willing to give something up. All of you, Guts, Casca, Schierke, everyone else, I don't care what deal they would make with me, I wouldn't accept. And I'd rather have it with someone who I know wouldn't use it than leave it lying around for someone else to take." Maybe that's why Guts had held onto it for so long as well.

Upon hearing his words, Harry was relieved to see the tension leave their faces. This one choice was nerve-wracking enough and they weren't willing to turn back now.

"I can understand your logic, but that does not mean it isn't dangerous," Serpico cautioned. "And... the same could be said for what awaits us. Yet here we are. We would not be here if we didn't have faith in our belief. If this is what you believe to be the way, you have my support."

"I... thank you." He figured something as simple as that would be enough to suffice.

Harry stuffed it in his bag along with everything else and put his cloak on fully.

Skull Knight was already riding away. "Be ready. A lone wolf stalks this way." And he was gone with a lingering cautious note.

Harry quickly cast the silencing charm on his boots and adjusted his cloak for a further measure. Serpico had his normal sword out in place of his eagle feather one and Sir Azan hefted his ax which was now equipped with a magical rune.

They heard it coming before they actually saw it - no. They didn't see it the first time either. It moved so fast through the air that it might as well have been as invisible as Harry.

Wheee! the arrow was followed by a short bout of sound and two more followed in quick, rapid succession. They would have been dead if those arrows were meant for them.

The arrows found their mark on some obscure beast that resembled a monkey that had been concealing itself among the trees. It made a high-pitched screech as it fell from the tree. "Kraeeeeee!" it screeched with its mouth ajar leaving space for a fourth arrow to pierce the open gap.

The approaching figure was a slim man dressed in dark purple hunting garb. His footsteps were expertly placed as he seemed to move without making a sound through the bush. His bow was large and had what looked to be an eye design on it. His hat partially covered his eyes but when he glanced up, Harry was able to see they seemed to be a silvery-white color and he thought that he might have been blind at one point in his life. But the thing that was abundantly clear to him was this man was not human.

"My apologies," the hunter said, sounding genuine. "You are all unharmed, yes?"

They collectively stared at him. If he must have figured they had their weapons out to defend themselves against the dangers of the forest. Excluding himself. As a show of faith, he slung his bow over his shoulder and made no further move toward them.

"Erm... yes. We are all well and good." Farnese cleared her throat before speaking.

The hunter's gaze drifted over to Magnifico who still seemed to be in a daze of sorts but somehow managed to stand on his own. "Is that man in a state of shock? The forest holds many dangers now. Travelers should be wary."

Farnese lied again. "Yes. We... encountered a rather unsavory sight on our path. He hadn't the stomach for it. If you don't mind me asking, who are you and why did you save us just now?"

"Sorry," he apologized yet again. "Perhaps it would have been better if I had done so first. My name is Irvine. I am a captain for the Hawk of Light in the city of Falconia. I don't mean to sound presumptuous, but that is the direction you were heading, was it not?"

"You would be correct, Sir Irvine," Farnese confirmed. It was weird to hear her address an apostle as sir, but if Harry didn't already know, Irvine could pass as a normal human. "Please, allow me to introduce ourselves as well. I am Farnese de Vandimion, youngest of the Vandimion family. The dazed man is my elder brother Magnifico de Vandimion, third son in the Vandimion family." She spoke with the confidence of a noble, something she had been drifting away from since taking up her magical studies.

"The three men are our attendants, Serpico, Sirius, and Sir Azan. They have been our escorts since the tragedy in Vritanntis. We heard rumors of Falconia being a safe haven and have struggled to find our way here. We assumed the rest of our family to be inside if they have survived this long."

"Lady Farnese," Irvine gave a courteous bow and removed his hat as well to expose his dark locks underneath. "I have heard of your family through reputation. If the rest of your line is waiting inside, I hope that you find your peace with them."

"You would grant us entry to the city?" Farnese asked sounding hopeful, but not overly so.

"I will give the others my word," Irvine said as he pulled out a hunting horn and blew into it. "Allow my compatriots to do so. Most travelers find it more calming. There are still dangers close by."

Irvine's nose twitched, discreetly sniffing at the air similar to a hound or wolf. And for a second, his pale eyes drifted right over to where Harry stood, invisible. He feared that Irvine had smelled him but the hunter made no move to draw his bow.

"Trolls." Irvine walked a bit closer. "They are not nearby, but they are coming in this direction. My duties are to be required elsewhere. Please," the sound of hooves could be heard nearing their location, "allow them to take you the rest of the way."

Riding through the bush were at least a dozen armored knights. Their armor seemed shiny and new and bore the design of the new Band of the Hawk. Unlike Irvine, all of these people felt human.

"Sir Irvine!" one called, lifting his faceplate to show a man with a neatly trimmed brown beard and blue eyes.

"Ah, General Laban, thank you for arriving promptly," Irvine looked up at the knight.

"Of course," Laban gave a wary smile to the archer. "More new arrivals I take it?"

"You are correct," Irvine affirmed. "They are Farnese and Magnifico de Vandimion along with a few of their attendants."

"Vandimion?" Laban repeated before putting a hand over his chest and gave an incline of his head. "Lady Farnese, Lord Magnifico, it is my honor. Men, bring the wagon forward!" A few knights pulled back with a large wagon pulled by two horses. "Please, allow us to give you a proper escort to Falconia."

Giving her best heartwarming smile, Farnese thanked him. "We are truly in your debt."

"Allow me to assist you, Lady Farnese," Serpico offered to help her up the back of the wagon. Harry invisibly followed after her as Serpico offered a hand up to Sir Azan and a dizzy Magnifico as well with Sirius being the last one in. The archer apostle watched with a faint ghost of a smile on his face.

"Will you be joining us, Sir Irvine?" Laban asked out of curiosity.

"You are few in numbers. I will continue to snuff out any pursuers." He had his bow out again and soundlessly moved further into the bush.

Harry let out a quiet breath of relief as the wagon started moving and the knights took up formation next to them as their escort.

Nice cover back there, Harry mentally conveyed to his student.

'Just fulfilling my part,' she responded back.

"Is everyone alright back here?" Laban asked as he rode his horse alongside the wagon. "Travelling alone has become so dangerous now, especially for a group so small."

"We saw the extent of it, believe me," Farnese said to the knight. "And there were more of us... at one point in time." Not a lie, just a half-truth.

Laban's bearded face softened. "I'm sorry, Lady Farnese. You have my condolences, for what they're worth."

"Allowing us entry is repayment enough," Farnese said in a less mournful tone. "Our efforts have not been in vain then."

"You picked a good time to have been found then," Laban said. "More survivors are still arriving, but with the Queen's wedding only two days away, much effort has been put into finding accommodations for all the guests."

"The Queen is to be wed?" Farnese asked, feigning ignorance. "Would that person be Sir Griffith?"

"More of a Lord Griffith now, or Hawk of Light as has become his appointed title," Laban corrected. "But yes, you are correct. The ceremony is an open invitation and has taken weeks and months to get ready. Many patrols have been pulled back to the city because of it and only a few like Sir Irvine and myself make routine trips out here now."

"That fellow certainly seems able to take care of himself though," Sirius spoke up. "I'd reckon we'd be dead before we knew what hit us if we were his target."

"Forgive my attendant," Farnese said on his behalf. "He was not originally employed in my service. I acquired him through my dear brother's good friend and my betrothed, Roderick of Lith. As a man of the sea, his manners are a bit unrefined."

"Lord Roderick, truly?" Laban appeared surprised by the news. "If he is your betrothed, do not tell me he has..."

"Oh, no!" Farnese shook her head. "After the Kushan attack on Vritannis, Roderick escorted us to his home island of Lith for safety. After the war, he allowed us to return to the mainland as he tended to his own people. He stills lives as far as I know."

"Well, that is enlightening news indeed," Laban sighed in relief. "You have my congratulations on your engagement. I'm sure once you settle in the city Queen Charlotte would love for you to attend her wedding."

"We would be honored," Farnese said with sincerity. "And I will be sure to keep quiet about my engagement. It would be poor taste to make an announcement like that during another woman's wedding."

Laban smiled. "Too true."

"If I may ask, sir," Serpico spoke, "have you any word if the rest of the Vandimion family is staying in the city?"

"Hm," Laban contemplated. "I wouldn't be able to tell you off the top of my head, but we have records of every person who enters the city. It would be a trivial matter of locating them if they were."

"That is kind of you to offer," Farnese told him. "There is much I'd wish to discuss with them if they were. We... didn't part on the best of terms when we last saw one another. For that reason, I think it best to meet with them on our own time if it isn't too much of a hassle."

"Oh, I see." Laban saw the uncomfortable look on her face. "Well, there is no shortage of spare lodgings and inns throughout the city. I'm sure accommodations could be made."

"Such chivalry!" Azan exclaimed. "A true virtue of a knight!"

"Ah, Sir Azan, yes?" Laban regarded the other knight. "I've heard your story on the bridge to help an elderly man cross. A bit unorthodox, but important none the less."

"Indeed! Said bridge was not far from here or, at least, the old capital."

Laban let out a soft chuckle. "Well, I'm sure you'll find things have changed a great deal."

Coming out of the bush, a dazzling sight fell before their eyes.

In place of Windham, a city made of flawless white stone stood tall and proud. Designs of griffins lined the outer wall which dwarfed the previous capital's defense. smoke from buildings and shops lightly floated up and drawing their attention to the palace itself which resembled a giant hawk spreading its wings out to take flight. A faint circle could be seen from behind the palace that could only be Pandemonium. But the largest sight had to be the glowing white tree whose twin roots were wide enough for the city to rest between them. The body and branches expanded high into the sky, seemingly touching the clouds themselves.

Harry could feel it. The sensation had been getting stronger the closer they got, but he finally felt what it was like to be in the presence of the World Tree itself. But there was another feeling as well, lesser than the tree, but still something strong.

He had to look to the ground and to the sides to properly spot them. The land outside of Falconia seemed to have turned into farmland, but popping out of the cultivated soil were glowing rocks shaped like a bird's wing. Those must be the ones preventing Skull Knight from directly entering even with his sword.

Laban observed their reactions, sans Harry. "Welcome to Falconia."

Seeing the inside of Falconia was like looking into a storybook. The whole atmosphere was entirely different from the old Windham. The streets were clean, the homes were newer, more shops were open, and most of all, people seemed happy. They were living in ignorant bliss, but the genuine feeling was present.

Their escort came to a stop as a representative clerk came over to them. He took their names down for documentation and asked what district they would be put in for lodging. Laban informed him that they were looking for a more basic lodging for the time and left it to them to choose.

"If it isn't too much trouble, lodging in an outer district would be more than able to suffice," Farnese casually mention. According to Rickert, Luca's inn was in an outer district.

"I'm sure we'll find room to accommodate," Laban informed her. "I'll have one of my men show you around the district. I'm sure you'll be able to find a suitable dwelling." Laban dispatched one of his knights as he and the others made their way back to the palace itself. "Oh, and Lady Farnese, tomorrow, a reception is being held in the palace at noon. If you so wish, you may search for the rest of your family then. If they are in the city, that's where they'll most likely be."

It looks like they had their ticket into the palace.

"That sounds fantastic, sir. I'll be sure to be in attendance."

Walking around the district now, Harry was able to see that Rickert had been very thorough in the design he had laid out for them. Everything was in place as it was described to them. The shops and houses along with the stables and bathhouses, guard stations, all of it. The inns that they passed, Farnese dismissed to their escort saying she felt they were too small for their needs and finished it with she didn't want to feel like they were intruding. It was a good mix of an aristocrat and politeness as well. It probably irritated their escort a little, but he was in no position to say no to a Vandimion.

"This place is an inn, too?" Farnese asked as they passed by a certain inn in particular.

"And a tavern," the escort said. "The woman who owns it is pretty popular around here but she probably wouldn't be opposed to offering additional rooms if she has them." He sounded hopeful that this would meet their standards.

"The appearance does seem rather homey," Farnese said with a nostalgic expression. "I do believe we have found a suitable suite."

"Are you sure, Lady Farnese?" Serpico asked to play up the role. "You haven't even seen what it has to offer yet."

"Call it a woman's intuition," Farnese dismissed his question. "Thank you for all your help, sir. Serpico, please give this knight some funding for his troubles."

Serpico pulled out a few gold pieces. "It isn't much, but it some of what we gathered before our journey." He bid the knight a good day with a nod of acknowledgment as Sirius went to open the door for them.

There was an unmistakable smell of beer as a few groups of men sat at one of the tables and laughed into their drinks at a joke one must have told. A few girls scurried about the place with trays of drinks while another wiped down empty tables and the bar where some drinks had spilled previously. One of the girls, Pepe, if Harry remembered her name from back at St. Albion called out when she noticed them.

"Hey, Miss Luca! We have some more coming in!"

"Be right there!" a voice called from a door behind the bar. Coming through was an attractive woman with light brown hair and stunning grey-brown eyes. She was wearing more expensive clothing than from Harry last saw her but she didn't come across as being vain or anything. Although, she seemed to have caught Sirius' attention just fine anyway.

"Sorry," Luca said as she set down a few bottles of wine she had been coming with. "How can I help... you?" her voice trailed off as she saw the faces of Farnese and Serpico. Two people she probably hadn't been expecting to see anytime soon.

"Hello," Farnese greeted her. "We just arrived in the city and were looking for a place to stay? Apparently, your inn comes highly recommended."

"Ah... yes! We have some rooms free on the top floor if you want." She recovered quick and put a bright smile on her face once more.

"That sounds more than fitting," Farnese told the other woman. "Would we be able to see them?"

"Of course. Right, this way." She led them over to a staircase. "Pepe!" she called over her shoulder. "Take over for me, will you?"

"You bet!" came her enthusiastic reply.

The room Luca led them to was a surprisingly simple one consisting of a few beds and a wardrobe."Does anyone have any luggage they'd wish to bring up?"

"Sadly no," Magnifico grumbled, seemingly having mentally recovered.

"What my brother means is that we didn't exactly have time to pack for a long-time stay," Farnese told the other woman politely.

Luca nodded. "Well, it should still suit the needs of you five just fine, even if it isn't anything luxurious."

"The six of us, actually."

Luca blinked, not having seen any of them talk. "Who just-?"

For the first time since arriving in Falconia, Harry part of the cloak off to expose his head. The rest of his body staying invisible. "Hello again, Luc-,"

"Agh!" she involuntarily yelled and her body moved on instinct, taking the nearest object, a pillow, and hurling it at him.

It never even reached him as Sirius whipped out his wand and cried, "Imobulius!" and it remained in suspended animation. Now she was looking at Sirius with wide-eyes.

"I know I must just look like a head right now, but do you really not remember me, Luca?"

Her eyes were drawn back over to him and widened again. The difference being, she seemed to do so in recognition. "You... you're that boy from the tower. Harry."

"It appears we have some explaining to do," Serpico stepped between them, his voice giving off a calming and soothing feeling.

"How... how is he just a head?" Luca pointed a shaking finger at his invisible body.

"Luca, just calm down, okay?" Harry said to her, making sure that the door was closed behind them.

"Never really a good idea to tell a woman to calm down," Sirius whispered to him. "Believe me, I know."

"So distressing seeing a fair lady in distress," Azan stood by her side. "Fear not! For there is a simple explanation for all-,"

"And you three as well!" Luca looked to the others who had been present at the tower. "I know who all of you are, too. Wh-where is everyone else you were with? What happened to the Black Swordsman, or that perverted kid, and El-Casca?"

"Luca, Luca, we can explain everything," Harry said, his hand poking through to take hold of her own, assuring her he still had a body. Her expression was still one of disbelief, but her eyes held a trusting nature to them that he hoped he was appealing to.

"...Everything?" she asked, not sounding if she believed her own words or not.

"Well," Harry almost felt the pensieve grow heavy in his bag. "Depends on how weird you're willing to go to find out."

What felt like minutes to them was probably hours on end for Luca. Harry had retrieved the memory basin and filled it the events after they had parted ways at St. Albion. Everything from Casca's revival to returning back, to the plan they were currently carrying out. In just a few minutes, all bases would have been covered with the inn owner and hopefully help in assuring her that everyone else was alright. For the moment.

"Well?" Harry asked, putting the cloak on fully. "Does that answer some of your questions?" he put the pensieve back in his bag as well next to the unused memory vial.

Luca put a hand to her head as she seemed to collect her thoughts. "Oh, it answered my questions alright. I just... what do I even say to that?"

"Looks like you missed a question there," Sirius said to elicit a smile from the woman. She spared him a half-amused, half-annoyed look if one existed.

"Aside from the obvious weirdness to this... Rickert and Erica, what a small world we live in for you to find them after all this time. Erica talked to me once hos she had a friend who was the strongest around and used one of her father's swords. Guess I have my confirmation. But in all honesty, I don't really see how I can be much use in your plan. I'm not about to take up arms and wage war on some demons." She looked over in the direction she thought Harry to be standing as she couldn't see him.

"No one would ask you to," Harry assured her. "But you could still help evacuate some of the people if something goes wrong."

"If?" Luca repeated. "Do you feel it would resort to that?"

"That is the biggest uncertainty we all face," Serpico said to her. "It isn't enough that we simply wish for something not to happen, that would be futile. The least we can do is be prepared for the worst."

"Well said!" Sir Azan agreed. "It takes a great deal of courage to fight for what's right, but it takes a great deal more to fight for others."

"You and Dumbledore would have gotten along very well," Sirius commented.

Luca pondered over the knight's words. Her expression had gone from sheer confusion to realization and seemed to start to settle on either determination or reflection. "You know, when people are faced with hardship, they turn to god. And where is that god now? Many would say up in the palace and... would they be wrong? But they'd forget so easily that god was never there for them before all this when they needed him most. How many died because of the divine will that couldn't be seen. I'm not saying this plan of yours is perfect by any means, but the least anyone in my position could do is ask that no one else gets caught up in this fight."

Sirius pushed a bit further and asked, "So, can we take that as a-,"

"I will help where I'm needed. Although, I hope that I am not." She smiled. "Consider it my way of helping a dear friend by defying a god."

Sirius looked at her with admiration. "Between you and Farnese over here, you both would have made fine Marauders."

"I would have made a good bandit?" Farnese asked, confused.

"Uh, no. Just a name that was popular in Hogwarts once."

"That reminds me," Luca suddenly said. "I may be agreeing to help where needed, but I'm still a woman who has a business to run. So for the lodging, any food or drink, you'll need during your short time here, plus additions for the girls working here-,"

"Why don't you just help yourself to what you need?" Farnese took the money pouch from Serpico and let the woman sift through what she needed.

Magnifico watched the money leave the pouch. "Tch. Bandit indeed."

"Why not take some for giving a tour as well?" Sirius suggested with an amused expression. "I'd love the company as I plant as many runes as I can around the place."

Luca understood the purpose. "Very well then, I'll accompany you." Sirius smiled. "But a tour of the city is all you'll be getting." That certainly dampened his smile a bit.

With Sirius about to execute his part, Harry concentrated and brought up the thought transference link between him and Schierke. Are you there?

'Harry? Yes! Yes, I'm here, we're all here. How are you, what's going on?'

I'm fine. We're all fine here too. We made it into the city and we're at Luca's inn right now. She's taking Sirius around parts of the city so he can plant some runes.

He heard her give a mental sigh. 'That's good. I'm glad to hear that. How is your cloak holding up?'

Really well. I thought I was going to have a hard time with the archer apostle, but if he knew I was there he never pointed it out to the knights we met and I didn't feel any malicious odd trailing us here.

'And... tomorrow? You're all ready for that?'

I know what I have to do. Don't worry about me. What about you guys back at Doldrey?

'We've been waiting mostly. Rickert was showing Guts some new weapons he had crafted. But honestly, Silat seems to be having some internal conflict.'

How?

'I think seeing the Skull Knight really put some things into perspective for him. And if we're getting help from the elves... I guess that makes our odds look better in his eyes.'

Yeah. That sounds about right. What about Casca?

'I... haven't seen her much since you all left. I'm not sure if that's a good thing that she's getting ready or not if she's worrying herself sick.'

Are you worried?

'Of course, I am! You and the others are in the most dangerous place for people like us. I guess I'm just used to seeing others put themselves in dangerous situations that I'm good at hiding how nervous I really feel.'

Well, I might not be there, but I'm here to talk if you want.

'That's kind of you, but I don't want to keep you up until the night. You have a big day ahead of you.'

That he did.

Rickert wasn't kidding, taking a wagon up was the better way to go. Having not one, but two Vandimion's in their party made it quite easy to rent a cart service to the top of the palace's winding roadway that leads to the main entrance. Still cloaked, Harry watched as other citizens made the trek on foot. Some looked tired and winded before even reaching the halfway point on the road. Yet even the most winded of people still seemed to be in good hopes as they made the walk higher.

For Harry, all he felt was a cold pit in his stomach the closer that they got to the top. They were passing by guard posts manned by normal humans, but the lack of anything supernatural or demonic served as a stark contrast to what this place actually was.

Farnese and Serpico were unusually quiet, only talking when the cart driver wanted to make conversation. Sirius too seemed to be struggling to maintain a constant smile on his face and his hand would brush past where he had his wand stored similar to Harry and how he had been constantly fretting over his bag. He made sure he still had his portkey figure and that Serpico had the other. Sir Azan's expression was hidden as his helm was on but Harry didn't miss the trembling of his hand. The one who seemed the most composed, however, was Magnifico.

"Mother and father might be here," Magnifico whispered to himself. "Your brothers too, nothing to worry about. You're fine, you've done nothing wrong." He would talk to himself, but it didn't seem to be out of pure fear. There was a sense of moral he was giving himself while doing it. Even if he didn't have the best relationship with his father or brothers, he knew that they were where some of the influence around his name came from. It was selfish, but it seemed to be doing the trick. And as long as he didn't say anything that would expose them, he was free to say what he needed.

They were close now. The wide, white structure was so imposing now that Harry could no longer see the outline of the sphere behind it. The last zig-zag was just ahead and they were stopped by a pair of armed guards.

"Names and business?" one asked quite curtly.

"We are the Vandimion siblings, Farnese and Magnifico. The three are our attendants and guard, Serpico, Sirius of Lith, and Sir Azan. We come with an invitation from General Laban to attend the rehearsal and to perhaps reunite with our remaining family."

Throwing Laban's name out there seemed to carry weight along with their own status as the guards became a bit more respectable and granted them access. Serpico paid the cart driver for his services and disembarked from their ride with a still invisible Harry going last. The guards gave a signal to a pair beyond the lowered drawbridge and the white doors beyond began to open up.

"Please, follow the rest of the guests for the rehearsal. Forward and to the right."

The entry hall alone could have fit a small keep inside of it with how tall it was. Multiple glass chandeliers hung from the ceiling by design of a bird's claw. Wings marked the base of every pillar and the top as well. Even the marble floor beneath them was clean as glass without a single speck of dust to be found even with all the people mingling about.

Farnese seemed to struggle to find her words. "This is certainly... extravagant."

"I would consider every pure-blood family put to shame," Sirius looked around. "The Malfoy's have nothing on this."

"A bit too excessive, don't you think?" Magnifico asked no one person. "Our estate house wasn't as lavish as this, but it had more color than just white. It was modest." Harry had been to his house once. It was anything but modest.

"Be that as it may, the general flow seems to go toward the next hall," Serpico pointed out. "Shall we proceed?"

With Farnese and Magnifico leading, Sirius and Serpico took up the sides and Azan took the back. Harry was in the middle of them all. He would hate to accidentally bump into someone. He was only invisible, not intangible. This proved to be useful as there was a fair bit of traffic going into the hall and they had to practically squeeze through shoulder-to-shoulder.

This hall was smaller than the entry, but still grand in its own right. It was white in color as seemed to be the theme. Dozens if not hundreds of rows of seating had been laid out from the entry to an altar near an open ceiling and more were still being laid out. What stood out about the altar wasn't the design of a falcon taking flight, it was the open ceiling - or more importantly, what came down and looped out of the ceiling. A glowing white branch from the World Tree itself.

It was as Rickert described but seeing it was a whole other thing.

Does anyone see the Queen? Harry mentally asked. Surely she would be attending her own rehearsal or preparation. Harry had thought she would be up by the altar, but he didn't see her. There was just an extremely old man dressed in the garb of the Holy See. "The High Pontiff," Farnese called him. Aside from him, the altar was barren. On the plus side, Neo-Griffith wasn't here either.

'Magnifico and I will go gather information from the other guests,' Serpico mentally spoke. 'For now, just wait in a more secluded area.' "Shall we go and attempt to find your family, Lord Magnifico?" Serpico asked.

"Hm. Oh, yes. I suppose we shall." The two blondes wormed their way through the crowd of people still chatting amongst themselves.

They found a haven in hell in the form of one of the corners of the room. Not many people have gathered here aside from the stationary guard who was human and a few more common looking people who weren't nobility. Although, Harry did spot a short, bald man who wore lavish purple robes as he stood off to the side with a girl maybe a little older than Erica. He appeared to be a bit nervous, but the girl was fighting to contain her excitement. It took him a moment to put a name to the face.

It was Minister Foss. The man who had despised Griffith for being of common birth was now at the rehearsal to see the shell of that man marry the Queen in a day's time. If Griffith was still human, he would almost laugh at how ironic it all was. But in this case, Foss had a reason to be nervous.

'I believe I have some information that deserves to be heard,' Serpico spoke in his mind.

What's that?

'Magnifico engaged a man by the name of Sir Owen in conversation. Apparently, the Queen does not wish to be seen before her wedding day. She knows the rehearsal by heart as she planned it. The only person she cares to attend is Griffith. She's in her chambers until the morrow.'

Any chance of him saying where that would be?

'That would be a bit of a stretch but if Rickert's layout is to be trusted, they's be on a much higher level.'

The layout was something they had all committed to memory. If they went back out this hall and made a right, they'd be a junction. Going left would take them to another floor.

Just play it safe for now, Harry advised. Sirius and I'll keep in touch. I'll let you know if we find it. Be ready.

Sirius got the mental message as well and the two of them slipped back to the main entrance and were only able to get past due to Sirius discreetly casting a tripping jinx on one of the attendants and were able to slip past as others either stopped or went around the scene.

The path to their right was far more clear once they steered clear of all those people. Only a few were out milling here as they probably found it more calming. None of them paid Sirius any thought as he maneuvered his way out of there and they naturally didn't see Harry following alongside him. "And I thought the Ministry traffic was hell."

They continued further down the hall, finally arriving at the junction Rickert had mentioned before. Sure enough, to their left was a hall and stairs leading upward. Spotting only a few Kushan looking guards further down the opposite end, they took their chances and started up the stairs. they were about halfway up when Harry felt an ominous sense of od coming toward them. It didn't come from the front or back but from the side.

Merging out of the shadow on the wall was a cloaked figure wearing a bone-white mask.

Rakshas.

"Oh, what's this?" the apostle slowly slithered out of the shadows. "A guest making a wrong turn? this is the day before a wedding, go, be happy! Enjoy it with others. Unless... you seek a much darker path."

Harry could see Sirius debating to pull out his wand or not. Rakshas had gotten the drop on them for sure but was it worth blowing their cover already? He was an apostle, he could very easily-,

"Rakshas!" a human voice shouted.

"Oh, a boring stiff."

The Kushan guards from the other way had spotted the scene and convened as a unit. "What are you doing harassing this man, Rakshas?" the leader asked.

"Harassing? Me? I was just asking a simple question is all. What were you doing neglecting your duties? You know what lies beyond."

"The Hawk of Light is too lenient with you. A Bakiraka scum."

"Former."

"Return to your shadows, filth. Let us handle this."

Rakshas slumped in his cloak. "Still hardly the worst thing I've been called. Ta-ta my lovelies." With little effort, he began to seep into the shadow once more and travel up the wall and scurried in the opposite direction.

Sirius relaxed a bit at the save. "Well, you have my thanks Sir..."

"This is no place for you to be," the Kushan told him.

"Oh, my apologies," Sirius said. "I know that the wedding is an open invitation but-,"

"But the rest of the palace is not. This isn't even the wedding until tomorrow. Come. We'll escort you back to the ceremony hall. That place is safest for everyone."

Sirius looked ready to protest, but the remaining guards took up sides on him and began walking back the way they had come leaving an invisible Harry all alone.

Damn it!

'What's wrong?' Farnese asked.

We already got split up. Sirius is on his way back to you.

'Should we abort?'

'No,' Sirius voice cut in. 'They don't suspect us or what we're up to. Harry, if you're still up for it...' he let the sentence hang.

I'll find it, trust me.

Knowing where these stairs now led, Harry continued along the path knowing Rakshas had scampered off in the other direction. At the top of the stairs, he was faced with an intersection of sorts. His left path felt strangely empty as did the path forward. The path to his right... was overflowing with od. Massive, unholy od and he knew what he would find if he went along that path.

Taking a chance, Harry got out his staff and began inscribing a rune on the corner of the wall. Sirius had already put many up with Luca yesterday and he could at least put some up in the palace itself. He watched as the rune glowed purple before fading like it hadn't been placed. It wouldn't be good if someone noticed a glowing symbol n the wall but it would be very visible once activated.

If you still want, place some of those runes in the hall you're in. Not in plain sight, but discreetly. Harry conveyed to the two other mages before going along the right hall. He could do the same for Pandemonium.

He took a left and then a right and then left again before continuing straight. The feeling of the malicious od grew stronger with every step that he took. He had spotted a few human guards on his way, but they naturally didn't see him. He made sure they were out of sight before placing some more of those runes along the way.

He, at last, came upon a giant set of doors that seemed a much more faded color white than the rest of the interior and knew this would lead him to the bridge to the demonic gathering.

Before opening the door, Harry felt for any od signatures. There were a lot of them out there, but they were all contained. The bridge was clear of any additional life. Taking a deep breath, Harry had to use all his might with a bit of magic to push it open.

He stepped outside to a light bit of fog at his feet as he stood on the end of the bridge. it was wide enough, but it lacked any sort of guard rail. Apostles must like fearing for their lives to put their trust in something they could easily fall off of. Or maybe they were too arrogant to believe they could fall. Wait until they met Guts.

His footsteps made not a sound as he slowly walked the bridge, sensing for od every few seconds. He didn't plan on entering the floating circle, but he would get into a good spot to draw the rune proper. The closer it was, the more of an effect it would have.

When he finally reached his limit and could stand the feeling of the od no longer, Harry quickly, but accurately began to draw out the rune. He felt a massive sense of relief when he finished.

The rune outside of Pandemonium is in place. He made sure everyone mentally knew that.

"-eeehaa!"

Laughter!

There was od coming his way from the sphere. They were a distance away but would be upon him soon. He didn't know how soon, but before he could get back to the door. Harry swore his heart almost jumped into his throat at what he saw coming out of the fog toward him. Three War Demons. One wore a pig's helm, the other a frog's. The third was a figure Harry knew all too well. The hulking form of a human form Zodd. His dark fur pelt draped his broad shoulders and his weapons hung from his back and hip.

"You could have easily bested him, Captain, why not accept that fool's challenge?"

"The fights are starting to get stale. We need real blood! You can give us that, can't you, Captain?"

Zodd scowled at the two. "Fools. A true fight does not come from within there. You would know if either of you were a true warrior." He was close now.

"You're right, Captain," he didn't sound happy about it. "It would just be satisfying is all, seeing you break that magic-lover in half! Pthew!" he spat off the bridge.

They were starting to annoy the much larger apostle. "He has his own battle to fight. As do I." They were right by where Harry was, standing so close to the edge that if he took a step back, he'd be falling.

Harry tried to get his heart to stop beating so loudly that he feared it would burst out of his chest. They were passing him by now. Zodd was so close to touch as one of the demonic warrior's arms hung by his side as he walked. It almost felt a flutter as his large knuckles seemed to brush the silky fabric.

Zodd's pace slowed.

Harry stood stock still. He didn't move. He didn't dare blink, swallow or even breath.

Those red, cat-like eyes seemed to stare right at him where he thought he felt something.

"Captain?" one War Demon asked.

Zodd turned his gaze away but from the corner, Harry could almost see the sharpened teeth as the apostle seemed to grin.

"Come," Zodd said, walking away. "If you desire the taste and thrill of real blood, seek Irvine in the forest. Catch your own food."

What?

"As you say, Captain," both followed after him. Zodd easily pulled the door open and held it still, casting a glance to the seemingly empty bridge.

Was he actually...?

Harry took a tentative step, willing his feet to make no sound as he walked toward the now open door.

He barely had time to process as Zodd let go of the door before Harry even reached the threshold, causing him to rush as quickly as possible through before it shut.

"Do you fools know the way?" Zodd asked the two.

"Of course, Captain!" the boar-helm stated. He began to head right when Zodd's massive hand grabbed him by the gorget and tossed him aside like a doll.

"Captain!"

"Incompetent," Zodd bullied past them and to the left. "You'd lead us astray." His two underlings grumbled but followed after their captain. As he departed, Zodd spared a half-glance over his shoulder in the direction they would have gone.

Not willing to follow after the apostles, Harry made his way in the opposite direction, confused by Zodd's actions just now but not believing he was in danger of being ratted out. The od was lesser over here and far less malicious. As far as Harry was concerned, that was a good sign.

Once his heart rate dropped back to normal, Harry took the time to place some more runes along the way. He actually did manage to get turned around more than once due to Rickert only having partial knowledge of this place, so Harry took the chance of actively seeking out od signatures for him to get better bearings of where he was going. And as long as it was far from Pandemonium, he was fine with it.

Right, left, left, straight, right, right, left, straight, right, the palace almost seemed to come alive and actively try to keep him from finding the room he was looking for. He was just about ready to mentally contact the others when he moved to the side of the corridor as a blonde lady scampered through. A lady he had seen before.

Anna.

Recognizing her as Charlotte's handmaiden and friend, Harry followed after her.

Having lived in the palace for months, Anna naturally knew where she was going. Because of that, Harry kept close, memorizing her every direction until, at last, they came upon an elegant looking door. Anna knocked a few times and called out.

"Your Highness, it's me! I have the flowers that you requested from the gardens."

"Come in!" came Charlotte's reply.

Anna opened the door and Harry quickly followed her in before she could shut the door. The bedroom they were in was empty but the door to the adjacent study was very much ajar. Sitting at her desk and looking at her reflection was the very person Harry was here for. She smiled at Anna, seeing her friend.

"Thank you so much, Anna! These are perfect. Thank you!"

Anna blushed at the compliments. "Oh, you needn't thank me. I'm just doing my part to serve."

"You're being a good friend," Charlotte added. "For that, I'll be sure you get the bouquet when I throw it. You deserve happiness of your own."

"You're too kind, Charlotte."

Almost feeling guilty about doing this, Harry moved to a corner of the bedroom where they couldn't see him and got his staff to cast a near-silent, "Confundus!" at Anna.

"I- oh!"

"Anna?" Charlotte asked in concern. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, I'm fine. I just... believe I forgot something somewhere. Would you please excuse me?"

Charlotte smiled fondly. "Of course, my friend."

Anna apologized again before leaving the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Charlotte retreated back to her study, shutting the door behind her as well.

Making his move, Harry cast a silencing charm on the door hinges to ensure they made no noise. Pressing his ear against the door, Harry could hear her humming and singing to herself. When he tried to open it, he found it unable to budge. She had locked herself in.

Remembering a rather useful spell, Harry incited, "Alorhomora."

The tiniest of clicks could be heard. Slowly, he inched the door open and peeked inside. Charlotte was staring into her mirror on her desk as her wedding dress was in place on a mold. The flowers rested in a vase on her desk as she played around with her hair. The door opened further and her blue eyes caught a quick glance of it now ajar.

Charlotte turned in her seat to look behind her, seeing no one but a slightly open door. She called, "Anna?"

The sun was a nice orange as he stared out over the balcony of his solar. It should have felt warm against his skin, but all he felt was a tiny prickle. In the right angle, it would shine off his armor and blind those who stood in his way.

Those numbers were few now, but not nonexistent.

They were still out there and he saw to it that they were properly placated.

No use in them. Even if they knew it or not, they were his subjects. They carried his brand, their lives were his. He owned them, body and soul.

But it was far too much to ask that they simply just stay out of his affairs as he was now learning the hard way.

Only minutes ago General Owen, one who supported Griffith initially, came rushing into his solar with grave news.

"Lord Griffith! There's been an intruder!"

"What has happened?" How had he not felt it before now? "What intruder?"

"Sir," Owen looked troubled, "the Queen-,"

"Has this person been caught?" If only he could say, 'for your sake.'

Owen gave a curt but nervous nod. "He has. He's in the holding cells if you wish to question him."

"No." But I will. "Take me to see my betrothed. I wish to see if she is alright." And expectations must be met.

"Of course."

The walk seemed longer than usual before they arrived at the Queen's chambers. She was not in her room, rather her study. She sat almost stock still in her desk chair as a number of handmaidens gathered around her including the one she was fond of. Her clothing was untarnished but her eyes seemed to be staring off into space, blinking and still showing awareness and talking quietly to the blonde girl.

So weak. To think this was the same stock as the line Void's past life was tied to.

"Your Highness," General Laban was present as well. "Griffith is here."

She didn't show any positive reaction to that news. He could deal without her crying her eyes out.

"Queen Charlotte?" Laban spoke softly.

This was getting nowhere. He put a hand on Laban's shoulder and came up alongside the girl. "Charlotte, my love?" he reached a hand out to her as well.

She saw his hand approaching and that elicited a reaction. She reached a hand out to his but stopped before she could touch him. Her blue eyes were locked onto his hand but she refused to move. Instead, her eyes went up to his face. She was studying him, taking in every detail of his face - of Griffith's face.

"...G-griffith?"

"Yes. Are you alright?"

She wouldn't stop staring at his face. "Griffith?"

"Yes." We established this. He leaned closer. "Are you alright? Have you been harmed?"

Her eyes widened. "No!" the room was silent. She seemed aware of that. "No. He didn't touch me."

It wasn't like she was a virgin anyway.

"That is relieving to hear. I'm told that the intruder has been apprehended and in a cell if that is comforting to you."

"...It is." Still looking at his face. It was annoying.

"I can understand if you'd want to postpone the wedding tomorrow, you know." But that won't happen. Causality wills it so.

"...No. No. I'm fine. I... want to go through with this. I... have to." She said the last so softly.

"Would you like me to stay a little longer?"

Her eyes never left his face. It was annoying and weird. "No. I... have Anna and General Laban here. I... feel safe."

He nodded, glad to be done with that. "Owen, take me to the intruder."

He really shouldn't have been surprised to see who was locked in that cell. Dark, messy hair, wire glasses, emerald eyes, and lightning scar. What a sight to behold.

"We found these on him when he was detained," Owen showed him what was confiscated on a table.

One sword, a staff, a silvery cloak that just felt off, a basin, a figurine that seemed to radiate magical energy, a few totems, and a ring of green hair that looked tied to fit a finger.

How did he not know he was here until now?

"Thank you, Owen, you may leave us." His tone was formal, but left no room for arguments. Owen bowed and left the two alone in the otherwise empty jail room.

He stared down through the bars at the branded human being who just glared at him.

"You know, if you wanted an invitation to the wedding, all you had to do was ask."

The wizard spat at his feet.

"My, trying to act like Guts? You're a bit out of your weight class. And he wouldn't be interested in talking at all." He waited. No response. "I wonder, would Casca give me the same treatment as you are now? She could never stop when it came to-,"

"Shut the fuck up about her."

Ah, there it was.

"Why? Is she not grateful for giving her the gift of motherhood? I did that for her. Is she not happy?"

Harry slowly walked forward and grabbed the bars, his green eyes meeting with his blue.

"Your glare has improved. Last he remembers you were a scared little boy. Slan would certainly be impressed."

"Are you going to have her torture me then?"

"I don't believe I mentioned torture. I just came to talk is all."

"I don't believe you."

He shrugged. "To be expected. That is fine with me. I don't need to ask questions to figure out how you got in here." He grabbed a torch from the wall and brought it over to the table where his items were. He held the flame close to each, observing the boy's reaction. "Ah, is this it?" He picked up the silvery cloak. When he put it over his arm, it seemed to vanish. "Invisibility. How useful." That solved that question. "But why go after the Queen?" he knew why. "Did you somehow find out through an acquaintance what would happen?"

He said nothing.

"Silence is golden. I really don't know what you expected to happen, but I'm sure you know the consequences."

The glare intensified. "Yeah."

"Hm. You seem to know quite a lot. Did you also know that a certain someone has very much wanted to meet you in this city?"

"Voldemort." He still glared at him. "When can I expect a visit from him?"

"He doesn't know you're here. And I won't tell him. Not until the wedding has passed. It'd be in poor taste to kill a guest during a ceremony." He made ready to leave. "If only the same could be said for Guts and Casca."

A/N: Hey, sorry for the delay. I was sick for a few days and the new Smash Bros game has... well, you get the point. Longest chapter yet and this and the next one are the preface before the war. Thank you for reading.


	68. Chapter 68: Blessed Day

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

Today had finally arrived. It was the day she had been looking forward to for years now since she was in her teens and first gotten to know the charming hero of Midland. Now, she was to be married to him on her twentieth birthday. The feelings of excitement and wanting mixing with uncertain notions of longing were building in her chest as she moved a slender hand up to her bosom.

And still, she felt nervous.

It can't possibly be true, could it?

A brief moment of doubt.

Charlotte shook her head. This was no time for doubt. She knew all there was to know, yes? She closed her eyes and felt her fingers brush across the skin above her heart. All she had to do was believe, to have faith.

And... I know that I have to be sure where I put my faith.

The sun was barely up, she had not gotten much sleep - no. She had not gotten any sleep at all since the previous evening. But she did not feel tired.

Anna had even stayed by her side all night as a means of comfort but by now it felt more like Anna was trying to comfort herself and her own guilt about leaving her when there had been an intruder in the palace.

"The whole thing was my fault!" Anna exclaimed for the twelfth time since she awoke from where she had passed out on Charlotte's bed. She sounded as nervous as Charlotte felt on the inside before she tried her hardest to push those feelings away or to hide from them.

"Do not blame yourself, Anna," she told her long-time servant and friend. "What would you have even done anyway?" it sounded harsher than she meant it to but she didn't utter an apology after. What good would it do?

The blonde girl hardly seemed too concerned by the tone. "I would have stayed, of course! A young, beautiful lady such as yourself needs to have those she can trust around. You're far more important than you realize."

"Because of my blood?" Charlotte asked, surprising Anna a bit.

"Not just that and your titles, but your standing with the city and Lord Griffith," Anna listed. "This is your city as much as his, you know."

She nodded. "I do."

That would have normally been enough to satisfy anyone questioning her, but Anna was perceptive of her response. "Queen Charlotte, are you alright?" Anna brought the back of her hand to feel Charlotte's forehead. "You seem awful... well, to put it frankly, wooden. Are you positive that... that... rapscallion didn't do anything to you?"

"He didn't do anything to me," Charlotte truthfully told. "It is over and he has been detained. May we please not discuss him anymore?"

To that, Anna nodded obediently. "Of course. But let me just mention that no one will blame you for wanting to postpone the wedding for a few more days. Lord Griffith would be more than understanding."

"That is kind of you to offer, but my mind has been made up." Has it? "I've waited for this day for far too long. Besides, it would be poor manners to have all the assembled guests leave now just to return shortly after. Whatever I may have experienced earlier cannot come in the way of my decision. What kind of queen would I be if I didn't listen to the needs of my people?"

Her response seemed more than enough to satisfy the doubt that Anna had. "Well, I'm certainly joyed to see you find your resolve. Shall I help you get your dress on? Or perhaps get your hair ready? What about-?"

"Could you perhaps go and get a few more flowers from the gardens for the bouquet?" Charlotte interjected by giving Anna a proper task to set her mind to. A bouquet would be nice.

"Oh! Of course, at once!" Anna politely bowed her head as she scampered out of the Queen's chambers. Charlotte caught sight of Sir Laban and one other knight stationed outside her room as Anna left to fulfill her given task. They had been there since the intrusion and would remain by her side until she was safely down the aisle and at the altar with Griffith. She wished they would stay.

He wasn't tired.

Harry hadn't slept all night in the cell below Falconia and he wasn't feeling tired at all.

And even if by some miracle he did manage to get a lick of sleep in this place, it wouldn't have been a pleasant one. The bed wasn't as uncomfortable as it could have been. He very easily could have been made to sleep on a bed of spikes or in a pile of manure. By all standards, this cot wasn't too dissimilar to the one Luca had back at her inn. He chalked it up to being Falconia really didn't have many prisoners, to begin with as he was the only one in this entire block. The more unlikely reason being was that Neo-Griffith wanted him to feel comfortable.

That would be more unnerving.

It wasn't as if he didn't know what would happen if he had gotten caught. They had discussed as much before as well. The problem here now - aside from the obvious- was that he had been stripped of his staff and even the hairs Schierke had tied around his finger making it impossible for him to communicate with anyone now. Those hairs and the accompanying thought transference had come in handy more than once and were a means of fail-safe in the event he couldn't produce a Patronus to send a message and vice-versa.

Harry doubted Farnese, Serpico, Sirius, and the rest had been found out though. If they had, they wouldn't be down here with him though. Neo-Griffith wouldn't chance putting them all together where they could figure out a means of escape. If they had been found, they might have been killed on the spot or made into entertainment for some rather vicious apostles.

But would that happen? Neo-Griffith had spoken to him the previous evening letting him know that he would rather save any bloodshed until after the wedding. If he lived up to that remained to be seen. But one thing was evident though; he would be turned over to Voldemort when this was all done.

He tried to picture himself facing off against the man obsessed with him in the fighting pit in Pandemonium while the spectating apostles spit and cheered them on. Even if he did manage to defeat Voldemort then, he would be offered up as a snack for all those apostles. That is if he was even fit to fight.

It was hard to tell what part of the morning it was, but the bars on the wall did allow some sunlight to trickle through. That was also when the torturer arrived.

The man was tall and lanky and wore a clean smock over his regular tunic. On the table just outside of Harry's cell, he began laying out a roll of cloth with various tools and instruments on it. From what Harry could see they ranged from metal hooks and knives to nailed whips and pliers. He seemed keen on the whip as he rolled it around with his wrist to get a proper feel for it and lashed it against the wall a few times for practice.

"You're awfully quiet, you know?" the torturer asked, sparing a look at where Harry sat expressionlessly on his cot, resembling a plank of wood rather than a person. "Are you not afraid at all?"

"...Not for this."

"Well, I was once from Chuder. They developed all sorts of torturer methods there. It's been so long since I've gotten to do my job. But for the crime of breaking into the Queen's chambers, I can imagine the sort of punishment that will entail. I may seem a bit rusty so I can only guarantee that it will hurt a lot less than it is supposed to."

"And what would that be?" a new voice asked, cutting into the near silent dungeon block.

"Ah, General," the torturer gave a bow of the neck. "Do you wish to interrogate the prisoner before I start?"

"I've come to interrogate, but also to inform you that your actions are not necessary. Lord Griffith said he is not to be touched. If I were you, I'd pack up now before you find yourself cleaning out chamberpots."

With a clearly disappointed sigh, the torturer packed up his instruments and made his exit and shooting Harry a rather pointed look as he did so. It was then that Harry's savior stepped into proper sight for him to see.

It was a tall man with chin-length blonde hair and a strong jaw. "Fancy that we'd be meeting like this." He pulled over a stool from the desk and sat down. "I'm not sure if you remember me but we've met before on a few occasions. I'm-,"

"Sir Owen," Harry interjected as politely as possible. "The last time we spoke was in Vritannis before Emperor Ganishka attacked."

Owen seemed relieved that he needed no introduction. "Proof that even the most mundane of things can seem relevant now. You are called Harry Potter if I remember correctly" He tried to give a reassuring look without a smile. "Much has happened since then. I'm now General Owen and captain of Falconia's guard. As such, it's only my place to ask you questions. And if I recall our last conversation in Vritannis, you were interested in talking."

"A lot has happened to all of us since then," Harry affirmed. "Griffith talked to me last night, he knows how I got in."

Owen nodded. "Did it have anything to do with any of the items you had on you? Magical perhaps?"

Harry looked at the knight in the eyes. "How much did he tell you?"

"Lord Griffith hasn't spoken to me since last night either," Owen informed. "But it was I who confiscated and locked your items away. The contents were far too bizarre to not be anything less than out of the ordinary. Am I wrong?"

"Would it be a moot point to ask where you put them?"

"It would. Are you planning on escaping?"

"Not really much I can do now, magic or otherwise."

Owen looked a bit skeptical at that. "So you fully admit then to possessing magic? Do you understand what this could mean?"

"I've already signed my death warrant, haven't I?" Harry rhetorically asked.

"You might be granted a pardon," Owen said, much to his surprise. "Listen, when last we spoke in Vritannis, you were in the company of the Black Swordsman - a man who reportedly traveled the land killing the creatures which now help to protect the city. I have my fair share of problems with them, but they've proved useful. The Black Swordsman is the Hundred-Man Slayer, the Hawks Raiders Captain. You all used to ride with Griffith, why not now as well? I'd be prepared to pledge my word that you would serve Falconia loyally. I just need to know, what is your purpose for being here? What does the Queen have to do with this?"

It didn't seem in Owen's nature to lie about his intentions, but that didn't change Harry's answer. "You ask for something that I can't and won't do. Riding with him again, it couldn't be done. If you want to know, just ask him. I'd love to hear what he says. And I can understand you wanting to look after the Queen. I did come here to abduct her."

Owen's gaze turned steel for a second before it lessened to his regular look. "Somehow I don't fully believe you." He rose from the stool he had been sitting on. He cast an apologetic glance to Harry before walking down the line of cells and closing the door behind him. The sound of the door locking shut was the only sound that occupied the space as Harry sat there on his cot, alone with only his thoughts.

She truly does look the part of a queen.

That was Laban's thought as he saw Charlotte for the first time in her wedding dress.

As per her own request, Charlotte had hand-made the entire dress herself, putting much time and effort into doing so to her own exact specifications. Like all wedding dresses, it was a pure white, reflecting Charlotte's own pure naivety along with the clean color of Falconia and her soon-to-be spouse. She had yet to put her veil on as she was still in the process of finalizing her hair which was a perfect princess curl as of now. For the dress itself, Laban found it to be quiet modest for someone of a Queen's importance. Little skin was visible and the neck of the dress was a bit higher and laid than what he was used to seeing her in. It had something to do with Charlotte fearing that her neck was too long. The length was shorter, however, still covering all of her legs but leaving enough to trail along behind her in her wake when she would walk down the aisle but it was nothing of the sort where people would have to hold the fabric up. For the torso seemed to be where the most creative process took place. He could see she had created what looked like wings or feather designs near the shoulders and arms to reflect Griffith's chosen sigil of a hawk in flight. But closer to the mid-section seemed to be an almost rib-like design that clung to her sides and culminated in a white heart just beneath her bosom. And for the finishing touch, she was wearing the heirloom that had once belonged to her mother around her neck.

"You truly do look beautiful, Queen Charlotte."

She laid out a pair of white gloves on her desk before looking up at the veteran knight. "Thank you, Sir Laban." Her voice sounded distant.

"I mean it, Your Highness. Lord Griffith is the luckiest man in the world today. Savior of Humanity or not, I would not hesitate to strike him if he should ever dishonor you."

That seemed to elicit a small, almost bittersweet smile from the Queen. "That is kind of you to say, but it will not come to that."

Laban nodded. "You still wish for me to walk you down the aisle?"

"Of course," Charlotte easily said. "I would find it a great comfort to have one so loyal by my side."

There came a knock on the chamber door. The guard stationed outside announced, "General Laban, Queen Charlotte, Miss Anna has returned."

"Let her in please," Charlotte said, sounding relieved. The stationary guard had been his and Owen's idea. It did stand to reason that there might be another attempt to abduct the Queen, or worse.

Not a second later, the door was opened and the face of the blonde girl appeared holding half a dozen flowers in her hand. "Forgive my tardiness, Queen Charlotte, but I couldn't exactly make up my mind of which would go best in your bouquet. Red is such a passionate color, but blue would bring out your eyes and your necklace. Green also seemed lively and the violet is such a rich, well, violet that I couldn't resist and - please forgive me, Your Highness. It isn't proper for a lady in waiting to cause you to stress on your own wedding day." On the contrary. It seemed that Anna was stressing out over this while Charlotte smiled softly at her companion.

"Thank you, Anna. I couldn't have asked for better." Charlotte took both the violet and blue flowers from the other girl and added them to her bouquet. She might have even added another flower of her own, or so Laban thought. "These look beautiful."

Anna sighed, knowing that she had done her task well. "As long as you're pleased with them, that's all I could ask for."

"Well, it will certainly be easier for you to spot now when our Queen tosses it after the ceremony," Laban lightly jested with the handmaiden.

"I have no earthly idea what you're referring to," Anna said with rosy cheeks. It was hard for the other two occupants not to share a brief chuckle at her reaction. It warmed Laban to see his Queen happy, to give a genuine laugh with a warm smile on her face. Griffith had better do everything possible in his power to make sure she stayed that way until she was old and grey.

charlotte quieted her chuckle and her face turned to a more neutral smile. "Will you help me with my hair then, Anna?"

"Of course. I thought that you would never ask. How would you like it?" Anna asked sitting Charlotte back down in the chair facing her mirror. "Are you planning on keeping it down and free or all done up?"

"Some of both, I admit. I know I definitely want two bangs to frame my face. The rest can be done in braids and tied behind in a bun."

Anna ran Charlotte's princess curls through her hands. "Seems a bit simple for an occasion such as this. I can do so much with your hair, you know."

"I do," Charlotte admitted. "But even if it is simple, Griffith should love me for me, not just how I look or what I hold. How else would I know if not for an honest approach?"

As Anna continued to work with Charlotte's hair, another knock came from the door.

"General Owen is here, sir," the vigil announced.

"I understand," Laban replied. "Your Highness, would you mind if Owen were to join us?"

"Not at all," the Queen answered as Anna began to tie most of her hair behind her head.

The door opened and the blonde knight stepped in. He and Laban exchanged a nod and a friendly knock of their armguards. "I do hope that I'm not interrupting anything."

"It is customary that only the groom not see a bride before the wedding, is it not?" Charlotte asked, strangely rhetorically. "I do not mind your presence here, good sir."

Owen bowed with a small smile present. "It pleases me to see you in good spirits. My men and I have done another sweep of the palace, we haven't found anyone sneaking about." He cast a look over to Laban like there was more he wanted to tell him. "Of course, I suspect some unconventional methods might have been used in the infiltration. That didn't seem to stop you though, Miss Anna. It was you who discovered the intruder was it not?"

"If that's how you want to phrase it," Anna said, not missing a beat while she fixed up the Queen's hair. "I come back to check up on her highness after a few hours and find this young man standing there. All I did was scream, it was your men who apprehended him. And it best not to talk about it now considering how inappropriate the whole ordeal was."

Owen nodded in apology and Laban looked to Charlotte's expression in the mirror. Her expression seemed to have saddened but there was still a hopeful light in her eyes. It was indeed distasteful to bring up mention of the intrusion even if nothing came of it. The culprit and Queen Charlotte insisted that he had not touched or harmed her. If he had, his head would be in a basket right now. They had gotten lucky that in the three-hour span Charlotte was alone after Anna left the first time that no harm had befallen her.

"It is in the past now," Charlotte calmly spoke up. "But... I am curious. What has happened to the intruder?"

"Your Highness?" Owen asked.

"I ask to grant myself peace of mind. What has become of him?"

Not about to refuse the Queen, Owen answered, "He is locked in a cell in the lower levels. I visited him earlier this morning to interrogate information out of him. Would you like to know what he told me?"

"If you tell, I shall listen," Charlotte replied.

"His name is Harry Potter," Owen began. "As it turns out, he has a history with our esteemed Lord Griffith. He used to serve in the original Band of the Hawk and I last saw him while I was in Vritannis. He was traveling with the former Raiders Captain turned Black Swordsman." Laban's eyes widened at the name. He had heard the rumors of the man who left devastation in his wake. "But he seems to have come here on his own for reasons still unknown."

Once more, Laban observed Charlotte's reaction in the mirror. She looked neither surprised or expected. She sat there with a neutral face. "Ah, I see. Thank you for uncovering some truth into this matter. And thank you, Anna, for doing my hair." Her hair was done to her exact specification. "Would you mind running and obtaining a roll and some fruit for me? From what I've been told, I'll rarely get a chance to eat at my reception and I don't want to get dizzy walking down the aisle and trip."

"I understand, Your Highness. I'll return shortly." Anna hiked her dress up around her heels as she scurried to go and carry out the Queen's request.

"Is there anything else we might be of your assistance?" Laban politely asked. This was to be her day. Any request, no matter how obscure, would be met.

She seemed to ponder her reply. "There is one thing I was forgetting and I hope it would be of no hassle despite how mad it might sound."

"You need only name it, Your Highness," both Laban and Owen dedicated their services to the young queen.

She seemed very relieved. "Very well. And thank you. Both of you."

He wasn't hungry.

He hadn't been fed since he had been arrested, the last meal having been back at Luca's place. But much like his bodily need for sleep, Harry felt none of the compulsions to consume anything. Even if he was hungry, he doubted that he would eat it. Doing so would be akin to accepting a hand-out from the same being who had forfeited not only his life but the lives of everyone else he had cared for as well.

It was a pretty stupid decision on his end to do so considering he was to be pitted against Voldemort by tomorrow at the latest and he would need all the energy that he could get. But no one had stopped by since Owen had visited, no meal had been dropped off and thankfully the torturer had not returned either. He was just left here all on his own.

Or he would have been.

From down the cell ward near the only door in or out, the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps could be heard approaching. Maybe someone was being sent to check up on him, to make sure he wasn't up to any sort of trouble. They would be in for a disappointment.

Those thoughts were quickly squashed when he could discern the guards' voice from the other side saying, "You-you're not permitted to- uh..."

Creekraa!

The door opened and closed with a meticulous groan on the hinges sounding like they were about to be torn off. Harry sat up straighter on the cot, a sense of curiousness and suspense raced through his body as the footsteps got ever closer to where his cell was at the end of the ward.

When the footsteps stopped and Harry's newest visitor appeared in front of the bars of his cell, he was grateful for the separation, not that it would matter too much if this was to be anything less than an exchange of words.

Harry debated if he should speak first or not, it couldn't hurt his chances - well, it could, but if he knew anything about the one standing just past his cell bars with a neutral expression, it was that he would see the strength and conviction behind him if he did.

"You're... not who I was expecting," Harry said after a long, bated breath.

His visitor observed the state he was in. "And what were you expecting to happen?" his heavy voice was a low knife cutting through the dark. "You made me reconsider you - a human I was starting to hold to high standards. You must have been desperate to come here as you did." His cat-like eyes held traces of cruel mirth. "Was I wrong about you?"

Harry felt an involuntary clenching of his fist on the sheets beneath him. "Is that why you let me go before? You knew that I was there."

"I did not know that it was you, but who else could it have been?" the apostle asked rhetorically. "Certainly not the one I have grown to respect. Such stealth is not the way of a warrior such as him. It had to had to have been you or the woman who is his mate."

"And you would have done the same for either of them?" Harry asked. So far, Zodd had yet to directly threaten him but they both knew that the bars would not hold him back if he wanted to maul him at any second. It didn't seem in the apostles' nature to have idle talks, but if he wasn't here to main Harry, he could at least try to figure out his action from the day previous on the bridge.

"For the woman, yes. Not for the Black Swordsman." Zodd casually answered the question. "Does that give you any indication as to why I let you pass?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, if only slightly. "You would have fought him in there and then."

He received an affirmative, "Hm," in response. "I perceived you as the more empathetic one."

"And you know what empathy is?" Harry almost challenged.

That actually seemed to elicit the closest thing Harry had seen to a toothy grin on the apostle when he wasn't fighting. "Time has faded many things, but the smallest of traces still remain. I would have continued with my fight against my old rival that day of the Eclipse if he had not returned with the three of you wounded. A pointless victory it would have been. But the Black Swordsman, he would have understood."

"Understood what exactly?" Harry cautioned.

"Think, Wizard. What have you seen in this city, what have you been told of it?"

"Aside from this palace and that sphere of madness, it's a place of safety for humans." And it seemed to click with Harry. "And you hate that."

Zodd gave what might have been a throaty chuckle. "So easily they forget how this paradise of theirs sprang up into existence. They forget the feeling of survival for complacency. These people - their Queen especially rely on the strength and ability of others that they would live as parasites. Do you understand now, Wizard? You coming here would have been the spark for a true fight ahead. If you had succeeded in your goal to capture that girl, it would have been the best thing to happen to this city."

Harry took pause to see the wild gleam that seemed to have ignited in the apostle's eyes. "And is that why you've come? Are you turning against the God Hand?"

"I still value strength and the White Hawk is the strongest there is," Zodd shot down the notion. "I care little for him or his plan but I find it strange that you would ask that of me when my old rival is your ally." What did Skull Knight have to do with this? Zodd noticed the confusion. "Has he not told you?" it sounded like the dryest of scoffs. "Months ago, he came to me to talk.*"

"About what?"

"The very same girl you came here for. Perhaps some semblance of familial bong exists within him. I would not be betraying the Hawk by simply watching her, seeing if she possessed the same mettle that those of her family had long ago. I was not as disappointed as I should have been." Harry said nothing. "He spoke words of promise that if any of you were to succeed in your endeavor that the battle that I yearned for would come to fruition."

"You might still be getting that, won't you?" Harry asked. "Me being here is cause enough, isn't it?"

Zodd's red cat-like eyes stared down at Harry's bright green. He turned to leave. "I have no doubt that you'll overcome the one who pursues you. That would be a match I would watch without contempt. And for that, you have my thanks, Wizard." His heavy footsteps seemed quieter as he left. The door slamming shut was all that was left.

"It's almost time! It's almost time!" a happy Elize practically bounced around on her feet.

Charlotte found it hard not to smile at the younger girl. She had so much energy about her today that she could not contain it, maybe imagining the day her own wedding would come. The young Queen knew that feeling all too well herself and could not blame Minister Foss' daughter at all. It sent an almost aching feeling through Charlotte that she found herself wishing that she should've made the dress a bit looser.

"Calm yourself, Elize," Minister Foss lightly scolded his daughter. "You have been given a very important job for today and you wouldn't want to disappoint the Queen, would you?"

Elize stopped her fidgeting. "Sorry, father."

She had been assigned the duty as lead flower girl for the ceremony. Being Foss' daughter and one of Charlotte's favorite young ladies, she was given the task upon request. They were currently gathered in Charlotte's chambers, waiting for the moment they were to walk down to the main ceremony hall for the proceedings to begin. Even from here, she could already hear some of the music making its way up along the labyrinth of corridors as the band entertained the assembled guests and practiced until her arrival.

"I'm glad to see you so full of joy, Elize," Charlotte told the young maiden. "I could benefit from seeing such emotion."

Elize's smile faltered a bit. "Are you not happy, Your Highness? You're to be married today." Minister Foss seemed to perspire a little from nerves.

"I suppose I just feel a little overwhelmed is all. I've envisioned how this day would happen many times over, but now... it is finally here." Charlotte picked up her bouquet and firmly grasped the stems and adjusted the flowers and content within so everything was tuckered in place. "But... when I hear him speak, to give his answer when asked, maybe I'll find a better peace of mind."

No one quite knew what to say to her, and she did not blame them for such. She didn't even really know if she could say anything to herself either. But right now with Elize, Minister Foss, Sirs Laban and Owen, and Anna, she was not alone. For that she was grateful. It made it feel easier.

The sound of the music coming from down below got louder, signaling as a cue almost that everyone was ready and waiting.

"Are you ready then, Your Highness?" Laban asked her. "You are ready to proceed?"

"It would be improper to keep the guests waiting," Charlotte answered as they made ready to file out. Her legs which had started to feel all tingly and cold now felt like as if they were connected to strings. They moved seemingly on their own following behind Elize and her basket of flowers while Charlotte kept a firm hold of her own with her white-gloved hands.

Step by step they walked down, each one carrying them closer to the ceremony on such a beautiful and impossible day. She was glad she had not forgotten about her thin veil. How impossible it would be without it.

Even from a place as low as the dungeon, Harry could hear the music playing from up above. It was good music, but it seemed more akin to a taunt to him than anything else. An anthem of victory rather than something that ought to be played at a wedding. But honestly, what else could he expect from Neo-Griffith? Harry found it hard not to roll his eyes at the thought despite being alone in his cell once again.

His thoughts drifted to Guts, Casca, Schierke and the rest that remained behind at Doldrey. as far as he knew, Farnese and the rest were still alive and unhindered, they were able to mentally communicate with everyone else and let them know how things were going. Well, for them, at least.

With his gear confiscated, he would first have to find a way to bust out of here to get to it, maybe send a Patronus if it was strong enough to carry a message or even take a full form. It was something that he had given a fair bit of thought to considering that was all he currently could do while stuck here. He considered his options and decided that there was probably only one real way he could get out of here, but even then it was out of his hands.

That didn't mean that it wasn't a possibility, he just wasn't sure how likely it was to happen. It would have been a sudden decision and he would have to move fast if he did get out because of it. If it actually came to fruition, of course.

"What are you doing here?"

The sudden voice caught him off guard, but he thought he did well to hide his shock. The voice came not from the bars that separated him the outside ward, but from the bars on the wall that separated him from the outside.

Standing there - or rather, floating there was a girl with an antenna on her head above a pair of large bug-like eyes that complemented her green bioluminescent skin tone. An almost child-like pout was on her face that seemed more mature than it should have.

Harry blinked neutrally as he regarded the girl he had encountered once before.

"I could ask you the same thing, Rosine."

"I asked you first," the young apostle countered, showing her immature side along with it.

"Do you honestly care?" Harry asked looking up at her insect-like face. "Or are you just here to gloat?"

Rosine seemed to blink with her insect eyes. "Gloat about what? I didn't catch you. Even if I had found you, I would've-," Rosine stopped herself and glared off to the side.

"'Would've' what?" Harry pressed, not really caring about her answer either way. He was just curious.

"Forget it," Rosine dismissed. "You still haven't told me why you're here."

"And again, do you really care?" he tried to place a motive to her being here.

Rosine seemed to shrug. "I'm bored. And if you really want to know, I'm asking for myself. It seems fitting for me to act selfish, doesn't it?"

Looking at her now, she didn't seem to hold any ill will toward him at the moment. Sure, she seemed miffed that he had yet to answer her, but he saw none of that crazed looked she had back at the Misty Valley. She almost seemed... empty.

"I guess I wanted to change things," Harry finally answered. "All the bad that happened, all that is going to happen, I wanted to change it."

"And so you came to the most hostile place for you to go? Great plan, dummy."

"What? You don't think I didn't consider it might turn out like this for me?" Harry asked her with a bit of fire. "I honestly thought I would be dead right now so I'm doing better than what I thought."

"You could still be on your way to being dead," Rosine said as she rested her chin in her palm.

"And are you going to go against the wishes of your master and kill me then?" Harry asked, seemingly surprising her. "You know, I actually felt pretty sorry for you back then. From what Jill told me, your past wasn't too different from my own. Part of me hoped you would have just given up and tried to live like a regular girl somewhere. Guess you proved me wrong."

"He isn't my master!" Rosine quietly shouted at him. "You're not an apostle, you can refuse his call. You don't know me or what it's like at all. If I honestly had a choice, do you think I would be here where I don't belong? Do you think I wouldn't want to live life as I intend?"

"I don't know what it's like, huh?" Harry repeated. "Do you think I don't know that pull he has about him? The feeling he gives off like he always knows what's going on? I know him better than you do." He was standing up now, standing directly in front of the bars that separated the two of them. Rosine honestly looked a bit taken aback by the look he was giving her. "Think I know now?"

Rosine's already large eyes seemed to have gotten a bit wider before she composed herself once more. "I think... I think that you're a hypocrite." She let it sink in. "Yeah. Yeah, you are! You were just going on about how you were similar to me, but you said you hoped I would have just lived a normal life? Well, look at you! Here you are trying to 'change everything' or some trash. You can't get away from this life any more than I can! You... you deserve whatever comes your way because of this, idiot!"

She was scared. Scared that he was right all along. But like the immature girl she was, she would not admit it.

"Maybe you're right then," Harry conceited.

That came as a twist to Rosine. "What?"

"I said, maybe you're right," Harry repeated himself. "No matter what I say or do, there are just things that I'll never be able to change. People's minds are one of them as I recently figured out. The only one who could change yours is you. Now, I really don't feel like arguing with you, so you win. You're right."

Rosine just hovered there, staring at him. Her mouth was trembling like she was debating to shout at him or not but couldn't seem to make up her mind. Her brow was furrowed as well and her eyes seemed to have forgotten how to move. She finally found her resolve. "Yeah, well-,"

She stopped talking. Her eyes that had once been frozen still were now all jittery and jolting about. Rosine looked terrified. Backing away from the bars, Rosine spread her wings and took flight. Harry didn't hear the gust of wind until she had gone.

Harry wondered what had caused the apostle girl to fly off in such a manner. He had clearly been getting under her skin, but he hadn't pegged her for so much of a child that she would up and walk away when things weren't going exactly how she wanted them to. She hadn't even come here to be openly hostile either. Much like Zodd had previously, she just seemed curious about him and his presence.

So what was it? What could have been the cause of her behavior just now? It could have been that Rosine was more attune to it, but Harry felt what it was not a second later.

Despite not having his staff on hand, he still had enough practice to sense the presence of od around him. Above, he could feel a mass gathering of people for the soon-to-be wedding. But from the sides, he felt only a cold shiver that not even the dementors from his world could possibly hope to rival.

The shadows around his cot seemed to be molding themselves, taking the shape of a humanoid being lying on its side. The wings protruding from the back seemed almost natural with the expression on the face as if they had always been there.

"This is a treat. Seeing you again after what feels like years. I confess myself saddened that I could not observe all of your doings."

Slan.

Unlike the two apostles, Harry did not speak back to this presence. Anger had a part to play in the reason why, but he also felt his voice would crack if he tried.

Her expression seemed to soften almost and she would have looked quite beautiful if he had been ignorant of her personality. "What's wrong?" she asked. "You appeared so at ease talking to that girl just now. Do I make you nervous?"

The lump in his throat went down with great difficulty and he tried to look anywhere but at the God Hand lying on the cot. "...Get out."

"'Get out?' Is that all? You're not even going to ask how we're here at all? Tsk. I'm disappointed."

We're? Harry wondered as he felt a pair of eyes boring into the back of his head.

He whipped around to the side, not wanting to turn his back on Slan. Floating upside down behind him was the blue grinning face and glasses of Ubik, the smallest and most impish of the God Hand.

"His mind has the question he is yet to speak, Slan. Can't you see it written on his face?"

"If he did indeed know everything about Falconia, he would not have come." This voice was deeper and more hollow. Rising from the floor was a plump figure with closed eyes and a gaping mouth. Conrad had emerged as well. Harry was now locked with three out of the five God Hand members.

"You are right, of course," Slan agreed with her companion. "I'll take a gamble with this one as he has become one of my favorites. Unlike Femto, we were not reincarnated into this world. Just confined to the city"

"But with the World Tree, travel from our world to this one is now open," Conrad continued.

"Where the tree exists, so do we," Ubik impishly finished.

"So where's Void?" Harry found the courage to ask. The God Hand usually stayed together.

Slan playfully rolled her eyes. "He couldn't be bothered with such a trivial matter and you needn't worry about it either."

"Kukuku!" Ubik chuckled as he floated around the cell. "You should be concerned about yourself, young wizard." Ubik was suddenly right in front of his face, his glasses shining with white light and Harry stepped back until his back was at the wall and unable to avoid the hovering God Hand.

As hard as Harry tried to avert his gaze from the dangerously dazzling light coming from Ubik's lenses, his eyes seemed to almost force themselves open and he was drawn in not too different to how his pensieve works.

He was a child again.

Sitting with his knees to his chest and wearing oversized clothing that he was practically swimming in if he were to move. A single lightbulb hung above his head, illuminating the particles of dust that floated in the cramped cupboard beneath the stairs.

This is where he was? Back here?

He could hear voices coming from the other side of the cupboard door. His body which felt much weaker now pressed his ear against the thin piece of wood.

"Oh, Petunia, Marge is ill. She'll be needing someone to watch her dogs for a few days."

That voice. He distinctly recalled that voice. It belonged to a bully walrus of a man; Vernon Dursley.

"How terrible," a woman's voice sounded. "Does she intend for us to take them in?" Even though Harry could not see her, he knew it belonged to the horse-faced Petunia Dursley.

"None of her neighbors will take them," Vernon said. "So sad. Now we'll have them to deal with along with the boy." He said the word boy with contempt like it was more of a mandatory chore than anything else.

"Could Figg perhaps watch for a few days?" Petunia offered.

"I'm not sure how the dogs would get on with all the cats she has," Vernon dismissed.

"No, the boy, not the dogs," Petunia also said boy like it was a disease. Although hers sounded more worried then it was contempt.

"Hm. I suppose so," Vernon mulled the thought over. "We have Dudley's birthday coming up this week and if he's having friends over after I don't want that freak ruining things for our son's big day."

There was the name of "freak." He remembered now, that was the other favorite name they had called him by.

"At what age did you even know your real name? Wasn't it once the teacher called your name in school?" an unseen voice whispered into his ear. Harry turned to see only a spider in its web. There was no shortage of those in the cupboard with him.

"I'm sure Figg wouldn't mind the company," Petunia affirmed the idea. "She needs someone to help her with that litter of hers. And her grass is getting much too high, it's drawing the attention of all the neighbors, but nothing a little hard work can't fix."

"You were only nine here, correct?" the same voice spoke again. He didn't answer.

"That's... just the way it always was," Harry said to himself more than anything else.

"Always was.

"And still is."

Looking back, Harry saw that the spider and the web were changing, growing into the shapes of Ubik and Conrad.

"A young life with only neglect," Conrad voiced.

"Hidden in the shadows, cast aside and forgotten," Ubik continued.

"Is it any reason as to why you are how you are?" Conrad asked.

"You claim to want to change the flow of causality when all you really desire is to be recognized," Ubik spoke. "To be a hero of your own path when doing so is as selfish as can be. Is it any wonder as to why we came close to offering you to become our apostle?"

"Deny as you may, you embody the same traits that every apostle," Conrad spoke again.

Ubik's glasses flashed again and Harry found himself staring at a blad, obese man with what had to be his wife and daughter. "Justice." The wife disappeared and the man was now a slug apostle with two maws and eye stalks protruding from the side of his head.

Another flash and he saw a young squire get unhorsed by a lance. His dark locks were dirty and coated with sweat and dirt. "An idle version." The squire was a seated knight now, his locks were in perfect order on his stoic face.

Again it happened. Harry was staring at an old man lay dying in a dirty gutter somewhere. "To feel alive." The man was younger now and had a wild look in his eye as he pulled a woman onto his lap.

Once more. He saw a man slumped against the wall of a tavern in the woods. Bloody bandages covered his eyes. "To be skilled." The man now held a bow in his hands. his eyes a milky white color.

The next time Harry was staring at a gathering of people in furs and leathers around a fire. Three kids, two boys, and a girl ran toward a muscular man who sat next to a woman who smiled. "Never able to have complacency." The camp was on fire now. The bodies of all the people were littered with arrows. Only one now stood. The fire matched his eyes and in the distance, a lion roared.

Now he was staring at a girl with a bruised face. "The need of acceptance." A glowing light flew across the night sky.

It changed yet again and he found himself in a hall whose ceiling seemed to reflect the sky above. "Slytherin!" a voice called out as a hat was placed on the head of a dark-haired boy. "To change the world." He was in a room with a hooded man as a wand was pointed at a red-headed woman standing in front of a crib.

And then he was looking at himself. An infant version of himself lying in a crib with a lightning scar on his head, the body of the woman on the floor, a huge chunk of the ceiling had been blasted away. Flashforward and he was wrapped in a blanket with a note on top as he was placed on the doorstep of Number 4 Privet Drive. He was back to being in the cupboard, then he was adorning the sigil of the Band of the Hawk. He was seeing himself all the way up to where he was now.

Locked in a cell within Falconia.

"It is the truth, your truth," Conrad voiced out.

"And what makes yours so much different than the rest?" Ubik inquired.

"You'd make a fine apostle," Slan purred. "Far better than your rival. As handsome as he is, he is too single-minded. Your swordsman friend is much the same, but his flare burns much brighter. But our attempts to sway you would be in vain. You'd refuse our offer. That's what makes it so tempting."

"Did you all come here just to torment me?" Harry asked, turning so he could keep all three in his line of sight. "To show me these visions? My answer would still be no."

"We come to offer truth as we always have," Conrad voiced.

"The truth that the strength and belief of human spirit could never trump causality," Ubik added with a sick cackle before he and Conrad began to fade into the shadows.

Slan remained a bit longer as she met his gaze. "They're right, you know. As fun as you are, even you subscribe to a doomed fate. But should you ever reconsider..." she gave a wink that seemed to linger even as she vanished too. It wasn't until then that Harry's breathing caught up with him and he collapsed to his knees.

She could feel every breath that she took as the sight of the ceremony hall doors got ever nearer. They were slow, collected, but deep when they needed to be. Her dress which had felt tight around the sides previously, no longer felt that way, but she thought that her breath might rattle at one point. Her escorts whispered words of encouragement to her. The, "you look beautiful," and the, "you look like a goddess," were the ones that she kept hearing the most. Maybe they were true, but she doubted that a goddess could possibly feel this way.

They stopped short of the entry doors and an attendant outside quickly ran in to make the announcement that they had arrived at last. It was a very telling sign once the music picked up to a slower, more romantic tone and the voices of the assembled guests ceased. With the beat of the music, Charlotte found her heart had adopted a similar pattern. She could feel the organ pounding against her chest.

Between that and her breathing, she felt almost at peace.

Two very nervous signs and she felt at peace.

She attributed it to her knowing how this would end, or at least how she pictured it in her mind. The day she had dreamed of for so long, she knew exactly what it was she had to do.

The doors began to open and the light from inside seemed to spill out, enveloping them in its captivating embrace. The music, which had sounded a bit distant from the barrier was now gone and its sweet sound danced in her ears. The mellow tune had an almost upbeat happy feeling to it that put a smile to the faces of every guest present as she listened to the joyous melancholy.

From the doors standing and sitting were people she had never even seen before. Men, women, and children too, there was a spot in the back for young and old alike. They must have been commoners from the city itself as the invitation was an open one. If you lived in the city, you were welcome to come. It was something meant to reflect Griffith's own background and symbolize the unity of all of humanity. Having come from a poorer background, this ceremony would most likely be the highlight of their lives filled with unchanging ignorance.

There are so many.

And there were. Not one seat was left vacant in the back section. Some were even standing behind lines of guards to get a look at her. She must have been the desire of every man there and the aspiration of every little girl. Even if that is what she herself desired, she felt their stares empty but not due to any prejudice she had to those of a different class.

They all expect so much from me now. Will they be disappointed? I would. I would've.

Owen stopped following, staying behind at the entrance with his men and to make sure no unwanted party was to come and crash the ceremony. He had nothing to worry about there.

Elize went ahead of her with her basket full of flowers and started laying petals down on the white carpet that led down the aisle and to the altar. Minister Foss walked with his daughter and smiling in seeming delight for perhaps the first time Charlotte had known him in all his years of service.

So strange how I'm just now seeing it. Has it always been like that?

Sir Laban was at her side still. Walking her down the aisle as the guests rose from their seats to get a proper look at their Queen. There were still just so many of them here. As someone who had helped map out the design of the ceremony hall, she didn't seem to recall adding this many rows just to the back itself. They were barely three rows in yet it felt as if she had walked a mile.

"There she is!"

"You see her, dear?"

"So beautiful!"

The music was still playing, but she could still hear the whispering that was emerging from the crowd. But her mind was hardly focused on what they were saying about her. It would all just be derivative from what she had already been told beforehand.

Anna was already starting to cry in joy if her light sniffles from behind were anything to go by. She shouldn't cry over this.

More people still watching her make the trek down the aisle. She was keeping her eyes focused straight ahead but it was hard not to take in the appearances of people she had never met now watching her. There were people with long flowing hair, short and stout old men, three blondes and a dark man, war veterans, just about someone from every background.

Her legs were carrying her toward the center of the rows now. My legs feel fine. Silly considering that they felt so weak not too long ago. But... I don't feel that anymore now that I'm so close.

She saw Kushans who surrendered after the war had ended, people from other nations gathered as dignitaries. She had heard of all their countries before, been required to know all of them. But now, she couldn't put a name to any of their homes if she tried her hardest.

My mind doesn't feel hazy at all though. I feel new. Should I? Is this how it feels?

They were nearing the front rows now, the ones filled with the most important people in the city. They were surviving nobles from Midland, Chuder, and every other country. There were knights there as well, generals, other military officials and some of the priests of the Holy See.

All so important. And here I am.

To the right, past the row of Holy See officials near the wall was the pristine Sir Locus standing at attention near the wall. He seemed to give her a nod of acknowledgment. She paid it little mind as her eyes were then drawn toward a figure farther away, leaning behind one of the pillars. The side glance from that cat-eye did not fill her with dread this time. It was more she felt neither good or bad that he was watching.

It matters not what he thinks of me right now. I'm here. I've made my mind.

At the altar stood the High Pontiff, the Head of the Holy See and the highest religious figure in the land. The man was old, impossibly so. Charlotte had seen him plenty of times around before, and each time surprised her at how he was actually able to stand up on his own. Even now, he was grasping at the altar with his wrinkled, spotted hands to keep his weak knees from giving out. His bloodhound eyes filled with mirth as he spotted her approach and his mouth opened for a near-toothless smile to greet her.

She didn't extend the same gesture, just a polite close-lipped smile was enough. She didn't bow her head at all. She was still the Queen. But for the High Pontiff's haggard appearance, Charlotte was greeted by a sight that was far more comely as was unattainable.

Standing to the right of the altar stood the White Hawk, the Hawk of Light, leader of the Band of the Hawk and Savior of Humanity: Griffith.

His white and silver armor was as lavish and unspoiled as ever before. Polished to the point Charlotte could see her reflection and the reflection of everyone else in the room just by looking at his breastplate. His white cape hung perfectly from his shoulder clamps, not moving at all in an eerie stillness. His snowy white locks were done perfectly and gave off a scent of nightshade vanilla. There was no deadly saber at his hip today believing that this was a day of peace and joy. Her eyes were naturally drawn to his face which was a healthy pale complexion without a single physical flaw on the surface. His thin lips were pulled into a smile and his blue, slit-pupil eyes stalked her walk until she was on equal level with him at the altar.

"We've arrived, Your Highness," Laban whispered to her before sending a customary nod to Griffith. "I'll take my place then." He went to go stand to the left of the altar with Anna following in tow. It was now just her, Griffith and the High Pontiff standing there for all the hall to see.

"Queen Charlotte," the groom said so only those on the altar could hear.

"Lord Griffith," she extended as well. My voice sounds my own. It is not a whimper. Her hand not holding her bouquet pulled her veil back.

The High Pontiff let go of the altar so his frail arms could extend out wide. "Welcome all of you here today to witness the union of the White Hawk Griffith and Queen Charlotte Beatrix Marie Rhody Windham in blessed matrimony!"

"Blessed be unto them! Blessed be bestowed by God!" all devout Holy See members chanted the phrase in unison. Their voices were joined by those in the crowd who followed Holy See customs as well.

All of them are but scattered, but their belief holds them as one. They just believe. But I know. Or I will.

"May blessings fall to this man who will cherish and protect lady and state!" the High Pontiff continued. "May blessings fall to this woman who will carry loyalty and love and who might bear the noblest of heirs to continue to sit the throne! Offer up your prayers to God so that he might bestow a bright and prosperous future to these two lovers!"

A moment of silence followed as those in attendance bowed their heads and began to offer their prayers for the both of them. Prayers. Prayers hold power through belief. They believe in him? In me? My mind is sound, I know this now.

"You may all seat yourselves," the High Pontiff instructed as the guests sat down, intent to watch the rest of the wedding. "As customary of the Pontiff, it is my duty to offer both of my sincere congratulations to the couple. In my age, it is rare to witness miracles, but by following the path laid out by Lord Griffith, I've seen more miracles than any other in my position. My time spent as High Pontiff was one filled with repetition and the sprouting of words that once had no meaning to me. I doubted faith at one point until I saw the light. So, in my old age, I can give back one good thing before passing on." He smiled at both of them. "But none of you came here to hear the ramblings of an old man!" that elicited a few chuckles from the audience. "Let us proceed with the ceremony!"

He turned to face Griffith. "Lord Griffith, do you promise to cherish Queen Charlotte in every conceivable way?"

I know what his answer will be.

"I do," he swore.

"Do you promise to honor her, to protect her and shield her from any danger that might come her way?"

There need not be any more danger. But it is my place to determine that. It always has been.

"I do," he promised again.

"Do you promise to dedicate your life, your future to Queen Charlotte and the people and city of Falconia as its future king?"

I should not think of my once father now. But I can't help but do so. How am I still calm?

"I do," he said once more.

"Do you love Queen Charlotte for who she is and respect her wishes?"

I know who Griffith is. I know better than I did before.

"I do," another promise made.

"And do you take her to be your lawful wife bound together for eternity by God?"

"I do."

Now it is my turn.

"Queen Charlotte," the High Pontiff turned to her. "Do you promise to love and to cherish the man who is Lord Griffith in every conceivable way?"

...

Harry heard the noise coming from the upper levels and knew that the ceremony had already begun. He was still stuck in his cell but avoided the bed. The image of Slan on it made him prefer to keep to the floor instead.

The door opened and the guard came by with a tray of food which consisted of a sliced roll and some fruit. Not the worst that he could have imagined, but it wasn't as if he planned on eating it.

"Here you go," the guard said uncaringly as he slid the tray through the trap at the bottom of the door.

"I don't want anything the Hawk has to give me," Harry didn't touch it.

The guard kept walking away. "It isn't from Lord Griffith."

...

"I do," Charlotte said.

"Do you vow to faithfully stand by his side and to support him when times are both worst and best?"

...

Considering how his list of visits had been going so far, Harry figured there might have been some truth to what the guard just said. Neo-Griffith had already paid his visit. Maybe it was Sir Owen then. Even though Harry refused the man, he seemed far too honorable to let a prisoner go without a meal.

He picked up the apple and took a small bite, just to get a taste.

It was actually good.

...

"I do," she answered again.

"Do you promise to share in your power, to govern by his side faithfully for the good of Falconia, for humanity, and for God?"

...

He finished off the apple easily enough. His stomach was quite relieved that he finally provided it with some nutrition since being locked up. Harry picked up the sliced roll next. He was almost expecting another visitor to pop up at any moment.

...

"I do," Charlotte said once more.

"Do you love Love Griffith for who he is and vow to do all in your power to honor him?"

...

Harry took a bite into the roll.

And it was hard.

...

"I do," Charlotte promised once more.

...

Harry clutched at his teeth where they hurt. Just what the hell was that about?

...

"And do you take him to be your lawful husband and king by your power and the power of God above?"

"I don't."

...

Inside the roll was a set of keys.

...

"Then by the power invested in me, I pronounce you both... Queen Charlotte?" The realization was just dawning on the High Pontiff. "Did you hear me correctly? I asked if you would take Lord Griffith as your lawful husband and king by your power and the power of God above? Do you?"

"I don't," Charlotte repeated.

Silence. Complete stunted silence from the entirety of the ceremony hall.

All eyes were on here, she could feel the stares cast on here ranging from confusion from the attending nobles, uncertainty from those in the back, concern from Anna and a form of acceptance from Sir Laban. The High Pontiff just stood there, his wrinkled jowls quivering as he tried to form words. And then there was Griffith.

He stood still, his eyes meeting her own and his brow creased in the slightest bit of confusion and concern. It was a look so unfitting for him if only for the fact that he seemed unused to wearing that sort of expression.

"Queen Charlotte?" Griffith asked quietly. "Are you feeling alright?"

The High Pontiff let out a loose cough, finding his voice in the process. "Y-yes, Your Highness, are you sure all is well?"

"I feel fine." Even though I should feel scared, I can't seem to do it.

"Would you like if I, er, repeat the question again?" the High Pontiff was desperately confused.

"You can. But my answer is still, I don't."

There was whispering now amongst the masses. The quietest ones came from the nobles closest to the altar while the ones in the back seemed to be more frequent as they all wanted to know what was going on and what she was saying.

Griffith's mouth dipped to a small frown. "Queen Charlotte, might I ask why? We can postpone for a later date if that would put you to ease."

The High Pontiff's drooping eyes went back and forth between them. "Yes, would you settle for a postponement, Your Highness?"

She didn't acknowledge the older man, her eyes were only focused on the person standing across from her. "Lord Griffith, moments ago, you vowed to honor me in every conceivable way. Do you still hold true to that virtue?"

"Of course, I do," Griffith said with complete confidence.

"Then... would you do the honor of humoring me with a question that I have?" her voice almost faltered but she kept speaking.

Griffith's face seemed to lighten. "Any question that you have, I will answer truthfully. You need only ask, my Queen."

Charlotte felt her head nod. "Then please, tell me, what happened that day, the day of the Eclipse?"

With those words, his face became a cliffside, still and unmoving. He tried to compensate by allowing the smallest smile to grace his thin lips. "That day? The day that I lost my original followers? It is not a story for a day such as this."

"I hold you to your vow. Please tell me what happened." Her voice sounded distant and she knew it.

Griffith reached out a hand toward her but he drew it back thinking it futile. "Very well." His voice was low, just barely above a whisper. Only those on the altar could hear him say it. "I was in a desperate position on that day. I ran, believing myself to be worthless. When I crashed in the lake, I was found by who would become a Captain of the War Demons later on. He took me to heal my body, restore me to who I once was. That was before the storm touched down. The original Hawks got caught up in the funnel and many perished that day. I was eventually restored through the use of magic and the desire to fulfill the dream I once had." He cast his eyes down before they found hers once again. "Is that what you wanted to know?"

He sounded sincere. He looked almost sick when recalling that day and she felt a sense of nausea as well. "Thank you for telling me that." She closed her eyes as her head dipped down. She thought back to what had transpired yesterday. "But that is a lie."

"Anna?" she called the name of her handmaiden. She had heard the door open and then close again and assumed that the blonde girl had come back once more as she was one of the persons entrusted with a key to her room. But when she looked back to the door, she saw no one, not a single person stood there.

How strange. Getting up, Charlotte went to the door and twisted the nob and it came open. Had Anna perhaps forgot to lock it? Had she herself forgotten? With the wedding being held tomorrow she was becoming so single-minded that she seemed to be neglectful of the everyday things. How was it that other women managed to do this, to muster up the courage to walk down the waiting aisle and say those vows in front of all those people?

She wished that she knew more women who were married so she could ask for their advice. But outside of Anna, a still single maid, and Elize, barely out of childhood, her circle of female companions was rather lacking. Sure she had no end of servants and other women working under her, but none of them were married. In Midland society, it was considered a bit improper for an unmarried royal to be served by a married woman. Especially since maids usually married after their mistress was wed.

Her musings were interrupted by a creaking sound. Turning her head in the direction it came from, she saw that one of her window shutters had come open. Hadn't they been closed?

As she walked over to it, she got the most paranoid feeling that she was being watched right now. But any glance over her shoulder told her that she was completely alone. When she got the window she peeked outside. There was definitely no one out here, not unless they intended to climb all the way up. One look down let her know that was not the case at all.

Paranoia now, was that what she was starting to feel? She found herself missing Anna's company or anyone's company for that matter. She just needed some-

Klack.

Her head whipped around behind her, almost expecting to see another person there.

There was no one. The room was devoid of life, save for her.

That did very little to ease her feeling of paranoia. She got ready to yell for a guard to come to her but the only sound that escaped from her lips was, "Eh?"

Confusion. She had spotted something on her desk.

It was a rounded, silver basin filled with some strange liquid. It wasn't hers. Even in her seemingly confused state she would have remembered owning something like that or even placing in right next to the mirror where she had spent practically all day fussing over how she looked. Perhaps it belonged to Anna. She had been in here only moments ago to bring up a few things, maybe she had left this behind. Anna had even left saying she forgot something, was this it?

If it were the case, Charlotte smiled at her friend's forgetfulness. Here she was thinking she was losing her mind when Anna seemed to be in a similar state of mind. Just what was this thing anyhow?

She skimmed her finger along the rim of the basin, feeling its smooth surface. It might not have been hers, but it felt like it was made for royalty. The liquid inside seemed to be a soft orange color to reflect the setting of the sun. The warm hues drew her attention and she found herself staring down into the seemingly bottomless depths.

"How strange..."

Staring into it was to stare at a piece of art that had come to life. Feeling like her body was weightless and to fall down the rabbit hole and into a dreamland from someone else's mind.

How long was she staring into it? Long enough for it to actually be sunset.

But it is only a few hours past noon.

She was outside.

No, she was in her room. She was in the palace.

"An eclipse. I didn't know one was supposed to happen today."

That voice. That was...

Charlotte turned to see herself. A younger version of herself by a few years. Anna was there too as was a boy with messy black hair and brilliant emerald eyes behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. Above them, a dark shadow was moving to eclipse the sun.

"Yeah," the boy said as his eyes averted from the sight above.

This... this had already happened. Yes. She remembered that day. Had she perhaps fallen asleep and started dreaming back? She must have.

The boy grabbed the reins to his horse and made ready to ride off in the direction of the eclipse.

Where was he going?

"Where are you going?" her other version asked. "We were told to stay here."

"I know that," the boy said frantically. "I just need to check on them. I'll be right back, I promise."

Anna was frightened. "But... what if a group of bandits comes by when you're gone? We have no ways of defending ourselves." The boy tossed her a dagger. "What's this about?"

To defend yourselves. If any trouble comes up, try and scare it off or just run to find us." He must have known how uncertain they looked. "Look, I'll be gone five minutes at most, I'll come back and I won't be alone. Just stay here for now." He took off with haste.

What was he thinking? Back then she had been too nervous to think herself, but now, it seemed like a foolish move. Even if they had one weapon, neither of them was a fighter. And if they had run to join with them, they would have died as well. But she was there with Anna, safe from the doom of the coming storm.

Only she wasn't.

What?

She was instead following the boy as he left the two of them behind. She didn't have a mount of her own, but the scene seemed to change to reflect the passing of distance until they came upon a lake. A figure was on his knees next to a fallen tree. His thin body was wrapped in gauze and a hawk-helm was in place on his head.

"Griffith?" her voice sounded distorted like she didn't belong here.

"Griffith!" a muscle man shouted. It took her a moment, but he was the Raiders Captain.

Blood was dripping down a wound Griffith had gotten on his neck, running down his arm and to a red trinket that hung from his fingers. The distorted facial features seemed to rearrange until they made a fully formed face. It was creepy the way it seemed to cry tears of blood as the mouth opened to let out a chilling cry.

"BWAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

What was that?

"What is that?" the sole female Hawk observed humanoid figures standing across the lake staring at them.

"Everyone!" the boy called as he met up with them.

"Harry?" the female called his name as the scene changed once again. The lake, the grass, even the sky was gone save for the eclipse.

In place of what was normal was a pattern of red faces that spanned as far as her eyes could see. The sockets were either closed or hollow and the mouths moved to release screams that never came. The black sun seemed more an eye now as it watched them like insects.

"This is a dream. I've fallen asleep. This isn't real."

But it was real to the Band of the Hawk. They panicked, yelled, cried as the hellish landscape that they found themselves in now. And it only got worse.

One of the faces seemed to rise up out of the ground, the face of a beautiful woman whose hair seemed to resemble snakes in a certain light. Her breasts were bare and a pair of black wings sprouted from her back to barely cover her indecency. If she were human, she would have been an even greater beauty.

From above a swirl of faces blended together to form an impishly grinning head on a stout body with little tentacles. It cackled as it circled around them and even though it could not touch her, Charlotte felt her skin crawl in revulsion.

From the ground again, a mound of faces piled together to pop out in the form of a plump man who partly resembled Minister Foss. But aside from being plump and bald, this being had a wide, gaping mouth and closed eyes and seemed anything but caring.

And from the black sun, a shadow seemed to leak out like a dark waterfall. He was the tallest amongst them, clad in a leathery high popping collar robe. His hands held six digits on them and the skin around his mouth seemed to have been peeled back and pinned in place. His eyes were sewn shut and his brain seemed to have grown too large as it protruded from his skull. He radiated the most power and Charlotte felt an unexplainable pull toward this one despite wanting to be as far from him as possible.

But her legs would not work.

"I... I've gone mad if I'm dreaming this."

"The time has come for the blessing. In this, our final chapter, the final destination. The final days draw near for our sacred children. Enjoy this hallow feast in all its glory." His voice was like an endless pit that extended down to her very soul. He pointed one of his six fingers down at her - no, at Griffith. "And you, our disciple, you are chosen. Here and now appointed by God's one hand. We are your brothers, and you, our new blessed kin."

They... meant to make Griffith into one of them? That was absurd! She saw Griffith just yesterday and he looked nothing like any of these monsters!

The seductress spoke. "He will be reborn in exchange for all of you, but only of his own choosing."

This was wrong. This was all wrong! Griffith would never. "He wouldn't..."

"Bring forth the altar!" the one with the gaping mouth said and the ground Griffith was on lifted up until a giant hand rose up to touch the black sun.

The brain man started speaking. "We are four. Conrad, Ubik, Slan, and Void." Names to put to those abominations. She wanted to look away, but her eyes were drawn up to those sewn sockets. The ground seemed to rumble and the hand began to close around Griffith's broken form.

"Griffith!" she cried.

"Time to administer the brand." A glowing green symbol appeared in Void's hand and turned red as it shot out in all directions down to the Band of the Hawk.

They could not run, they could not fight. They were branded, each and every one of them. The symbol struck the woman on her collar bone, struck the Raiders Captain on the right side of his neck. It struck Harry on the left side for him and Charlotte feared one might strike her as well. She was spared that fate.

It was only after that point that things got truly horrific. The people who had been watching the event began transforming before her very eyes. They all grew in size, some sprouting horns, others tails, fangs, claws, limbs, and they began advancing on the Hawks. But the worst thing about it was... she recognized some of them.

During the battle with Emperor Ganishka, some of these War Demons had been there. They had fought alongside humanity when they needed it most bu now, they were attacking Griffith's friends. Why? What reason would they have to...

"Griffith...?" her eyes went up to the closed hand.

She did not want to see what happens to them. She did not want to see them murdered and... she didn't. It was as if the scene had become clouded, obscuring her view of things to filter out the horrors that had happened. But the scene that was visible to her next was not a relieving one at all and she felt herself growing sick from just looking at it.

The sole woman seemed to be unconscious and hung suspended by her limbs in a degrading way. She had been stripped of her armor but some altered fog hid her indecency from her eyes. Two figures struggled to reach her. The Raider had his left arm in the maw of a War Demon and Harry had claws sinking into his right leg. The War Demons laughed at them.

"This... this is..." how was she still able to talk.

Before anything else could happen, a rumble sounded and everything came to a halt. The giant fist was opening up to reveal a figure kneeling down in the palm. The War Demons began to chant. "Our prince. Our fifth blessed prince. Void, Slan, Ubik, Conrad, and now, the Wings of Darkness. Femto."

The being that came down was not Griffith. It had the same style helmeted head and pale skin underneath, but the eyes were red with slit pupils. Pupils like Griffith has now.

"S-stop this." She saw where this was going. "Stop! I don't want to be here! Stop! I want this to end!"

"So do I." A new voice.

Charlotte averted her gaze as fog obscured the horrific event and she found herself facing Harry - or, Harry as he was now. He had grown taller and leaner and his emerald eyes seemed extremely sad.

"Wh-what is this? How are we here?"

"This is a memory. My memory. The day Griffith became Femto."

"A... memory. A dream, you mean."

"I wish that it was. The fog was me tampering with it, editing out certain parts that I didn't want anyone to see. I was hoping against showing you this, it was a gamble on my end. But if you knew the truth, maybe then you'd be persuaded to listen to what I have to say."

She should have questioned him right then and there. It had been a few years since she last saw this person. But in the heat of all that she had just witnessed, she said, "I'll listen! Just... please! Get us out of here! I don't want to be here! Please!" Tears stung her eyes. "Please..."

Charlotte felt a comforting hand on her shoulder and it felt like the ground disappeared from under her as she was pulled up and out of the hellish memory and found herself back in the confines of her own room.

Now that she was out, she realized that her knuckles had turned white from clutching the side of her desk as she had stared into the basin. Tears flowed from her eyes as Harry pulled it away and capped the silvery liquid in a vial before storing both in his travel bag.

"Your Highness?" he cautioned.

She did not respond.

"Queen Charlotte," he tried again. "Charlotte?" he reached a hand out to her.

But it was not his hand that she saw, but a dark, clawed hand that belonged to a pair of slit pupils. "No!"

She backed away from him.

"Please just... just let me... let me..." what did she want?

He did not try touching her again. He stood off to her side as she trembled, some of those images still going through her head.

"They made it out," Harry said after a few minutes more of silence. "Casca and Guts. They made it out too and are both alive."

"And... Griffith? What about... Griffith?" she saw what had become of him, why was she asking? She knew why.

Harry didn't quite seem to know how to respond to that. "Look, uh, this isn't really the best spot for me to really explain things to you. I have a way that would be safer if you wanted to go there."

She saw him open his travel bag and fished around until he came upon a figurine of a knight made from some material unknown to her. But that was not what caught her eye.

"My trinket!" she recognized the wooden figure of a knight within his pouch.

"Your trinket?" Harry repeated.

"Yes! That's the very same one I gave to that little boy who was wandering around a few months ago. How is it you have it?"

"That's... part of what I hope to explain to you," Harry said. He offered up the other knight figurine to her instead. "This will help. You'll be much safer. It has a way to take you someplace safe if you just-," she swatted his hand away.

"I'm not going with you until you explain. How did you come about my trinket? How did you even get in here? And Griffith... Griffith..."

"Queen Charlotte," Harry tried again.

"You will tell me everything," she ordered him with tears in her eyes. "You call me your Queen, then you will tell me everything and you will tell it here. I... please... please..."

"...please tell me the truth then," Charlotte said as she faced Griffith. "Tell me why. Why was that a wizard who've I only known for a few hours been more honest with me than you have for as long as I've known you?" she ignored the sweating pontiff as her eyes were reserved solely for Griffith whose eyes seemed to come to life.

"Your doubt is very well placed," he spoke. "But it is flawed as well."

More whispering was starting to break out in the hall as those in the back were starting to wonder what was taking so long while those in front wondered what they were talking about in such hushed tones.

"You said just now that this boy is a wizard. A claim which he does not deny. If he had you look into that basin, it is possible he tried to influence your mind to some extent. He could have you say and do things that you normally wouldn't do. Isn't that a reason why the Holy See punishes the practice? Because it cuts our tie to god."

"Kuh!" Charlotte let out a mix of a chuckle and a whimper. "Funnily enough, he thought that you might say something like that." Her fingers brushed aside the flowers of her bouquet. "Maybe I am losing my mind. But, Griffith," her gloved hand pulled out the object she had placed inside. A small green bauble with assorted facial features on it.

His eyes were transfixed by the sight of it in her hand.

"If I have this, will you be truthful with me?"

And so she listened. Listened to him tell his tale. She questioned him on some of the things that he said such as the term apostle is the correct version of War Demons. Casca, the sole woman, had gotten her memory back by means of the very same basin that he had tricked her into using called a pensieve. He had offered to show her the memories instead of telling them, but she declined. Considering the first experience she had with it, she wasn't exactly teeming to try it again.

What was wrong with her? Listening to the words of this wizard? He uses magic, an evil art. He could just be using it to feed her lies about Griffith.

But... how did Falconia appear if not by magic?

"Do you understand now?" Harry asked. It had taken a few hours to explain the full story. "Do you understand why I'm here, why you need to leave?"

Her nerves still felt so shaky. "If what you told me is true..."

"Do you want me to swear an oath?"

"No," she replied. "If you had come to hurt me, you would have done so by now, yes?" He nodded and she continued. "But Griffith, how do I know what you've said is true? If I asked him, told him what you just told me, would he deny it?"

"Yeah, he would." Harry's eyes grew dark before being filled with light. "Unless... he had to confess."

"What do you mean?" she saw him fish around in his bag once more until he pulled out a green trinket.

"Not mine, because I'm only a vessel." He showed her what he held in his hand. It was the same kind of trinket Griffith had once held, the kind that summoned those monsters.

"Y-you have one?"

"It isn't mine," Harry seemed to realize. He held it out to her.

"No." She refused to touch it. "Those... things will come, the one with the brain. I... I don't want to see them."

"You don't have to," Harry tried his best to assure her. "It's like... like... a double-edged sword. All you have to do is show it to him and he shouldn't refuse any request you ask."

This was all happening so fast. So sudden! He was giving this to her.

Her?

What did her fully expect to happen? She was no great warrior. She could not cut a man in two. She was not Griffith, not a witch, not the Black Swordsman, and certainly not Gaiseric. Her skills were in sewing, in enjoying music, in trying to make people happy.

"Whose strength do you rely on? Yours, or his?"

"I... want to draw mine from his."

That was who she was.

To be liked because she could not find it in herself to do so. To have others around to protect her because she was too afraid to do so. She was just a scared girl living her life behind everyone else. She could not do a single thing. She was the worst person to give this to.

"...Why me?" she finally asked.

Harry examined the behelit in his hand. The eye seemed to open to stare back before closing shut. "Because... I can't change your mind otherwise." He set it on her desk. "Sure, I could just kidnap you from here now, but would that change how you feel, what you believe? I was told before that belief is as strong as we make it. The world, God, everything is because there were ideas and strength behind it. I never really understood that until now. If I took you, you'd still probably love Griffith and want to return to him and I would have still changed nothing where it matters." Her eyes widened.

To draw from others to make a strength your own.

"The most I can do in that case is just give it over to someone who can. Find your own belief."

She felt her hand reach out and take hold of the green trinket and place it in the drawer of her desk. Tears stained her face as she met his gaze and an unspoken understanding passed between them at that moment.

Sure, she felt her whole world start to come crashing down.

"Your Highness," Anna announced as the door opened. "I've just realized that-,"

Who she was, what she believed, she was more aware now than ever.

Anna saw the other individual in the room. She screamed. "Guards! Guards! Intruder!"

It was all crumbling down and she felt...

The guards rushed into her room, tackling her ally to the ground as they slapped irons on his wrists.

She knew.

"Will you tell me now?" she asked. The behelit held in her free hand felt so much heavier now than it did before.

"Your Highness," Griffith's voice sounded a whisper even to her.

"If I have this, will you tell me?" she pressed, her voice barely above a whisper as well. "If it is my desire, you will have to grant it, won't you?"

He tried and failed to avert his eyes from the trinket. "Charlotte..."

"Won't you?" her body felt hot even as the temperature of the room seemed to decrease. The shadows along the walls seemed much more prominent and behind the altar, it was as if a taller being were standing there. "Won't you... won't you..."

What I'm doing is so stupid. But... why? Why do I feel like this? I am a stupid girl. The stupidest most naive, fearful girl who has ever lived. I'm selfish, I'm scared, I'm weak. for so long this... this day has been all I've dreamed about.

"Won't you just deny heed the request of the weakest girl alive?" she asked with tears in the corner of her eyes and the saddest of smiles upon her lips.

Both eyes were open on the behelit now and the other features were rearranging as well. Deny it.

"Please..." she begged. "Please..."

Please deny it.

His next words were spoken so softly that ghosts could hear him.

"What would you sacrifice?"

It was quick, it soft. And it was all the answer that she needed.

Charlotte wiped the tears from her eyes as her sad smile grew. "I already have."

She softly pressed the behelit to his armored chest and let him take it as the eyes started to close for a final time. I love Griffith. Not the Hawk of Light.

Turning to her side, Charlotte felt her legs begin to walk away from the altar. "Your pardon."

With that, she excused herself from the altar and began walking back down the aisle as all the guests sat in stunned silence. Sir Laban and Anna followed her closely after as the man who appeared to be Griffith still stood there.

Charlotte had no idea what was going through his head, but he was probably wondering how a weakling, a wizard, and a rag-tag group had possibly gotten the better of him. ...

As he watched her leave, he wanted to laugh. He noticed that Sir Locus had already gone out the side exit and could only guess the other apostle's intentions. It only served to add to what was already a comedy. Perhaps he had been wrong about her. And Zodd was happy to have been wrong.

The key was a perfect fit with his cell door and Harry quickly threw it open and bolted for the exit. His gambit had seemingly paid off. He tried the other key on the cell block door and it didn't work. He switched to the third on the small hook and this time he heard the click letting him know it had worked.

He sensed for any od before opening the door and felt none. Quickly dashing through, Harry found himself in another room with a few cabinets and drawers lining the walls with suits of spare armor and torture equipment. Realizing that the other key must open one of these drawers, Harry tried it out on all of them until he found the correct match.

Inside the cabinet were his sword, staff, cloak, and travel bag that had all been confiscated upon his capture. He wasted no time in getting his gear back on, briefly pausing as he noticed a note on one desk.

Head to the ceremony hall once you've given the prisoner his meal. These are the Queen's orders. I will come to take your shift.

\- Sir Owen

Harry pushed past the last door and found himself rushing up a staircase that must extend back to the main level of the palace as he recalled from being dragged down there from yesterday. Once he reached the top, he pushed past the door and found himself in one of the many corridors of Falconia's palace.

Before donning the invisibility cloak once more, Harry felt a surge of emotion over him. He was still without thought transference as Schierke's hairs were scattered since his arrest. But Farnese and Serpico... they still had theirs.

Reaching out with od, Harry could feel the greatest concentration coming from above in what had to be the ceremony hall. He could feel five distinct breaking away everyone else, one was far more powerful than the others though. Strangely enough, he did not feel Neo-Griffith. Perhaps he had left already. If he had, then this just made it all the better.

With his staff pointed up, Harry called, "Expecto Patronum!"

All that emotion he had built up inside of him finally released in a blinding, silver light. For every hardship, every trial, it seemed to never end, that things would always keep getting worse no matter how hard any of them tried. But today... today seemed an exception. If for nothing else, he was happy that Neo-Griffith finally felt what it was to lose. And that was a damn happy thought.

The silvery animal that hovered in front of him now spread its wings and awaited his command.

"Go find Farnese and the rest. Have them tell guts and Casca... tell them to be ready."

The Patronus seemed to bow its head as it flew off down the corridors, a hawk chasing after its prey.

Only feeling slightly drained after that magical feat, Harry took off to where he felt those od signatures leaving the ceremony hall. The mission still wasn't over yet.

"It isn't too late," Anna said for what felt like the hundredth time. "Everyone is still back at the hall."

Charlotte somehow managed to keep pace ahead of them as she continued to walk farther from the hall. "I won't be going back, Anna. I've made my sacrifice and he accepted."

"But... what does that mean?!" Anna threw her arms up. "You've dreamt of this day for so long, why give it all up now?"

She was saved from having to answer that question by Sir Laban. "The Queen has her reasons, Miss Anna. If she does not wish to marry Griffith, the decision should not be questioned by the likes of us."

Owen gave a nod of agreement. "If you are to question, ask where are we to go now? Do you intend to head toward the dungeon? I have assurance the meal was delivered."

"The dungeon?!" Anna exclaimed. "Why go there? Why not back to your chambers to think things through?"

"I'm sorry, Anna," Charlotte apologized. "There was a... recent development that you weren't informed of. Just know that the prisoner should be free and I'll be going with him." She seriously thought Anna would faint when she said that.

They continued on to a lower level when the straight path ahead was blocked by a knight in moonshine armor. Sir Locus. But... something was off about him. While he usually had stoic look in his eyes and face he seemed almost desperate. Desperate to not only keep up that front but to keep something more.

Laban took the lead. "This is royal business, Sir Locus. Stand aside."

Locus stood still. "The White Hawk is to be King of Humanity. I would say that qualifies as a royal business. Please, allow me to escort you all back to the ceremony hall." He pointed back the way they had come.

"The Queen has made her choice not to proceed with the ceremony," Laban offered up. "If you wish to return, you may do so. Our business lies elsewhere."

"All business today lies with the Hawk of Light," Locus was adamant. "Anything less is treason." He was starting to perspire and his face seemed to resemble a melting candle.

Owen stood next to Laban in front. "Queen Charlotte is the royal monarch. Griffith holds high titles, but he is not of royalty. Stand aside."

His words fell on deaf ears. "A knight's duty... is to serve. The Hawk of Light, he is the supreme. His needs, far outweigh my own. To think... two such noble knights fall to treachery at the hands of a wizard... a knight's duty... is to protect. Anything less... is treason." His hand went to draw his lance. The look in his eyes, it was that of a desperate man.

Laban noticed it too and drew his sword. "Owen! Escort Queen Charlotte out of here! Take another route! Summon a garrison here if you can!"

Owen's face showed his emotion and Charlotte seemed to realize all too late what was about to happen.

"Come, Your Highness!" Owen grabbed her hand and took off with her and Anna down a side hall as a metallic, clang! signaled the clash of live steel.

"H-he can hold him, can't he?" Anna asked.

The usually calm Owen looked uncertain. As determined and loyal as Laban was, Locus was the deadliest lance in the land. "We have to get the Queen to safety first. Don't doubt Laban's tenacity either."

Try as she might to think of every worth deed Laban had ever done for the country and her family, she felt she knew the outcome.

Thank you. For everything.

Harry continued rushing along the corridors, continuing to move up until he got to the main level of the palace. He could feel the od signatures getting ever closer. Two of them had remained behind he felt and began to fight. He couldn't focus on the outcome as he felt more sources of od converging to where his query was heading. One felt like an ordinary human, the other was definitely an apostle.

But he was closer. He could make it if he sprinted. He pulled off the cloak as it had become a hindrance on his legs while running and stuffed it back in his bag. Ignoring the burning sensation in his side, Harry kept pushing forward until he spotted them.

Sir Owen had his sword out as he led Charlotte and Anna behind him.

They both seemed to spot the other at the same time as they continued toward the other.

"What in heaven's name is going on?!" Anna frantically shouted once they were all together.

Owen ignored her. "The Queen told me you have a means of getting her to safety? Tell me that was not a lie." Harry fished inside his bag to pull out his plastic knight figurine which had been turned into a portkey. "You jest?"

"I had it charmed so it would activate when she touches it," Harry explained in a hurry. "If you're going with her, grab on too." He placed it on the ground.

"You will not be coming?" Owen seemed like he wanted to question more, but knowing the situation, he seemed to go along with it.

Harry furrowed his brow. "There are still things that I have to do."

"Sir Laban!" Charlotte exclaimed. "He stayed behind so we could escape. You will help him, won't you?"

"Just tell me where and-," the soft flutter of wings caught his attention as the apostle he felt from earlier made her appearance.

Rosine hovered there, staring down at the scene with an unreadable expression on her face. Heavy footsteps sounded from somewhere from the adjacent corridor and the human seemed to be approaching on them as well.

"Take it!" Harry instructed as the three pairs of hands took hold of the portkey and with a blurring spin, vanished from the spot.

The knight rounded the corner as Harry drew his staff. When he spotted Harry he made ready to call out, "Intrud- eeghh!"

Faster than he could keep track of, Rosine had divebombed with her stinger extended and impaled the knight through the throat before he could call for others.

She withdrew her stinger and let his lifeblood stain the white floor red. She looked up at Harry and uttered but one word, "Go."

As quickly as she had appeared, she took off in the opposite direction. Her wings carried her down the corridor, further down to the point Harry could barely discern her shape and kept going until he was certain she would fly straight out of the palace, straight out of Falconia for good.

He took her parting words to use.

How delusional must he be to believe that he is what he pretends to be?

He had tracked down Locus after the whole ceremony thing knowing what the other apostle had in mind. Locus' actions were his own for sure and certainly not granted by the Hawks' permission. His delusion had gotten the better of him.

Locus hardly seemed to care that he had a small cut on his cheek from where the knight's blade had cut him.

Not that it really mattered.

"Zodd," Locus casually greeted as he pulled his lance free from the chest of its latest victim.

The first blood.

"The Hawk has returned to his solar. He is most likely convening with the other four."

Locus wiped the blood from his lance. "His will shall be done. The traitor has been dealt with. But there is still the wizard."

That is a fight you would be hard-pressed to win. "Go fetch his rival in Pandemonium," Zodd instructed. "His time is at hand." And far more than that. He could not see it, but he could feel it in the air. It was finally here.

And he was right

The feeling of stepping through a hole that tried to grip your feet and pull you down washed over all those who had come along. It had felt like weeks of waiting, but Farnese had gotten back to them via thought transference with an update on Harry's situation. His Patronus had caused a great stir as it flew into the hall and announced its message. That was shortly before the Queen had magically appeared in Doldrey in full wedding dress and two other followers.

Their guests had told them their side of events as well and it was clear where the winds were blowing in Falconia.

From that point on, it was time for action on their end. Skull Knight had a habit of knowing when they were in need and provided his talent once again for them to appear just outside of the protective barrier outside of the city.

Dragonslayer felt heavy on his back as his lone eye stared at the city beyond.

The battle - their battle, was at hand.

A/N: So this chapter is meant as the final prelude for the final battle as it wraps up many of the Falconia story arcs and I hope that it gets you all excited for what is to come. Thank you for reading.


	69. Chapter 69 War Demons

Disclaimer- Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling and Berserk is owned by Kentaro Miura. I own nothing.

"So this is all of them?" Guts' sole eye drifted along the rows of cowled Bakiraka Silat had assembled. He could tell that there was only a few hundred present as the Kushan had told him previously.

"I've seen the work you're capable of doing on your own," Silat crossed his arms. "Adding a force like this, despite how foolish it is, still greatly increases your chances of success, does it not?"

"And you're committed yourself, too?" Casca inquired of the assassin as she adjusted a strap on her arm guard. The ruby on the pommel of her sword shown brightly in the light.

Dark, narrow eyes regarded her. "Is my presence not enough of a confirmation?" he sounded like he was doing his best to sound irritated to mask the fear that he felt. Guts had seen that plenty of times before. The men who did that usually lived through the battle. Just as long as Silat didn't abandon them in a dire moment, he had nothing to fear from their side either.

"So is it time then?" Isidro asked as he tugged on Guts' cloak. "We going to kick some teeth in or what? We haven't heard from Harry in ages and Farnese said she thinks he might have been caught." Schierke shifted on her feet nervously. "Let's go bust him out already! We have more than enough stealthy people now."

From their position in the open Doldrey courtyard, Guts looked over to the gate that led out to the dust-covered field beyond where the Skull Knight was facing. It was as he was awaiting someone. The fighters from Elfheim perhaps? The bone head did say he had made a deal with the elf king there and that they could expect some help. Perhaps they had their own way of arriving that didn't require his sword.

Looking back to everyone else Guts could see the underlying restlessness that was gripping at all of them. Silat hid behind bravado and aloofness, Isidro was embracing his to hide how scared he must be. Schierke was really doing whatever to try and occupy her mind such as fidgeting on her feet and twisting her staff in her hands. Casca had a more neutral expression on her face, her eyes set straight. The only indication of her anxiety came in the form of skimming an armored finger across the hilt of her sword. Since both were of goblin make, Guts wondered if one could scratch the other.

And then there was-,

"Do you really have to go?" Erica was clutching tight to Rickert's free hand, staring up at him with pleading eyes.

"Yes, Erica. I really do." Rickert tried forcing a brave smile on his face. "This isn't goodbye forever, alright? I'm not going to be where the fighting is the thickest. And if I do get in trouble, I'll find Guts, and you know how strong he is."

"The strongest there is!" Erica praised.

He was far from the strongest, he could always get stronger, but he would let the young maiden believe that. If Rickert was in trouble, he wouldn't be alone. Guts turned his attention back to Skull Knight who remained seated near the gate. Best talk to him before any more sentiments could be thrown his way.

"Hey, you ready to go?" Guts asked him. "If Harry really is in trouble there, we're not going to risk Farnese and the others getting captured as well." Their untimely arrival could be just the thing to rile Neo Griffith into acting.

Skull Knight regarded him from the corner of his glowing socket. "Is that your desire? To leave now?"

"Tch! If you know something, you better share it. Cut it with the cryptic crap for once."

"I know only what I speculate. A stirring has occurred inside. The feeling of pulling a sword from the gullet. A behelit."

"Someone used it?" Casca asked worriedly. "How do you know?"

"I have consumed many throughout the years I have ridden my steed. It was the means by which I hunted apostles myself just as the Struggler relied on his brand. No one has used that cursed trinket, not in a conventional way."

"What other way is there then?" Schierke inquired, her mind seeking a clear line of thought.

"A double-edged sword," Skull Knight responded. "The Wizard may have yet prevailed."

"Harry?" Schierke asked.

Ivalera pouted at the Skull Knight. "You better not be raising up our hopes just to smash them down." Guts silently agreed with the pink elf. Knowing Schierke, she'd be thinking of ways to best utilize the situation at hand.

'Schierke! Guts!' the voice of Farnese spoke within their minds as she called to them.

Farnese? What is it? What's happened?

'The wedding. Queen Charlotte she... she walked out.'

What are you talking about?

'Queen Charlotte attended the ceremony but did not marry him. She spoke quietly with him, gave him what looked like the behelit and just left. She's gone.'

A dozen questions began racing through Guts' mind. Charlotte had turned down the person she had been head-over-heels for since he first saw her? The girl who was afraid of her own shadow and whom he had to give a piggyback ride to when breaking Griffith out of prison. She walked away from all she desired and what she believed could have made her happy? Were they even talking about the same girl?

'How'd she get the behelit?' Schierke asked one of the questions Guts himself had.

'My guess would be Harry. He was the one who went to get her. He's the only one who could have done it. I don't what he did, but it worked. As for Neo Griffith, he walked off shortly after. I don't know where he's gone off to. If Harry was captured he's probably in the dungeons, but I don't think that's the case.'

'Where is he now?' Schierke asked the question that was on all of their minds. 'He would have to have... wait. What is-?'

'Farnese? What's going on?'

Guts felt a tingle run along his spine and whipped his body around to see an almost distortion in the air behind him. He thought it perhaps that Femto or Void had discovered where they were and made ready to finish them off right then and there. He was in the process of drawing Dragonslayer when Skull Knight moved in front of him.

The distortion that he had seen took the form of three people, a blonde man, and woman, one dressed as a servant and the other in proper armor. The third was a brunette woman in a white wedding dress. The figurine they had been holding onto slipped from their grasp as they all seemed unsteady from the tug that came from using a portkey.

As Charlotte was ready to lose her balance from the sheer disorientation, a metal hand placed itself upon her shoulder to keep her steady. "E-eh?" her response was warranted as the skull helm stared down at her, their gazes met and made Guts think that he was giving her some sort of mental conversation. Guts was ready to interrupt this little staring contest between the two when he noticed something. It could have just been his eyes playing tricks on him, but it looked like the red in Skull Knight's gaze had lessened. The glowing sockets staring at the Queen of Midland now belonged solely to that of Skull King Gaiseric.

The two blondes who had come along as well had far less calming reactions. The other woman had her hands to her mouth to hold in a scream and the knight looked ready to draw his blade but one look from Skull Knight cowed him into submission.

Guts waited to see if the undead knight would speak and when he didn't, he chose to intervene. "Hey there, Your Highness. He actually got you out then."

The Queen's blue orbs finally broke contact with the Skull Knight's whose sockets were back to his usual glowing mix. "Where... what is this place?"

"This is Doldrey, Your Highness," Casca offered the Queen an answer. "You touched the object that was able to bring you here. You understand that much, don't you?"

Guts observed her, waiting for her response to the question. "Yes..." she managed out. She sounded like she was in some sort of trance. "That wizard - Harry, he informed me of the ploy. I accepted his proposal."

"You've met him?" Schierke asked the young queen. "Is he alive? What of the others?"

"I... yes," Charlotte answered, a bit taken aback by the other girl's direct question. "I prepared a means for his escape and he provided us with this means of escape. He and Sir Laban-," her words caught in her throat and a look of sadness crossed her eyes.

"Your Highness...?" Sir Owen placed a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder. His aversion to Skull Knight was momentarily forgotten.

"He said there were still things that he had to do," Charlotte spoke after a pause. "I do not know beyond that. I never saw any others."

That sounded like something their wizard friend would do. There was just always something to be done when it came to him. He felt the piercing gaze of the Skull Knight on him and Guts looked over to stare back at the animated suit of armor.

"So is now the time?" he had his little family reunion, no point in waiting now. "We can leave now."

Sir Owen's senses looked like they were coming back to him, including his logical side. "You mean to depart to Falconia?"

"If you came along with your queen, then you probably understand that that place is not what it seems," Guts said to the knight. "And right now we have some key players right in the thick of it all. So unless you want an army of demons showing up here looking for you three, best to get it over with now."

He could tell his words had stirred the sense of truth within the knight. The hardened look of understanding was easy to read on the other man's face. Owen spoke again. "The knights and soldiers of Falconia, they are human."

"Uhh, yeah, we kinda knew that," Isidro whispered to Puck, a bit louder than he meant.

"I mean to say that those people, those human beings, they are unaware," Owen stated. "I may not know what our Queen does, but if it is enough for her to walk away from someone like Griffith, it cannot spell a bright future for anyone. The citizens of Falconia are guilty of ignorance in this fight. It doesn't make sense for them to suffer a fate such as that for following a leader who they believe to be supreme."

Anna seemed to understand what he was getting at. "Sir Owen, you don't mean to go and fight as well... do you? Who will be left to defend the Queen in your stead?"

"You misunderstand me, Miss Anna," Owen said. "It would be shameful of me to leave a Queen Charlotte defenseless. If I were to fall then my friend's stand would have been for naught." He turned once more to Guts. "I only ask that any unnecessary deaths be avoided."

"You've fought in battles before," Guts reminded the knight. "You should know that isn't always the case. None of us have any vendetta against your knights, but, if they were to deter our path to Griffith... you're smart enough to know the outcome." There was a look of uncertain understanding on the blonde knight's face as he gave a remorseful and respected nod.

"There is little time to waste," Skull Knight spoke once again, his voice drawing eyes filled with varying emotions to him. It was a bit hypocritical of him to say that when he had been waiting for as long as he had. But with a skull that thick, it must have escaped him. Pulling his sword from his sheath, Skull Knight dipped it down his open helm much to Anna's disgust and Charlotte's morbid curiosity. When he pulled it free, it was the familiar assortment of facial features.

The astral blade cut an arc through the air and Guts waited for the tingle along his spine as the trigger symbol that let him know that the swirling vortex was opening. It took longer this time for the warp tear to open, and he saw why. It started small but began expanding. Shaking along the sides as it stretched out and began pulling the very air toward the center to stabilize itself. With the number of people they were bringing with them, a larger space was needed.

Guts cast a look over to watch Silat, making sure he wasn't about to back out now. If he left, so did the few hundred fighters he had as well. He was somewhat pleased to note that the Kushan assassin was tense, as were his men, but none made a move to leave the ranks. He did not believe they did so out of loyalty, but out of fear of what would happen if they did. Either way was fine with him.

Skull Knight's helm swiveled on his body to look back at Guts and the rest. Now was the time.

He started walking toward the swirling vortex, his hand on Dragonslayer's hilt. Knowing that the sword was on his back gave him the sense of comfort that he always felt before a fight.

"Please come back safe!" he heard young Erica say once more to Rickert.

"I will. I promise, Erica." He would need to work hard to keep it. "But don't forget to do your job too. With us gone, you have to help keep the people here safe, and the Queen too."

That perked Erica's hopes. "Oh, yes! Yes, I will!" she hurried over to Charlotte and her two followers and took hold of the Queen's hand, an act that no rational eleven-year-old would have normally done. But with Erica's warm smile and bright eyes, it seemed to carry no offense. "This way, Your Highness! I'll show you inside the fort! There are more of your people inside."

"...Very well," Charlotte went along with the young maid.

"Your dress is so pretty, Your Majesty! Did you make it yourself?"

"...Yes. Thank you."

"Wow! How did you do your hair? Can my hair be done like that?"

"... I see no reason it cannot."

Their words and voices became distorted as Guts went fully through the tear Skull Knight had opened. He glimpsed them one last time before darkness, and then the light was upon him.

His eye adjusted to the sudden shift and he saw that the arid climate of Doldrey was far behind him now. They had stepped out into the bush of forest that was on the outlining perimeter of Falconia's farmlands. And beyond that, he saw it. The City of Light, the safe haven for humanity stood as a proud beacon and the tree that towered above it reached up into the clouds above, its branches jutting out to stretch in every direction possible in the sky.

The walls were a good hundred feet in height but he could see the main palace without any difficulty and the curve of the giant sphere that was behind that. He was there right now.

Casca was beside him, looking where he had been. He could reach out thanks to Schierke's hairs to read her thoughts, but this was not a matter he needed to know more about. Her face said it all.

The others were filing out now as well. Some handled it easier than others, namely Isidro, Schierke, and Puck, while many of the Bakiraka were coming through with more caution.

"Isidro, Rickert," Guts called the two over. "You both ready?"

Isidro looked like he wanted to say something but he settled with a simple, and nervous, "Hell yeah!" Rickert kept silent but patted the large satchel hanging on his side. The inside was filled with bombs inscribed with Runes by Harry and Schierke. They would keep to the farmlands outside of the city to blow the protective stones apart. Skull Knight had said that as long as those stones were there, he would not be able to enter the city. Once the bombs were in place, Isidro would give the order to Schierke via thought to activate them.

Guts turned his attention to the blue elf who was on Isidro's shoulder. It had been weighing on his mind as of recently and it was about time to put him to good use. "You. You have a new job."

Puck tilted his head. "Huh? What's that?"

Pointing to Falconia's palace, Guts said, "Right now that place is bound to be filled with a lot of confusion. Farnese, Serpico, Sirius, and the rest all know what we're doing, but we haven't heard a thing from Harry. You go in, find him, lead him back to the others or to us and we all meet up inside." He spoke in his usual stern tone but kept it slower in case Puck missed any of that but he did not have to worry about that it seemed. "Think you can handle that?"

With a swift salute, Puck said, "Aye! For one master of Elf-Dimension style, 'tis easy as can be!" he fluttered his wings and floated off of Isidro's shoulder. "You can count on me!"

"If you're serious," Schierke said as she pulled a few green hairs from her head, "give these to him, will you?"

Puck gave a firm nod as he accepted the gift. "Count on it."

Ivalera watched him in confused admiration. "He actually sounds serious."

"Even I know the time and place for jokes," Puck defended. "I'll get the job done like no other. The rest of you just make it in safely." Puck glowed blue as he started to flutter higher. "Oh!" he called as he was about to clear the top of a tree. "I almost forgot; Guts... try not to die. I won't be around all the time to save you."

Guts stared impassively up at the blue elf. "Same to you, Puck."

Puck's already large eyes seemed to enlarge. "Did you just...?"

"Get going already, bug," Guts called him by the usual title. "You're wasting time, as usual." Despite the situation they were faced with, Guts thought he could discern a knowing smile on the elf's face as he took off into the sky and off toward Falconia as a blue blur, a glowing gaze saw him off.

"One so small, he will suffice. Those from his homeland share a similar outlook."

"Can we be expecting reinforcements from them anytime soon?" Guts questioned.

Skull Knight pondered his question. "You speak of assistance, yet your mind is drawn only to battle. You have come far and struggled harder, the light of possibility has been in your sight longer than your knowing. How long have you known your elf companion? Long enough to know that his people are not a warrior breed. If not spears and swords, what can a passive island offer a battle, offer after?"

As usual, he left the meaning of his words up to interpretation. It frustrated Guts to no end, but as he saw the forces that they had now, thought about the people still inside the city, he felt he could piece this one together easier than the ones that came before. And that didn't change the fact he would be giving that skull head a good hit once before it was all over.   
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It had not been long after Queen Charlotte left the altar that the one who pretended to be Griffith left as well.

From her seat in the aisle, Farnese did not hear him utter a single word to anyone as he silently left as well. She was not too close to the altar, but anyone would have been able to hear any noise on account of how quiet it was after the bride left. She did not know what Harry had said or done to the full extent, but she was thankful nonetheless. The only person who remained at the altar was the ancient High Pontiff, a man who now seemed to the hall rooted to the spot where he stood. The Moonlight Knight Sir Locus had vanished as well, he had looked less than pleased.

"He actually did it," she heard Sirius whisper and could feel the smirk the man had without looking at him. It was perhaps a look they all felt on the inside, he was just bolder about showing it. "A true Marauder if there ever was one."

His words seemed to spark some whispering from the other guests in attendance. The most common things being said were, "Where has the Queen gone?" "Has the wedding been postponed?" "Did you see where Lord Griffith disappeared to?" "What were they talking about?"

Through all that confusion, Farnese managed to hear the High Pontiff quiver out a few words of a ramble. "Esteemed... guests. Rise for... matrimony of... Lord Griffith. The... Savior of Humanity..." he could not seem to process the event better than any of the people around her, save for those who knew the truth.

Two youths of a few years her junior took action and tried to move the High Pontiff from off the altar. One was a boy dressed in armor that gave an indication he was from the Wolflame house, and the other was a blonde girl with large blue eyes. "Your Holiness, it is time to let go," the Wolflame boy told the older man.

"Dearly beloved... recite the vows that..." he hardly seemed to register presence.

"What should we do?" Serpico whispered into her ear. "We haven't heard from Harry since his capture. Do we seek him out on our own?"

"You're damn right we do!" Sirius said as quietly as he could, not that anyone would pay him any mind.

"A rescue from a rescue," Sir Azan surmised the situation. "An honorable action as any!"

"Lady Farnese?" Serpico asked, letting the choice fall to her.

"I... agree. We cannot leave Harry alone to rot. Serpico, do you think you and Sirius would be able to sneak off to the dungeons to try and find him?"

"I'll be as swift-footed as I can be," her long-time companion assured her.

Sirius shifted his robe to show the base of his wand. "Not all magic requires an invisibility cloak."

She nodded. "Alright then." The voices and protests of the hall were getting momentum. "The two of you go and-,"

"There!" the blonde girl who was now at the altar shouted out above all the rest, her young voice carrying across the hall. She was pointing to something, something coming in through the set of doors.

At first, Farnese did not see it, not all of it. It blended in too well with the overall theme of white that the palace seemed to have in abundance, and it did not help that the sun was shining in through the glass windows either. When she did look at it, she had to squint to not only discern it from all the white but to protect her eyes as well. "Is that...?"

Floating before the hall was a white avian shape that seemed to radiate light from its body. Along with that light came a sense of serene calmness that was sorely lacking at the present moment. Looking at it now, Farnese felt that she was able to only think of her fondest of memories, even from her days as Commander of the Holy Iron Chain Knights. It was as if her worries were momentarily forgotten in the briefest of seconds that could have stretched into minutes or even hours.

As the white bird of prey lifted its head, Farnese swore that it looked straight over to her. It began to speak - no. It didn't speak. Rather, it allowed a familiar voice to be heard.

"Let the others know to be ready."

It was short, it was simple, and it was all the signal Farnese needed to know what needed to be done.

Sensing that it had done its job, the Patronus faded into a wispy mist that seemed as if it was never there at all. And then the chaos started up once more.

"What was that?!" "You saw it too?" "It looked like..." "Was it the Hawk of Light?" "Was this Lord Griffith's doing? The same as when he fought the Emperor?" But none appeared more stunned and in awe than the two youths still unsuccessfully trying to move the High Pontiff.

"A corporeal Patronus," Sirius quietly muttered. "If only you could see him now, James."

Farnese turned to her bug-eyed, slack-jawed elder brother Magnifico who was staring at where the Patronus had just disappeared. "Magnifico," Farnese said to him, shaking his shoulder to get his attention. "Magnifico!" she said a bit more forcefully.

Her brother sputtered. "Huh, hrm, y-yes?"

"You're going to be pleased, but you can probably leave by now," she told him.

His eyes seemed to brighten. "Truly? You mean it?"

"There are conditions," Farnese reminded. "See how many of the guests here you can get out as well. Then, get back to the inn we stayed at and let Luca know. She'll see what she can do to get the common folk evacuated to the sewers."

"Well... yes, alright," Magnifico relented any retort he could think of. "But, what will I say to get these people out of here? They'll be wanting answers to what just happened."

"You're a Vandimion. Surely that amounts to something." And if Farnese could rely on her brother for anything, it was to throw around the family name when it suited him best. If his best was up to par had remained to be seen, however.   
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The only thing moving faster than his feet were his thoughts. They echoed in the halls of Falconia as he ran, taking him farther, back, all along the interior of the once stainless city capital. Blood had been spilled already, not directly by his hand, but the stain would still be there. Harry wondered why Rosine had killed that knight when she did but knew that ultimately, it didn't matter. If he had made an impact on her life, the choice had been her own, the same as it had been Charlotte's.

With his Patronus sent, there remained one clear goal left for him to complete; sever the link between the Godhand and their power. Going off the knowledge Flora had distilled in him during his studies, different places and relics often had ties to the astral world. There was a branch from the World Tree that dipped down into the open ceiling of the ceremony hall where Farnese and the others probably were right now. But that couldn't be it. It would be far too obvious and easy if that were the case.

Harry cursed himself. He should have said so much more in the message that he sent, there was no way he could convey all he had to say with what he had. His best chance stood with reuniting with them now, get out of the palace safely and then find a spot that would have some connection to the deepest part of the astral layer, the Abyss.

As he furthered along a bend in the hall, a smell most horrid invaded his sense of smell; the smell of blood. His boot made a quick splat as the toe touched a thick, red liquid pooling outward and staining the once untarnished white marble floor.

There, slumped against the wall was the figure of a knight with dark brown hair and a well-trimmed beard. His sword was laid at his side and contained more than a few chips in the metal, but his armor was what faired the worst. A hole looked to puncture straight through his chest if the stain of blood on the wall was any indication. His blue eyes were open and dark, cast down at the ground, staring at the blood that continued to pool around him.

Approaching cautiously, Harry knew who it was without having to move the body.

Sighing in cursed frustration, Harry was going to keep on his path, casting only one look at the fallen knight, an act that ended up saving his life.

Through the bloodstained armor, there were spots that remained untarnished. And from the light reflected off of the metal protection, he caught a flash of grey-silver that was coming up from his blindside flank.

Swinging his staff arm to the side, Harry recited the spell for the banishing charm, knocking the swing of the strike away from him. Kacrik! the long, metal lance impaled itself in the wall, the eyes of the wielder reflected a dark storm about to be unleashed.

Getting both his staff and sword at the ready, Harry stood and faced the Moonlight Knight, Sir Locus.

"Just my luck I would run into you," Locus spoke with calm, unbridled resentment. "It was you. You came here and ruined a beautiful ceremony."

"You can save the knighthood romanticism for someone who actually cares," Harry said. Not wasting any time, Harry levitated Laban's fallen sword and made it shoot straight toward Locus' flank.

The lancer apostle predicted this move, however, and moved his lance in a horizontal arc, batting the makeshift projectile aside as if it was little more than a fly. Preparing for a fatal attack, Locus was about to pivot and lunge when Harry fired off a spell to shatter one of the halls tall windows. Like the sword, he levitated the shards and sent them hurtling toward the fake knight.

Locus acted quickly in shifting to a defensive stance to block the shards from piercing his pale eyes, his arms moving to protect his face. Most of the glass shattered helplessly against the impeccable design of the metal, but some shards did manage to get a good lick in, notably, a loose strand of his oily, midnight black hair fell to the ground along with a quick drop of blood from a cut on his cheek.

The disguised demon sneered at him, his would-be handsome face resembled a melting candle. "Cheeky bastard," Locus hissed out through clenched teeth. "I've already gotten word to my fellow War Demons, they'll be joining me shortly."

Harry met his gaze, ready if he should pull a fast trick on him. "Do you really need all that help just for me? I guess if you want to keep up the act, you'd pretend to be courteous."

Locus' sneer deepened along with his loathing. "I would take the greatest of pleasure in transforming now to finish you off, but you are not mine to kill." Locus ran an armored finger over where the glass had grazed his flesh. "But where would my honor in a knight be if I did not assist another apostle in their endeavor?"

There were footsteps approaching their location at a rapid pace. Thinking it was more of the War Demons, Harry raised his staff in defense and was surprised to see the reinforcements that came were that of the regular castle guard. "Sir Locus!" the lead boy cried out. "We came when you summoned for- General Laban?!" they had noticed the body of the fallen knight.

Not sparing a glance behind him, Locus said, "Your arrival is welcome, young Wolflame. The wizard intruder from yesterday has escaped his cell. He bewitched good Queen Charlotte into leaving her wedding and abducted her with his sorcerer's ways before killing General Laban."

That bastard! Seeing what Locus was doing, Harry pointed his staff to the ceiling and sent a blasting hex at it causing bits and chunks of rubble to fall down on the reinforcements and Locus. The ones who raised their shields above their heads were spared from the attack and those who didn't fell to the ground. Locus simply pierced straight through some of the rubble with his lance, with a sweeping arc, he launched them back off and toward Harry.

Seeing the attack coming, Harry slowed the velocity of the projectiles and blasted them straight back to Locus who was growing frustrated with these games despite keeping a cool mask on. Locus began to advance.

Not wanting to risk straining himself fighting an apostle like Locus, Harry made it seem he meant to blast another part of the ceiling to halt Locus in his path. When he saw Locus about to switch to a defensive stance, he instead blasted the floor in front of the apostle with such force it created a hole to the floor below. Halting in his pursuit, Harry took the time to continue along the opposite way of Locus and the human knights.

That moon bastard was slippery. By bringing the regular guard into this, he was taking measures to confine Harry to the palace interior. Soon, he'd be trapped between a legion of knights from the continent over and a pack of bloodthirsty demons and a dark wizard; and if the worst came true, Neo-Griffith as well. There was one silver lining to this, he still had the invisibility cloak. It had worked out well the first time, why would now be any different?

Halting only momentarily to put the cloak over himself, Harry continued to where he believed the ceremony hall to be, if his Patronus was able to find it, he should too. About to descend a flight of stairs, Harry suddenly pressed his body against the side as another group of knights started their ascent, a blonde girl trailing behind them.

"Is Mule this way?" Harry heard the girl ask. "I have to tell him something important!"

"Go back to your room, girl," a knight ordered her. "It isn't safe for you to be out with the intruder on the loose. If you're not careful, he might abduct you too."

"But my friend Luna told me he's a good person. Sir Locus must be mistaken." This girl was Sonia.

"Then your friend doesn't know the sky from the ground!" another snapped at the girl. "We're dealing with a wizard here, who knows what kind of tricks he has up his sleeve. My advice, either shut up or go find Lord Griffith, ask him yourself." Sonia seemed to settle on the former, continuing her pursuit after the knights.

He pondered the idea of perhaps reaching out to the medium seeing as she knew about Luna and the existence of other astral layers, but he thought against it. There was no telling how loyal she still was to Neo-Griffith and if she would even go along with him at all. Finding Farnese and the others were still his top priority at the moment. Once the sounds of footsteps receded, Harry proceded downward.

The cramped confines of the stairs behind him, Harry was racing along a relatively open wall with a long balcony running the outside. From this vantage point, he could virtually see the entire layout of the city. Some branches from the World Tree sloped down to nearly touching the tops of some of the houses and shops in varying districts.

Someplace in the city with a connection to the past... a place like that was sure to exist. It would be small or even inconsequential to the naked eye, or even staring him straight in the face. A place that would have depth and meaning, something liked to Gaiseric. The whole city was supposed to be modeled after the capital of old. Something that didn't fit, that would have some meaning, something small and blue.

What?

His eyes weren't deceiving him. Flying his way was a blue blur so fast that if he were to blink he would have missed it. The blur paused as it assessed the possible points of entry before settling on this floor.

Breezing right in like he owned the place, the elf took a brief look around before making ready to fly off further.

He couldn't refrain. "Puck!"

Hearing his name called, Puck did a double take, seeing no one, he blinked. Harry's hand left the confines of the cloak and grabbed the small creature. "H-hey!" Puck cried as Harry pulled him under the cloak.

"Puck, it's me!"

Blue eyes widened. "Holy-! You're still alive!" his voice was filled with pure joy at seeing the wizard. "How did... never mind! We've all been worried sick about you."

"You flew all the way from Doldrey to find me?" Harry asked.

"Not from Doldrey, from out in the woods," Puck casually said. "Me, Guts, Casca, everyone, we're all here. The portkey you had, Charlotte and her people got out just fine. And with a little help from out bony friend, here we are." Everyone was here? Then there could be only one outcome if Puck spoke the truth. The elf studied his face. "They thought you might be a bit out of the loop. Here." Puck unwrapped the green hairs he had tied around his waist and presented them to Harry.

Accepting the gift, Harry tied the hairs around his finger and sent out a thought, Schierke?

'Harry!' a multitude of voices ranging from Schierke, Casca, Isidro, and Farnese all shouted into his head at once. 'Where are you?' 'We're outside the city now. what's going on with you?' 'Just tell us where you are and we'll see if we can make it to you.'

Everyone! Harry mentally shouted. I'm fine, don't worry about me. What's been going on with all of you? Casca, you're outside the city?

'We are. We're moving against him, finally. I'm not about to let him take any more Hawks away.'

'Rickert and I are planting some of his bombs right now near those feather rock things. Things seem pretty quiet out here.'

'Magnifico has convinced a significant portion of the guests to leave the palace. Things are looking to pick up. Guards are scrambling about everywhere.'

Are you still inside?

'We're near the doors. Sirius seems to have bewitched the one guard to keep the doors open for as long as we need, but I don't know how long until others get suspicious. Just tell us where you are and we can meet up with you.'

If they were near the doors, they had a way out. Knowing the trouble that was sure to come their way if they lingered any longer, that wouldn't be safe for them to stay. If they could meet up someplace that was more isolated... and he spotted it. South of the palace and to the east. A tower stood, almost frozen in time, ancient compared to the flawless craft of Falconia's homes and shops.

The Tower of Rebirth.

"The city, or, it's remains, lie at the bottom of this hole. It was built in the middle of nations, so it earned the name Midland."

A place with a connection.

Farnese, listen carefully. I know where we have to go.   
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Pandemonium was in a state of pandemonium. Very few War Demons were in their true apostle form, but the cries and the yells for blood were very much alive. Voldemort had grown somewhat used to their behavior, he was still above it, naturally, but this he could understand. His blood was near a boil as well. Locus had informed Grunbeld that there were intruders in the palace.

He cared not for this world's leaders or its people and if anything happened to any of them, it was no skin off his back. No. What bothered him to know was that the intruder was none other than Harry Potter.

The very wizard he had been chasing after for so long was right here, under his nose no less. Did Femto really not foresee this? He knew a thing or two about how arrogance can blind a man and he could see the proof when it was in the pudding. What's more, he was learning that Potter had been captured and held captive the previous night. Why had he not been informed of that? He would have dealt with Potter quickly. But here he was, in Pandemonium with the rest of the apostles listening to the man who called himself Griffith explain the details.

"I hear your cries for blood, I will take no such thing away from you. Captains, present yourselves." Apostles like Zodd, Grunbeld, Rakshas, and then Voldemort stepped forward. He felt his Death Eaters lingering behind him, closer than the other apostles to their captains, Bellatrix especially.

"The fliers are to mobilize and patrol the city skies, the titan units are to establish guard in every distract from the palace to the gate. Rakshas, take to the streets, take to the shadows."

"My Prince," Grunbeld took a knee and still managed to remain taller than most. "What of Sir Locus and Sir Irvine?"

"The Lancer Captain seems to have already mobilized his forces and dispersed them to and fro," the Godhand answered. "He'll be punished for his hastiness, I assure you. Irvine is patrolling the woods. I've sent a falcon to summon him back."

"Hasty for just one wizard?" Rakshas cackled at the mention of Locus. "He has always been far too serious. I almost pity the man, if he was one."

The Godhand looked at the masked apostle with restrained emotion. "The wizard is far from alone." They all seemed to know not to press further. "You have your instructions, mobilize yourselves." The masses cheered and roared as they began filing into ranks, Grunbeld was already practically out the exit and to the bridge. Voldemort lingered

"Lord Griffith," he strained the word. "Surely you have not forgotten about me and my forces? Where do we stand in your grand plan?" Two sets of slit pupil eyes regarded the other.

"I promised you that the boy wizard would be yours to finish, I stand by what I said. Magic is at your disposal, use any means you deem necessary."

"Any means?" Voldemort fought back a small smile. "Some magic can be worse than others and Potter has proven himself to be a slippery one."

"Ruinous as well," the Godhand said. "Locus may be a fool, but he is a tenacious one at that. To have bewitched and abducted the Queen as well as murdering an esteemed general, he surely means to see Falconia in ruins."

Voldemort's red eyes gleamed in understanding. Slytherin indeed. "That is all I wanted to know, Lord Griffith. I thank you for informing me." More than you care to know.

The Godhand regarded him and gave a dismissive nod before turning his attention to the organizing ranks of apostles.

"My Lord," Bellatrix spoke next to him. "What are your orders?"

Voldemort's hand went to the yew wand that he had committed so many spells with over the years. Magic was might. "I am done waiting for Potter to come to me. He is here, somewhere, it is just a matter of weeding him out." It was time to remind Potter and his followers why he was named "the Dark Lord."

"So, you are done taking the words of the divine to heart?" Voldemort grit his teeth at the sound of the voice. "You finally display an understanding."

He could see Bellatrix and the rest looking at the other apostle in silent loathing. He spoke before a curse could be uttered. "Strange, considering you said you issued a prophecy to him before. Perhaps the longevity of hundreds of years is starting to fade."

The eyes of the Fliers Captain gleamed with unspoken excitement. "And what of yours? Do you claim you accepted the offer for another reason other than to save your own life? Look around you, you are surrounded by those who made the same choice as you." He paused. "The prophecy I spoke was from what I knew, not what was true. Can you claim the same? Whose faith do you truly believe?"

Voldemort felt his brow furrow and his nostrils flare. "There can only be one of us living. That is what I know to be fact."

The captain regarded him. "Mmm. I look forward to seeing your fight with him; if I am not occupied with the Black Swordsman."

"You speak of the man who humiliated me." Voldemort felt the scar he had received during the battle bristle in irritation. "He will get his comeuppance as well."

The once amusement faded from the other apostle's equally red eyes. "You have your fight, I have my mine." He turned to leave. "And that is what I know to be fact, prophecy or no."

He watched the captain stalk off to assemble the others of his division. "Tch!" he spat. The arrogance was as worse as any Gryffindor he had known. Voldemort knew he had his fair share of arrogant moments as well, his scar was proof enough, but he had always kept that side in check with a calculated mind. It was why he despised the one called Griffith more than any apostle; because he seemed to do the same.

"Come," Voldemort began walking behind where Grunbeld had assembled his troops. We are leaving."

He and his Death Eaters seemed to get absorbed into the ranks as the other War Demons raced to get out and across the bridge to the palace. Despite his immense size and heavy armor, Grunbeld and his Titan unit were already more than halfway across. Voldemort and the rest were only just beginning their trek across. Behind them, Rakshas seemed to melt into the shadows and disappeared from sight. Zodd and his fliers were behind them as well, but he did not seem to want to cross the bridge. He shifted into his apostle form and spread his wings, ready to take flight, his troops doing the same.

"You are that eager to fight already?" Voldemort mockingly asked.

Zodd had started to take to the sky. "I thought you knew you would fight your rival. I intend to see mine through to fruition." He took off, his Fliers beating their wings after him.

Voldemort frowned, a tingle going along his spine. He looked around, seeing if his Death Eaters had felt the same sensation he had just then. Only Bella seemed to furrow her brow in a curious glance. He knew what the thrill of going into battle was like, this was not it. This was something different, something... magical. What Zodd had said, the feeling of danger building in his core, knowing that Potter had been here... Potter had been here.

He raised his hand, halting his Death Eaters as the other War Demons continued to pass them, snarling at them for the sudden hold-up. "My Lord?" he did not answer, his eyes were scanning the bridge. Potter had been here...

If Potter was as powerful and clever as the Godhand and other apostles made him out to be, he would have to have a plan for coming here. If Voldemort had the opportunity to sneak into the enemy side, what would he do? What traps would he create?

From under the marching feet of the army, a certain spot seemed to glow purple. It pulsated like a beating heart, a heart about to stop. A rune.

Eyes going wide, Voldemort drew his wand in a fury and cast, "Protego!" the magical shield enveloped around him, his Death Eaters and few War Demons behind them. It happened not a split second after.

WhhhhhBoooooooossssssssssss!

A sudden pressure condensed in and exploded outwards in a magically charged blast of combustion, a giant purple cloud followed in its wake, dispensing the fog that usually obscured the bridge, or what was now left of it. The explosion was so loud, so bright that it left his ears ringing and eyes burning, the screams of the War Demons caught in the blast followed after, their bodies falling down into the emptiness below. Some tried shifting to their true forms, but if they did not have wings, they did not have a chance at life.

How many had just gone over? Looking across to the other side of the now destroyed bridge, Grunbeld and his unit were across, and he and his Death Eaters had been spared as well, same with any who did not make it to the center of the bridge. He estimated a good twenty or thirty had just been blasted to their final death.

Runes, of course, it would be runes! They were tricky and a difficult branch of magic to understand, but they were incredibly useful. He had even used some during the first Wizarding War, the muggle news had just reported it as being bombings. Potter had seemed to have the same idea. He had prepared it to activate when a large mass of apostles had crossed over it. It was just like what he did with his own runes when someone not bearing the Dark Mark entered a place they were occupying during the war.

And he felt envious. Potter would have made a fine Slytherin, he came up with this idea without so much as even studying about the tactics he used during the first war, and he was succeeding at them.   
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She didn't have to be close to the palace to hear the resulting explosion. When it happened, several visiting patrons either spit out their drinks, fell off their seats, or scrambled to the window to see what had happened.

"What in the hell was that?" one patron asked.

Luca sighed and mumbled to herself. "I guess this is what they meant when they told me I'd know when to act." She had shown the dark man around the city districts as well where he inscribed those strange symbols. If that was the result of just one... she needed to act fast. "Pepe!" she called out to one of the barmaids.

"Miss Luca did you hear that?!" the younger girl exclaimed, the tray of drinks spilling to the floor.

She pulled her aside. "That I did. That I did. Listen, go gather the other girls and go round up as many people as you can. Get to the sewers, those who don't follow you, tell them to stay in their homes and don't come out no matter what."

"Ah, o-okay. What are you going to do?"

Luca put her fingers to her lips. "Phweee!" she whistled, getting everyone's attention. "Everyone! The bar's going to be closing a bit earlier than expected. But to compensate, all drinks are free of charge. Go home to your families or follow any one of my barmaids to a safer location. Thank you." She sighed again. I really hope they know what they're doing.   
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"Pass me another one."

Isidro held out his hands as Rickert tossed him another one of the bombs. The blonde youth would have shown more care with them if they were traditional bombs, but since these were rigged with some sort of magic, Schierke would activate them whenever he gave the thought to her. He didn't get it, but he didn't have to to know that an awesome explosion would happen when it was ready.

Using his dagger, Isidro started hacking the ground near those wing-shaped rocks, making it big enough to fit the rounded piece of metal. Once it was in, he filled the hole with the soil he had unearthed. "That's your fifth one already," Rickert noted. "You're good at this."

"I grew up in the mountains, you know," Isidro recalled. "Stole a lot of things that weren't exactly mine and I needed a safe space to hide all of it, so I just started digging holes."

"Well, glad to see that thievery has paid off for you." Rickert handed him a spare bomb as they made their way to the next of the stones. Some were larger than others, the largest having been closer to the forest and they had planted four bombs next to it for safe measure.

"How many more do we have anyway?" Isidro felt inclined to ask. "I mean, we don't want any bowing up in your bag once I tell Schierke to do her magic thing or whatever." And after hearing that one explosion from all the way out here, he didn't want to risk being near one when it went off.

"Excluding the one that I just gave you, about three." Rickert took one for himself and the two of them got to work on unearthing the ground near the latest of the rocks. "I had to make a rough estimate at how many to bring, I only briefly saw them when I got in the first time."

Isidro was ahead in progress. "Hey, you seem to have got a pretty good amount to me. We should be done after this."

Rickert smiled warily. "I suppose so. The sooner we finish up, the better." He moved the soil back in place. "You all set then?" Isidro nodded in affirmation. "Then let's hurry and-,"

"Pardon me." A respectful voice interjected. Isidro swallowed a ball of saliva. Of course, it wouldn't be this easy. Turning to see who their intruder was, he saw it was a slim man dressed in purple hunting garb and a hat as well, a bow and arrow hung from his shoulder.

A hunter? What was he doing here? He spared a glance over to Rickert to see the older boy with an equally startled expression. But spending time with Puck and even having Schierke's hairs had taught him how to get a pretty good read on people, and Rickert's expression was proof that this man was one of those apostles.

"I must ask, what are the both of you doing out here?" he kept a soft tone, not giving any sign he meant them harm.

Rickert licked his lips after swallowing his spit as well. "You see-,"

"-The old farmer sent us out here!" Isidro lied easily. He had been scamming the elders in his village long enough to know what cards to play when lying to a stranger. "He kept saying his knees hurt too much to be out here working, but I know that isn't true. He just wanted to see if he could get into Queen Charlotte's wedding, the old perv. I mean, from what I heard, the Queen is a sight to behold."

He felt like he was being stared at by a wolf. "Do try to have respect when talking about your queen." Isidro did his best to hide a nervous gulp. "But many farmers have taken the day to try and be in attendance for the wedding. You have my sympathy for having to work in his stead."

"Heh, yeah, funny how that works out." While Isidro kept the act up, he had to wonder, did this apostle believe him, or did he see through the lie and was luring them into a sense of security?

"And he wanted you to till the soil without any proper tools, right next to these rocks?"

Crap! He was suspicious. "Well, yeah," he tried to think of a lie to get out of this one. "He-,"

"-He said he heard the most fertile stock grows the closer you are to them, Sir Irvine," Rickert thankfully join in. "He didn't want other farmers to know we were coming out to plant the seed, so he told us not to bring our tools, just what we could carry." Damn, that actually fit.

Irvine pondered him longer than he had Isidro. Does he maybe recognize him?

"Be that as it may, he should know that it is dangerous to be outside the city unsupervised," Irvine relented.

"Yeah," Isidro played along. "But, that explosion just now, I'm sort of glad we were out here when it happened. I bet the old man wishes he didn't slack off today."

Irvine's pale eyes traveled to the puffs of purple smoke that were drifting from behind the palace. "All the more reason for me to make haste. I do apologize in advance for what you're about to see." Before their very eyes, Irvine began to change. Hair began sprouting from his face and arms, his outfit being replaced by shaggy, black fur, his nose tip flattening to partly resemble a wolf and his teeth growing sharper, and that was just his torso. Where his legs used to be was now the body of a direwolf beast with two antlers protruding from its head which only had a single eye.

"Sorry if this comes as a shock to you," Irvine apologized as he reached for the two youths, picked them up and put them on the body of the wolf. "But we will return much faster to the capital like this." With all the speed of a wolf as well as the entire pack, Irvine was dashing back to the walled city.

Crap! If he keeps going at this rate, he'll come across Guts and all of them. Schierke, you there?

'We're here, Silat and a few of his men got up the wall and are going to open the gate for the rest of us. Where are you?'

On the back of an apostle.

'You- what?!'

We got found and now he's taking us back to the city. If he goes any faster he's going to meet up with you guys and its only a matter of time before he sounds some kind of alarm.

'...You're right. Is there any way of slowing him down?'

I don't know, you're the smart one, I thought you would have some ideas! But I don't see how- wait.

"Rosine?" Irvine suddenly spoke, slowing his pace to a trot as he glanced up at the sky. Isidro followed his gaze and could discern a greenish blur that was making its way across the sky. Another apostle? "Rosine!" Irvine yelled loud enough for the apostle to hear. It seemed to have worked.

Flying down to eye level was a girl apostle who had luminescent wings on her back, bug eyes, and an antenna on her head. She was probably around his age, maybe a bit younger.

"What is it?" Rosine asked, sounding emotionlessly frantic.

"Why are you leaving the capital? I got the letter from the falcon just fine. Have you come to report an update?" Irvine waited for her answer.

She was hesitant to reply. "I don't know anything going on there."

"That explosion just now, are you-?"

"I'm fine, Irvine. I just... I won't be going back there, I can't."

"Rosine, what are you talking about? What happened?"

Isidro tapped Rickert and mouthed the words, "get ready to run." It wasn't his best idea, he hardly got any of those, but he had a feeling this would make Guts awfully proud.

"You wouldn't understand," Rosine said, continuing her conversation, sparing the two ridealongs only a momentary glance. "I just realize that I wouldn't be... wouldn't..." she was staring at them, more importantly, at Rickert.

Oh, don't tell me this is that girl apostle that came after him when he tried to escape! It was. He was going to have to act fast then. He took the satchel containing the last bomb from Rickert and swung it over one of the antlers of Irvine's apostle form and gave Rickert a push off the side of the wolf body, he followed shortly after.

Schierke! he thought. Do you're magic, blow the bombs!

'Are you a safe distance away? You could end up-?'

Just do it, please!

Rosine watched them run, Irvine was ready to take off after them. She glanced at the smoke from the explosion at the palace, her eyes went back to the bag hanging from Irvine's antler. It clicked. Rosine snatched the satchel from his body and tossed it back toward the two boys running away, not seeing if it caught them or not. She, Irvine, and even Isidro and Rickert could see nothing as a bright flash illuminated the field, followed closely by several other bursts of light that illuminated anything, save for safety.   
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Guts had to hand it to Silat, the bastard's slipperiness came in handy when it was convenient for them. He and his men had managed to scale the wall using their ropes and were making ready to open the gate. For any guards who were on station, the only indication of a struggle came in the sound of a few faint clangs of metal on metal before silence fell; a silence only broken by the grinding of metal as the portcullis was raised.

They had just barely made it through when a deafening noise shattered the silence.

Kawhooooo!

It sounded like the one that had rocked the back of the palace, only much closer. He could see huge plumes of purplish smoke rise up in the farmer's field just beyond the wall where they were now.

"Rickert and Isidro make it out okay?" Guts looked down at his witch companion.

Schierke opened her green eyes, having just completed her activating of the bombs. "He sounded... frantic. I... hold on." He could tell she was reaching out to their other companion to check on him.

'Isidro...' Guts heard the voice of Schierke inside his head. 'What's going on? Give me something.' There was no immediate reply. 'Isidro...'

'Here...'

'Oh thank goodness!' Guts could feel the relief roll off of the witch. 'You and Rickert made it out safely?'

'Rickert...?' Isidro sounded dazed and confused. 'He's... I'm right here with him. Don't know about...' the connection was fine, but Isidro's voice seemed to be growing distant, fainter, weaker.

'Isidro?'

Silat!" Guts called to the Kushan who was meeting them at the other end of the gate.

The Kushan regarded him with a bemused expression. "Was my performance unsatisfactory? I sustained no losses and casualties were kept to a bare minimum."

"The fields outside," Guts said, not caring for a report. "Have one of your people go and check on Isidro and Rickert. They're out there right now."

Silat's two bodyguards came up beside him and he hissed a command in Kushan to the one who bowed before barrelling out of the gate to the field outside. "Fret not," Silat smoothed. "The blacksmith and the brat will be in good hands." If Silat was willing to put his life in the other Kushan's hands, Guts would take his word on that.

"They'll be fine," Casca did her best to assure Schierke of that, maybe believing it herself.

'You're all inside?' Harry's voice reached them by thought.

Yeah, we're here. Where are you and the others?

'I'm with Puck, we're just getting out of the palace now. I told Farnese and the others where I need to get to, the Tower of Rebirth.'

What about Griffith? Guts asked. Have you seen him at all?

'Not since I was captured, no. But you won't be able to fully kill him unless I get to that tower.'

'That's where you mean to sever the connection?' Schierke frantically asked.

'It's the best place for it,' Harry replied.

'Well... don't do it until Farnese and I are there!' Schierke warned. 'If you try and do it alone, it might kill you in the process. Magic is stronger when others join in.'

'I know. The two of you can erect a barrier around so-,'

'You're not doing it alone.' Schierke would no doubt have said more if the sound of Guts drawing Dragonslayer hadn't snapped her from her thoughts.

He had spotted them. Up in the sky, a flock of winged beasts had taken to the air. Some resembled small dragons, others giant bugs, and a distinct horned one with bat-like wings that was at the front of the pack. They knew of the fight that was approaching.

"If you want to give him an earful, do it in person," Guts advised as he spotted the top of the tower. It was more than a fair distance away. "Hey, Silat, I have another job for you." The Kushan waited. "Have your men take to the rooftops, have them scout the clearest path to the tower, any dead ends, enemies, anything. We're not slowing down."

He barked a few more commands in his native tongue and the Bakiraka dispersed. No sooner had they done so than Guts began down the main street of the city in pursuit. Silat kept close to his clan, occasionally going from rooftop to back on the ground with the Guts and the rest.

"The right leads to a dead end alley," Silat said as a scout reported back to him. "Stright ahead is our best option before a side street opens up again."

Nodding in affirmation, Guts took the knowledge and continued on the street they were on now. He kept his eye moving constantly, scanning for the next turn or the side street that was promised. He scanned the roofs too to see if any scout was on the way to report back soon.

Casca's pace seemed to falter. "Something's wrong." Silat seemed to think so as well as he drew his katars.

As Guts scanned the roofs, he had to squint his eye as a shining light was reflected in his gaze. Blinking, he saw spots, as well as an armor-clad man with midnight black hair that reached his shoulders and a lance in his hand; a lance that had the body of a Bakiraka impaled through the chest. The Moonlight Knight.

The apostle flung the body from his lance and jumped from the roof, his lance set to impale the smallest among them.

Guts moved faster, Dragonslayer batting the lance aside, creating more than a large chink in the lance. Locus' face molded into an impassive scowl as he landed, small streams of smoke emanating from his body.

"Grunbeld spoke of your speed," the apostle kept smoking. "Have you even activated that armor of yours yet?" Locus was growing in height, the smoke consuming him, his armor stretching. "You'll find mine to be up to par."

Locus was now a silvery centaur creature with a lance melded onto his forearm, his eyes were a visor of glowing yellow. His metal hooves kicked the ground and Guts advanced. With all the grace and speed of a stallion, Locus jumped over the swing entirely, aiming his own cut at Guts from above who deflected it with his prosthetic arm.

Barely touching the ground after landing behind Guts, Locus jumped again, landing on the side of a building before kicking off again. This time, he had his lance set to impale either Schierke or Casca.

Grabbing the other girl, Casca rolled to the side as the tip of the lance struck the stones of the street instead. He quickly withdrew his weapon, going now for Silat who just barely managed to catch the tip of the lance by crossing his blades around the point.

"Young Master!" Silat's one bodyguard cried as he jumped at the prospect of protecting the other Bakiraka.

Rearing up on his hind legs, Locus brought his front two hooves swinging down toward the bodyguard who took the brunt of the blow on his crossed forearms. There was a sickening cracking noise as the metal hooves made contact.

Casca rushed Locus from the side, her armor seemed to weight next to nothing as the ruby pommel of her sword gleamed just as bright as Locus' eyes. Her blow was clean and true, landing a hit night on his neck with a resounding, clsiish! but it did not go through. The goblin-made steel managed to make a dent in the organic armor that covered Locus' body, but it seemed little more than a mosquito bite to the apostle.

He took a swipe at her which she blocked with her sword and the armguard of her armor causing sparks to fly where the two metals collided.

Guts raced over to her, Dragonslayer poised to tear right through Locus' protective coating. Even with his eye still seeing spots, he was able to see the shadow that fell over him. Another apostle was crawling from one roof to the other, a long, caterpillar looking thing with its multiple legs all sharpened to a point as fine as any sword. he acted fast to bring Dragonslayer up to deflect one of the legs from stabbing him in the neck.

Torn between who to help, Silat chose the least dangerous and threw one of his chakrams at the apostle between the rooftops, the disk slicing through one of the legs. Guts capitalized on the situation by thrusting Dragonslayer straight up and plunging the blade through the apostles exposed underbelly. A foul stench filled the air as Guts cut forward, spilling dark blood and hot, steaming intestines down to the once clean cobblestone road.

"Oooghhhhhaa!" the apostle gave one last death gurgle as its body came crashing down in two separate parts.

His target was now Locus, who made good use of his apostle form and used the environment to his advantage. He knew his lance was too long to just swing around in the street itself, so he kept to jumping and lunging for his intended targets. He got lucky and impaled Silat's bodyguard through the leg, just below the knee. He would have finished him off if Casca and Silat had not flanked him from the side, their weapons bouncing harmlessly off of his hardened metallic skin.

Guts was close to them now, he was confident that Dragonslayer would succeed where the other attacks were failing against the Moonlight Knight.

Thrum! Thrum! Thrum! Thurm!

Heavy footsteps were approaching fast. From the left, the side of a shop was demolished as another of Locus' lancers burst onto the scene. A squat but large reptilian apostle with a massive set of heavy set jaws that seemed a mix between the scally green of a crocodile and the power of a shark. The familiar pair of jaws opened wide before snapping shut on Guts' prosthetic arm as they had before, holding him in place.

Locus continued to dance around his multiple opponents, their attacks ringing harmlessly off of his hide. Schierke looked ready to perform a spell of some sort, but Locus never stood still long enough for her to cast it properly. He seemed every bit immune as he was graceful. A knight in a monster's body. But even the strongest of knights had to be able to move.

Casca, his legs. Guts thought to her, hoping she would know what to do. He turned his attention back to the apostle biting down on his prosthetic arm. This would one didn't need to be severed. Gripping the string with his teeth, Guts jerked his head as the cannon fired off.

Baboom!

Smoke and fire filled the large maw of the apostle as the cannon fired straight inside, tearing straight through the stomach and other internal organs. "Bwhaaagghh!" the apostle was forced to open its maw, smoke billowing out in dark plumes.

"Arrgh!" Guts felt the fury in him as he let Dragonslayer cut straight through the open maw, nearly severing it in two equal halves, just a few strong tendons remained to keep the upper and lower jaws attached. Raising Dragonslayer high above his head, Guts gave another fearsome cry as he drove the blade down straight through the top of the jaws, through the bottom and then into the cobblestone below.

When he pulled it free, the top portion finally severed, leaving only a smoldering corpse behind.

As he finished with that apostle, Casca understood what had to be done with Locus. Instead of going right for the torso or the head, she was trying to get behind him, to cut him right behind the knees. It was easier in concept as Locus never seemed to stay still long enough for her to get behind him. Silat was slippery, but he seemed more concerned with staying on the defense and keeping Locus at a distance. Schierke had to keep moving as well, Locus seemed to recognize her having magic as a threat and made several attempts to run her through with his lance. silat's near crippled bodyguard snatched her up and rolled to keep her in one piece.

Turning his attention back to Casca, Locus made a move to dash at her but was then intercepted by Guts. His glowing yellow visor burned a dangerous shade as he eyed the newest challenger. Locus' face was metallic as the rest of his body, but if his features were able to move properly, Guts had no doubt that they would be in a deep scowl.

Wasting no time, Guts swung Dragonslayer at Locus' front two legs. As expected, Locus was faster. He reared up as a means of escape and before he could jump back or take off, Schierke found the time to do her spell.

"Fiends!" Locus cried as he looked to see that the stone ground beneath him was grabbing onto his rear hooves, holding him in place. He made ready to cut himself free form the trap when he took sight of a new danger coming toward him. "Perish at the hands of a captain of the Band of the Hawk!" he took a mad swing at Casca who ducked under the wide arc and rolled behind the apostle.

Her sword cut through the back of his knees much easier than the rest of him.

Metallic blue, almost black blood spurted out of Locus' wounds as his back legs severed from the rest of his body. "Gnaah!" Locus tried supporting his weight on his lance and tried to hobble away, but Guts wasn't having it. Dragonslayer cut his arm at the elbow, more blood shot out from his wounds. "You... devils!" Locus collapsed to the ground. "Look at what you have done! Monsters! You endanger Falconia and her people! They will die without knights like me! Lord Griffith needs me! I am a knight!" his blazing visor stared them all down with cruel malice.

It seemed a strangely fitting end as Casca thrust her sword into the visor of the apostle and the faux knight. The cost of following the Hawk was finally realized.   
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The view from the very top of the palace was a grand sight, but not one that Voldemort intended to savor any time soon. From here he had a view of the entire city and layout before him, taking the free reign that had been allotted to him and putting it to good use.

Ever since the explosion at the bridge, he and his followers had to magically repair it so the rest of the army could properly file out. Apparently, Griffith himself would be taking to the field as well. He could decimate any force if he shifted to his true side, the evil that lurked behind those blue eyes of his. But in his own words, "Griffith gave the people this city, Griffith will defend this city."

If he did end up revealing his true self, Voldemort could always manipulate the memories of the citizens, but he wouldn't. If the Godhand slipped up they should have the power to fix it themselves, their troubles were not his own.

He had seen the explosions that had decimated a large portion of the farmland outside and his first thought had been that it was Potter. It was a thought he quickly laid to rest as he realized that unless Potter knew how to apparate, he wouldn't have been able to get there in time unless he had a portkey. No. It was unlikely that he was already outside the city.

But with magic, there was always a way to find where someone was. One of the benefits of having so many Death Eaters working for the Ministry was all the information that they were able to bring to him. Rookwood had been in the Department of Mysteries and had been able to give him all sorts of information on the Trace. There were ways around it like Lucius had told his son that magic in an all magic house is nearly untraceable. And for every loophole, there were exceptions as well.

While he could not trace Potter since he did not use a wand, rather, a staff that was from the time of Merlin himself, he would be able to cast a spell that would detect any amount of magic that far exceeded any output.

Voldemort reached out with his wand and freehand both, nonverbally casting the charm he had learned and even incorporated in various ways like taboos during the war. He had specifically ordered his Death Eaters not to perform any magic while he searched, it would only make it harder to locate where Potter was hiding.

Right away, he was able to "see" that there were only two other people in the city who were using magic at this point in time. One seemed foreign to him almost, like the magic of this world, the other was much more familiar. Or perhaps familiar was the wrong word. It was pure magic, what he had desired and longed for in his now immortal life. He knew where Potter would be.

To ripen the mood, Voldemort cast his wand to the sky, his long fingers stretching out like he was using them to touch the ground below. The once clear, sunny sky was being replaced by a rolling cloud, only bleak rays of sun piercing the dark shadow cast overhead. Feeling an electric pulse running, arcing along his spine to the tips of his fingers, Voldemort opened his eyes and caught sight of multiple bolts of green lightning shoot from the cloud and down to the spot where he suspected Potter to be.

The sound of cracking thunder soon followed joined in hand with the crumbling of stone from the buildings in the radius as the blast. The people below were surely in a fright, but what else could they expect from the wizard who abducted their Queen?

Feeling satisfied, Voldemort stared at the area where his attack landed and felt a tug and the feeling of being compressed through a tube, the normal feeling when apparating.   
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"Ack! Gnhh!" Harry coughed out as he shifted around some rubble. He figured something was up when that cloud rolled in all of a sudden, but he hadn't been expecting to nearly get his head blown off with lightning, no matter what shape his scar was. "You okay, Puck?" he uncovered his hands to see the blue elf.

"Never.. akk! Better." He offered a weak thumbs up, still visibly shaken from the sudden strike.

"Good to hear. If you're feeling up to it, I need you to-," Harry's whole spine tingled with the feeling of someone walking on his grave.

He cupped his hands over Puck and rolled to the side as a jet of deadly green light skimmed past him. Standing amid the rubble was a man who would be considered handsome by most with his wavy dark hair peppered with bits of grey, a defined jaw, and high cheekbones. He had a scar on his forehead, jagged and rough that ruined the image, same with his slit red eyes.

"Well, Harry Potter at last."

A/N: Sorry for the delay, I meant to upload on Easter, but Game of Thrones took priority, I meant to upload on Dyngus Day, but my family wanted to celebrate. The first chapter of the final battle is here. Thank you for reading.


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